[ In all the excitement of running away from the Watchdogs last night, he'd forgotten.
Flat-out completely forgotten about their original plans for Coney Island. Normally he really is a morning bird, but last night's sleep had been even more restless than usual, tossing and turning and going over the events of the night: that heady mixture of something he thinks might've been a good date for his first time in the better part of a century; fretting over whether she really thought it was a disaster; considering this new threat he'd heard of for the first time; wondering if he ought to mention it to Sam; preemptively girding himself for the eventual ribbing he'll probably get from Sam if he brings it up—
All of which means Daisy's text message wakes him up, Bucky jolting awake and pawing for his phone where it's sitting on the floor plugged into the wall beside his head. He stares at the message, blinking, his mouth muzzy. Thank god it's a text and not a call. He feels like death warmed over. (He always feels like death warmed over.) ]
i'm gonna need coffee to feel human again but yes, please a jog will probably wake me up you get home safe last night?
[ Of course she did, Buck, otherwise she wouldn't be texting you. He kicks himself a moment after he's already pressed send. ]
[And while his sleep had been restless, Daisy hasnβt actually gotten to sleep yet. That combined with adrenaline and alcohol, and Daisy sends the text without thinking it through until afterwards.
Maybe he wonβt even answer.
Sheβs about to pocket her phone when it buzzes. Her stomach does another flip as she reads his response.]
Yeah, I got home okay.
[About four hours after she left, and with a black eye forming. Jemma of course fussed over her, and she may or may not be sneaking out of the bus to go see him.]
[ The steady proliferation of Starbucks over the years has been annoying, unseating so many local coffeeshops, but at least it'll get him his fix. Bucky gets dressed quickly enough, waffling over his clothes for a moment, before finally just going for functional exercise-wear: joggers and a long-sleeved shirt, with a frayed hoodie tugged on over it. Gloves, as always. When he gets on the subway to Brooklyn, he's yawning, but the early-morning sunlight starts to scour away that tiredness. He's lost in thought when the train goes over the bridge; he stares out through the windows, automatically looking for the Statue of Liberty out in the water. It's a clear enough day that he can catch a glimpse of it, a distant washed-out green.
It's cheesy as hell, but he always looks for it. These fleeting glimpses over the bridge. Like a steady lodestone in his surroundings; something familiar to anchor the rest of this strange world by, to remind himself that some parts of New York just don't change. He hasn't irrevocably lost the city he grew up in.
When the subway's swallowed back up underground, Bucky lets himself drift a little: head tipped back against the wall, eyes closed and half-dozing while he waits for the last stop. Eventually, the train spits him back out at Coney Island, and he moves through the station — sunlight glittering through the murals, the rush of morning commuters, he's feeling almost dizzy and disconnected again, but maybe that's the sleep deprivation talking — and he beelines straight for the Starbucks. When he spots Daisy already in line, he moves up to join her. Flashes her a smile, approaching: ]
[Daisy quickly changed clothes into something more appropriate, especially if they're going on that jug. She wore an oversized hoodie with the hood up, partially covering her face, leggings, and very worn in sneakers. She kept her head down the entire time she was on the train, and really only looked up once she got close to their meeting spot. The line for coffee is out the door, so she just gets in and is about to text Bucky to let him know she's in line when he appears behind her.
Turning to look at him, a smile spreads across her face.]
Hey.
[She's at least attempted to cover the bruise, but when she had it wasn't nearly as bad as it was now so it's a shoddy job at best.]
Is it technically morning if you haven't slept yet?
[Daisy teases, and judging by the tired look on his face he hasn't gotten much sleep over.]
[ As Bucky draws close enough and she turns and he can now see her face unobscured by the hoodie, his expression changes. The cautious optimism swept away in favour of immediate concern, his brows furrowing, face carved back into a frown. ]
What the hell, Daisy.
[ Said, perhaps, with more familiarity than he should— more abject fondness for her than he should— but yesterday had been a long night by the time they'd parted ways. She already knew far more about him than he'd intended to let slip on a first, blind date, and he knew more about her than she was likely prepared to give away either. It was a shortcut to suddenly caring more.
It was a shortcut leading from his head to his shoulder to his arm, his right hand reaching unthinkingly out to graze his gloved fingers gently (it's odd, how his touch can still be so gentle) across the bruised hollow of Daisy's cheek, the swollen skin of her black eye. Haphazard makeup can only do so much. He traces the evidence of an evening gone ugly, not putting pressure on the skin lest he press too hard and make it hurt. She looks like hell, and that's on top of learning she hasn't even slept yet. ]
You said you got home okay. What the fuck happened last night?
[Daisy can see by the look on his face that clearly she hadn't done a good enough job in hiding the black eye, but there's no point in trying to hide it now. She nearly pulls away when he reaches up to touch her cheek, but she does wince when he touches her skin because it does hurt.]
I did, eventually.
[They're in a line, so she keeps her voice low.]
That guy's friends found me.
[AKA the Watchdogs.]
It's fine. I'm fine.
[And she is, she's dealt with far worse than this.]
Tell me you've got SHIELD looking out for you, at least. Isn't that what they're for?
[ Bucky doesn't sound exactly enamoured with the organisation — the fact that Nat had worked with them was the biggest thing in their favour — but he doesn't sound like he dislikes them, either. Mostly ambivalent. Steve et al had remained cordial with the agency, but the Avengers were no longer working under their heel. He supposed they were like most agencies: they were products of their people, and they had people who earnestly wanted to do the right thing.
Like Daisy.
They move a little further up in the crowded morning line, and Bucky takes up position on her bruised side, helping shield her face slightly from view. Hopefully it doesn't raise any suspicious eyebrows. ]
You know I wasn't kidding about calling me if you ever need backup. This is the kind of thing I'm used to dealing with.
You didn't need to— drag yourself down here just because we made plans, either. If you'd rather just go back to bed. I feel bad dragging you around if you haven't even slept.
[ Shoulders sloped, hands now slipped into his hoodie pockets; he's trying to give her an out. ]
[Daisy looks around when he mentions SHIELD, even if his voice is kept lower. Shoving her hands in the pockets of her hoodie, Daisy lowers her head a little to half hide her face before he stands next to her.]
Of course they are. It's just--
[She hadn't called for backup, and that included not calling her teammates.]
With them--
[The Watchdogs.]
It's personal.
[Daisy looks over at him, hoping he understood why she took care of them herself. Sure, maybe she's reckless at times, sue her. It's hard habit to break when she grew up learning to rely on only herself. Eyebrows lifting in surprise when he makes it clear, again, that he was ready to help her she has to stop herself from asking why.
Stepping up again in line, they're that much closer to the front door.]
What? No. I wanted to come. I'm just surprised you said yes.
[Daisy looks down at the ground, kicking a cigarette butt around.]
Especially after how last night went.
[Looking up at him again somewhat sheepishly, Daisy sees her opportunity to tease him again and takes it. Eyes narrowing in fake suspicion.]
Is this your way of saying you want to take me to bed?
[ And Daisy is now treated to the sight and sound of one James Buchanan Barnes flustered, the tips of his ears burning in a blush, as he holds open the door for them and they enter the coffee shop. He's unexpectedly easy to tease, and he always walks right into the trap. It's easier for him to shoot the shit with Sam, to banter and argue goodnaturedly back and forth with the other man, but he's rapidly discovering that around her, he gets tongue-tied whenever she presses that particular button.
This is really, really inconvenient. ]
I don't. I mean, I wouldn't not, you're very pretty— But that's not what I—
[ aaauuuuugh ]
I just mean sleep is important and what are you talking about, last night was fine.
[Daisy doesn't expect him to get so flustered, but it brings out that smile again as she walks through the door. Tripping over the lip of the door, she quickly rights herself.
The fact that he keeps talking as if she actually meant what she said was hilarious.]
I was joking. Chill.
[Daisy can hardly keep the smile off her face as she moves to lean against the wall. Okay, so maybe she was still a little drunk...]
[ He's chewing over his next thought, mulling over whether or not he should say what he's considering saying. You're not supposed to mention other women, or let on if there have been others. At least, he's pretty sure how that works. But there's a point to be made here, and so finally Bucky just swallows his reservations and makes it: ]
The last date a friend set me up with, I got too deep in my own head and just walked out on her. So. Us being interrupted by some renegade terrorist cell with an axe to grind against superhumans? That's way preferable, actually. At least that's not either of our faults. Can't exactly promise I'm good company, but I'd run away from criminals with you any day.
[Daisy frowns in sympathy when he mentions what happened on a previous date. She can only imagine how complicated this must all be for him, from what little she knows about what HDYRA did to him.
Fuck HYDRA.
Her stomach does another flip and she wants to make herself believe it's just the alcohol, but she's felt that feeling before. It's never ended well for her when she's felt like this, but she can't help it.]
I dunno. You must be good enough company for me to show up at Coney Island at the ass crack of dawn--
[And still drunk. They're next in line and Daisy already knows what she's ordering.]
What do you want? My treat. Least I can do for last night.
[ "You mean a venti?" the tired cashier asks, and Bucky stares back for a moment, baffled, before agreeing.
"Which roast?"
He stares a little longer at the long list of available beans, lost with the overwhelming variety of choice, before his gaze snags on the Italian roast, mostly because of the moped on the bags. He points, and thank god, that's the ordering done.
Bucky exhales a breath beside her as he listens to the next customer beside them rattling off a long complicated order, like some kind of unintelligible pass-phrase. His next comment really does make him sound like a grumpy old man: ]
[Daisy orders a venti cold brew with light ice and two cake pops. Probably not the best thing to get if theyβre actually going on that run, but Jeans isnβt here to scold her.
Moving off to the side to wait for their order, Daisy doesnβt even try to hide her amusement.]
You have no idea what a venti is, do you?
[Reaching for the cake pops sheβs being handed, Daisy holds them out in front of her.]
[ He keeps shooting glances at her bruised face. He's grown used to brushing off his own injuries, so maybe he's in no position to fret — but in fairness, his own heal faster than normal.
Bucky eyes the two cake pops when she offers them, before accepting the cookie dough one with an automatic thanks. He tries a delicate bite while they wait for their orders, before they take their drinks and wander out into the dawn sunshine. He winds up having to wolf down the rest of the cake pop before it tumbles off the stick, but he looks pleasantly surprised, enjoying the flavour: ]
[She can see him glancing at her from the corner of her eye but she pays no attention to it. The fact that he seems to care enough about her to be concerned leaves her feeling a little weird. Mostly because she just never expects people to care?]
Good choice.
[Daisy takes a bite out of her birthday cake one, watching his expression as he eats it she has to stop from laughing.]
Uh, I think you could say that about most things.
[Her cake pop falls off the stick but she manages to catch it in her hand. Fuck it. She shoves the whole thing in her mouth, just as her name is called for the drinks. She manages to say βThank youβ around a mouthful of cake. Swallowing thickly she hands Bucky his coffee.]
You sure youβre going to drink all of that?
[Daisy teases, having a feeling he had no idea just how big it would be.]
American portion sizes, I've had some time to get used to. I didn't wake up yesterday, you know. [ Another twitch at the corner of his mouth, an almost-smile. It's been a couple years now, trying to find his footing. ] But yeah, this is... unexpectedly huge. Jesus. I'm gonna be wired. Which I guess was the point, but—
[ Bucky takes a swig of coffee. Already knows he's not going to finish this whole thing, especially if they're about to go running. ]
Where do you live?
[ It seems like a sudden jerk sideways, topic-wise, but he clarifies quickly enough: ]
As in, did it take you a while to get here? If it's the Bronx you must be like two hours away.
[ Is she kidding?? Daisy doesn't look or sound like she usually does when she's ribbing him, so he squints at her as they start moving across the boardwalk and towards the water. ]
[Daisy is so used to it that it takes her a second to realize how it must sound. Taking another sip of her coffee she looks down to see where sheβs stepping.]
Itβs kind of necessary when youβre basically always on call.
[Unless you turn your phone on silent.]
Never know when the next alien invasion might happen.
Oh, right. SH— your employer likes to use planes, don't they. Like those big helicarrier things?
[ As he thinks about it, a dusty memory yawns its way to life in a series of disconnected images: a HYDRA infiltration. Moving his way steadily through one of said helicarriers. His fist; Steve's cheek. He makes a thoughtful noise. ]
[ Washing up on the beach after jumping out of that helicarrier didn't count. He's slipsliding slightly in the sand, but he finally hobbles slightly to slip off his jogging shoes and socks, which makes it easier to walk beside her and then settle on the sand by her side. The sand is cool for now, but once the sun rises, the heat will ratchet higher and higher. And it'll start heating the metal in his arm, too, until it becomes a burning brand.
Speaking of. While he takes another drink, he moves his left shoulder a little, thoughtfully, like he's working the rotator cuff. The joints in his arm don't like the salt in the water and the air, either. One of several reasons he hasn't enjoyed a day down at the beach for a while. He glances to the side, down the boardwalk, to where the ferris wheel and rollercoaster rises in the distance. ]
I used to come here all the time when I was a kid. Here, or the Rockaways.
Luna Park looks different. Glad they rebuilt it, though.
[Daisy briefly looks at his arm when he rotates it, if she remembers correctly thatβs his fake one. Realizing sheβs probably staring too long she brings her gaze to his face as he describes his life here before she was even born.]
This has to be so weird for you.
[Daisy puts her drink down for now to wrap an arm around her legs as she leans into them.]
Thereβs things that are different from even the last time I was here , I can only imagine how jarring it is for you.
People are always talking about the city gentrifying and changing around them. So I guess just take that and multiply it by a hundred.
[ He and Steve had talked about that for a bit, too. Steve's experience when he was thawed: his panicked run out onto the streets, and that dizzying, overwhelming, mind-reeling view of what Times Square had become. Like a blow to the face.
Bucky had had the benefit of living through the decades, but he hadn't really experienced them either, only in choppy disconnected moments whenever he was woken from cryo and brought out for a mission. The memories were slippery, and didn't stick. It was like a procession of still images rather than a cohesive experience. Blink. The sixties. Blink. Seventies. Blink, blink, blink. The years sliding by in a blank colourless haze, and he hadn't properly woken out of his stupor until 2014. Until one day he'd finally woken up, and hadn't gone back under. ]
[Nodding in understanding, Daisy turns her attention to the ocean instead as she rests her chin against the top of her knees. She doesnβt want to push it with him and ask questions about his past that maybe he doesnβt want to talk about.
Which is ironic because now, without him realizing it, heβs asking her questions that she doesnβt really like to answer. Not when it leads to questions about her family.]
Yeah. I got out the moment I could though.
[Daisy tilts her head to look at him.]
LA is more my style.
[She leaves out the part where pretty much all of her memories here are not great.
I could see that for you. Palm trees, sunshine, beaches, and yoga. [ That last part might be joking. Maybe. Bucky leans back on his gloved hands, his coffee cup wedged into the sand where it won't fall over. ]
And yep. Born and raised.
[ A slight hesitation. It's that pause where, ordinarily, he'd be lying or evading or simply sitting silent right about now. It's unexpectedly strange knowing that he doesn't have to do that around her; that he can be a little more honest. So he gives it a shot: ]
I slummed it in Europe for a couple years when I was on the run. It was— kinda nice, actually, but coming home was better. Still can't really picture myself living anywhere else long-term, even if the city's all different.
All over. Eastern Europe, mainly. Sokovia. Romania. Czechoslovak— sorry, I mean, the Czech Republic for a while. Prague's beautiful; it might've been one of my favourites. And it was easier to disappear off the radar compared to London or something. Too much CCTV over there.
[ And he'd never stepped foot back in Russia, either, until circumstances with the Avengers had forced his hand. He still never intended to unless it was outright necessary. ]
'Course I would. Maybe even with a valid passport and my real name this time.
[ Another flicker at the corner of his mouth. It's... nice? just sitting in the sand, side-by-side, and talking. Waiting as that ever-present tension in his shoulders loosens. There are fewer people around at this early hour and there's a fresh sea breeze coming in off the water, free of the car exhaust and rotting trash of Manhattan. The smells of the twenty-first century had been one of the things that had shocked him most, and which he'd had to get used to. ]
And it counts. I haven't really done the whole cross-country roadtrip thing; it sounds like it'd be fun. Did you stop at diners and go see those roadside attractions? World's biggest ball of yarn?
[Daisy can definitely relate to being undercover, which is why she laughs when he mentions possibly going as himself this time. Since he's already taken his shoes off, Daisy does the same and leans back on her elbows to soak in the early morning sun. It's warm enough that she's comfortable without being too hot or too cold.]
Sometimes, yeah. Most of my time was spent--
[She stops herself, not ready to open up too much about her past.]
I was kind of a hacktivist before SHIELD. So, spent a lot of time chasing anything I could get my hands on. Putting the truth out there, which included SHIELD intel.
They can't have liked that. [ Bucky shoots her an assessing, sidelong look now; considering the ramifications of that. ] Was it before or after that whole mess with the huge dump of SHIELD files onto the internet?
[ Nat's doing. Back during aforementioned helicarrier incident: he can almost feel the sting of pain at the memory, muscle-memory in his broken shoulder, and then the accompanying sting of thinking about Nat at all. His memory's a goddamned series of traps that he keeps walking into, and having to steer away from. ]
That one may or may not have been some people I know. Knew. [ Bucky reaches for his coffee where it's been cooling in the sand; rests it against his chin thoughtfully, breathing in the scent of the fresh roast. ]
Heard things got— rocky. For you guys. After.
[ This is such a pain in the ass, the way he keeps bringing up sore subjects and walking himself or her right into them. He can't help it. It's like a compulsion to pick at a scab. ]
[Speaking of luck, Daisy is just setting her coffee down when a seagull decides to ruin the rest of it for her.
At least it missed her hand?
Letting out a groan, Daisy drops the cup and dramatically falls back into the sand, bringing a hand up to her face. This just wasnβt her night morning.]
[ Bucky watches the actual disaster unfold in what feels like ruinous slow-motion — splattering all over her coffee cup, a complete lost cause, Daisy's hand recoiling, both of them staring at it in mutual horror, and then her frustrated collapse backwards.
And the laugh builds and builds up inside him, caught in his throat, like a bubbling fountain that he can't push back down. Irrepressible and buoyant and greater amusement than he's had in— man, he can't even remember. A long time. And then it finally slips loose and he's just cracking the fuck up at her misery. He can't stop. ]
Some seagull's got it out for you. Have you pissed off anyone lately that can talk to animals?
[ Maybe it's also the exhaustion, the surreal circumstances of their first meeting. The tension finally overflows into laughter, and Bucky lets himself tip backwards and flops down beside her, his hands interlaced over his stomach, staring up into the bright blue sky. ]
[As adorable as his laugh is, and as much she wants to laugh with him, Daisy also wants to be mad. Just for a minute. So when he makes a joke at her expense, Daisy grabs a handful of sand and tosses it at his legs.]
Shut up.
[A smile is fighting to break through as she looks at him, and she looks away to see her drink still very much tainted by bird poop.]
Go for it. As we've already established, this coffee's the size of my goddamn face.
[ There was no chance he was finishing it, really. Its likely fate was getting cold and then thrown away. So he reaches over for the paper cup and holds it out blindly to her; when Daisy takes it from him, his gloved fingers brush hers and he feels that stupid lurch in his stomach again.
Again: it's been a while. Since the last time his hands were used for anything except a clenched fist. ]
[ The question is both unexpected and yet entirely expected; he's lucky it hadn't already come up yesterday. Bucky hesitates. That instinctive aversion, the kneejerk desire to hide it.
But in the end, it comes down to the fact that Daisy's technically in the know, and knows exactly who he is. She's not just a random civilian. So. Maybe it's okay. He tugs at his left glove, sliding it off and revealing the metal hand, the dark vibranium gleaming dully in the sunlight. His gaze stays riveted on the hand rather than her face (he is, perhaps, afraid of what he'll see), so he turns it back and forth, flexing the fingers and curling them in his palm.
It really is exquisitely made. Wakandan design and material, carefully wrought by Shuri. Gold accents at the joints and knuckles. The interlocking plates slide smoothly, silently, and it looks almost as real as an actual hand.
Almost. ]
Kind of a startling detail. So. That's what's up with the gloves.
[His silence has her regretting even bringing it up, and sheβs about to apologize when he pulls off the glove. She knew he had a metal arm, if only because of the news, but it is still surprising to see it in real life. Itβs different than she remembers.]
Thatβs so cool.
[Daisy reaches out to touch it, but stops short when she realizes how rude that is.]
[ That is not the reaction he expected. Bucky cuts a disbelieving look over at her, but doesn't see sarcasm or incredulity or pity on her face. Another moment of hesitation, before he reaches his hand out further, holds it out for her to inspect.
He'd been less self-conscious about it around the Avengers — they were familiar with it, and most of them had some strange qualities of their own — but readjusting to people in everyday life had been something else. ]
Gingerly she touches his arm, feeling the vibrations bouncing off of it. She had sensed it before, but somehow hadn't connected the dots until just now. The moment she feels the vibrations bounce off of her and back onto his arm she pulls her hand away.]
Sorry.
[It wouldn't hurt him, but it would likely feel weird]
[ His titanium arm wouldn't have had the same effect, but the Wakandan vibranium absorbs vibrations. It doesn't feel like when he's ricocheting bullets or deflecting blows; instead, it's like a low background hum settling into him. Like an itching in your teeth except it's in his fingers, his hand. The hinges of his wrist, the connecting metal tendons of his arm.
It absorbs the vibrations emanating from her and glows slightly yellow around the edges, and when she pulls away, Bucky reaches out and catches her hand instead. It feels like touching a running motor, that hum building up; he can sense it thrumming into him. Now it's his turn to sound fascinated: ]
[Daisy does tense up initially when he grabs her hand, but she doesn't pull away from him. Instead she watches the way his arm glows yellow with fascination, unsure of how or why it's doing that.
It definitely feels weird, having the vibrations bounce off like that, but he doesn't seem to be freaking out about it--
Nodding in response to his question, Daisy tears her gaze away from his arm and looks at his face.]
It's like I have a thousand bees trapped inside of me. It's not painful, just---
[ Those thousand bees are hitting an immoveable object in the vibranium. It's not exactly like they're being reflected, more like they're being swallowed up by the metal. Kinetic absorption: a black hole, drawing in all of that uncanny energy. If it goes on for too much longer or if she were to crank up the hypothetical voltage, there would probably be a dramatic lightshow, an eventual displacement of that energy. ]
Do other people notice it if you touch them?
[ Bucky could touch her with his human hand to double-check, but that, too, feels rude. So he leaves it at the one hand for now, his fingers splayed against hers, not letting go just yet. ]
[ A thoughtful flicker of his expression. Still thinking it over. And then he props himself up with an elbow, angling to look at Daisy a little more head-on. Taking a leap of faith, he reaches out with his right hand after all; a raise of an eyebrow, a wry smile as he echoes her exact words: ]
[Smiling in amusement, Daisy brushes her hand against his open palm of his actual arm.
This is definitely a first for her. Sitting on the beach, just touching arms with a guy she had been set up with. It's--
Not usually what she would be doing with her date on the beach. Daisy looks at his expression, trying to figure out if he can feel it or not.]
Well?
[From her perspective it defintiely feels less tense, but she can still feel some sort of vibration. Not enough that it bounces off of him like it does on his metal arm.
For him, however, it might feel like something is crawling under his skin.]
[ It feels different compared to his metal grip. His sense of touch is more pronounced, but he isn't absorbing the energy this time; it's both subtler when it's not bouncing around inside the vibranium, but he can still feel it beneath his skin.
The whole scene is strangely intimate, despite the fact that they're sitting fully-clothed on the beach. Bucky feels naked with the one glove off. Realising that he's been sitting there holding her hand for a probably-awkward amount of time, he finally, finally lets go and settles his weight back on his elbows in the sand. The left arm is forty pounds of dead weight, enough that it affects the way he walks, so there's a heaviness to the way he settles. ]
Different. A little strange, but not bad. 'Bees' is right.
[When he let's go of her hand, Daisy lets out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding in until now. For a minute she stays in the same position before leaning back. Trying to act like that didn't just happen, and that it definitely hadn't left her feeling some type of way about it.
Oh. He was speaking.]
Oh, uh--
It used to? But, I'm so used to it now that I kind of forget what it's like to feel nothing.
Guess we can pretty much get used to anything. [ Case in point: said arm. Bucky's mostly come to terms with it, or thinks he has, but there's still those occasional moments like a skip in the record. It's been easy enough to purposefully not think about it as long as he keeps it under long sleeves and nobody's ever close enough to deal with it outside of combat, anyway. ]
It's cool, though. That you have actual superpowers. Enhanced strength and speed is kind of— I dunno, vanilla in comparison.
[It definitely feels nice to hear someone respond so positively to her having powers. When she first got them, everyone around her was so desperate to suppress them. Hell, she had been desperate to get rid of them.
Now, though, they were a part of her.]
You canβt run super fast, can you? Because that would be cheating.
[If they were even going on that run still. In all honesty, sheβs really enjoying just sitting here getting to know him.]
[ It's literally just her coffee now. Bucky lets her have it; that battle is long-since lost. ]
I mean, that's pretty much the gist of it. Everything's just dialed up a notch. Super-strength, durability, speed, agility, stamina, reflexes. Faster metabolism, which is a bitch for getting drunk. Slower aging. I heal a little faster than normal — but it's not extreme, so don't go chopping off more limbs. And the arm's super-strong too and can absorb impact, which you already got a sense of earlier.
[ He isn't accustomed to being— proud? of his capabilities, considering they're mostly a product of the serum and horrific experimentation. But there are silver linings. It makes him useful to have in a fight. He's grateful for that part. ]
[Her eyebrows shoot up again as she looks at him over the coffee cup. She knew he was strong enough to do, well, the things she had seen on TV. Doesnβt make it any less surprising when he tells her a whole list of extra abilities he has. The slower aging is the one that surprises her the most.]
So no cold cream for you then.
[Daisy teases as she sets down the coffee cup between them.]
That had to take a while to get used to. Being able to do all of that.
Hey, I hear staying moisturized is a good idea no matter what.
[ Bucky's still cracking light jokes where he can. But when Daisy brings that up, his thoughts inevitably wend back to those readjustment periods. As ever, he's not used to broaching the subject of Steve, but he touches on it now, and that's where his answer comes from: ]
Yeah, it took me a while. Our whole lives, I was always the one looking after Steve. Then I had to get used to him being superhuman, suddenly bigger and better than all of us, the cornerstone of our squadron. Then, later— my abilities matched his. It's been a lot of changes.
[She knows heβs old but he better get that reference or sheβs out of here!
She honestly forgets that there was a time where Steve Rogers was anything but Captain America, but Bucky knew him well before all of that happened. The fact that Bucky and her have so much in common is almost a relief though. They donβt need to explain in so many words how each other feels, they justβ-
Get it.]
Yeah, it was pretty bad.
[Daisy smiles sadly, looking down at the sand as her finger traces shapes.]
[ Being the all-American superman was one thing, with Steve's strength lauded and plastered over the posters. Being a Soviet bogeyman in the shadows was another. And yet, ruminating about it now, Bucky hadn't ever thought much about reversing the actual serum. What's done was done, and the more important thing had been clawing out whatever hunkered down in his brain and pulled his strings.
He watches the movement of her hand, the whorls in the sand, as if they hold some hidden meaning. ]
Do you know anybody else with powers, or any other Inhumans? People who know what it's like?
[She keeps her tone light, as if the question hasnβt brought up some really upsetting memories for her. Brushing the sand off her hands, Daisy smiles up at him as she moves to sit cross-legged.]
[ Daisy's good at ducking and sidestepping whenever they get too close to something she probably doesn't want them to touch on. He can tell, because it's the exact same sort of thing he does. But he goes with the flow, a shrug of a shoulder: ]
I wasn't specific. But I guess it must be about six months living in the city now. Since getting back from the, uh... [ he waves a hand, a vague gesture, because how do you mime 'getting dusted out of existence'? ] The whole Blip. Thing.
Y'know— not actually as hard as you'd think? It's more like everybody else has a taste of it now, too. Blinking and waking up one day to find that years have passed without you realising it.
[ It should sound horrifying, maybe, but Bucky's used to it by now, so he doesn't sound too bitter talking about it in the context of the Blip. At least that one had been a universal tragedy. There are support groups for that sort of thing, for people somewhat out of time like him. There hadn't been that, before. ]
I did it before, with way longer than five years. And this time I'm not an international fugitive, so it's easier.
[ His blue gaze travels up from her hand to her face. ]
Guessing that means you were part of the half who stayed?
[ He leaves his coffee with her and clambers back to his feet, meticulously dusting himself off and frowning at his hand, before gloving up again. There's probably some sand in the cracks between the metal, and he'll have to go dusting it out when he gets home later. More reasons the beach is more of a pain than it used to be. ]
So how about that run to work up an appetite before they open? We can be the first customers in line at the hot dog stand after we do a loop of the boardwalk.
[ He had, once upon a time, been a pain-in-the-ass physical trainer for Steve Rogers himself. Congrats, Daisy, now you're on the receiving end of it! ]
[ Smirk. And just like that, Bucky's already off and running without giving her any forewarning or a headsup— but he does keep his pace carefully-measured, scaled down to a regular-but-fit human level, so it won't turn any heads and Daisy stands a chance of actually catching up to him, with a little bit of legwork. ]
[Daisy mutters as he runs off, sighing she looks for a place to put the coffee before just placing it back down on the sand. She's got a stomach full of coffee and alcohol, what could go wrong?
Taking off after him in the sand wasn't exactly easy, but she manages to get at least within earshot of him.]
Do you want me to hurl?
[Daisy asks breathlessly, hoping he'll at least slow down.]
This is why we don't drink coffee the size of our face! [ Bucky yells cheerfully back over his shoulder, but he slows down even further; reminds himself to rein it in, to not push his augmented body to its limits as he usually does. That steady, careful balance to try to make the easy motion of his run seem natural, even if he's hobbling himself.
There is something slightly off about his balance, though — more noticeable when he's in motion, the way he favours one shoulder a bit more, with the weight of it. But Bucky eventually slows down enough that Daisy reaches his side, and he settles into a jog beside her.
He is irritatingly upbeat and unaffected when he exercises. ]
If you do feel like you're gonna hurl, shout and I'll find a trashcan.
[She could easily drink three of those, but not when she's running through sand. The sand makes this way harder and he's running through it like it's nothing.
Him being upbeat is a good contrast to how much of a mess she is right now. She can feel a knot forming in her side as she slows to a jog.]
Boardwalk, [ he says briskly; reaches out and taps Daisy's shoulder, and then steers them away from the sand, over to where their shoes hit the wooden planks instead. It's easier-going here, but he still slows even further until he's practically at an amble beside her. He doesn't actually want to make her vomit on their second sort-of-not-date. ]
[Most of the people out here are either out for morning jogs, or getting work set up. So it's oddly quiet and enough that Daisy notices in between them not talking. By the time they make it up to the boardwalk, Daisy is considerably slower than before.
Stopping to lean against the railing, Daisy doubles over.]
I just need a minute.
[Coming down from being drunk, and from adrenaline, the aches and pains from the fight are really starting to settle in. Not to mention her mess of a stomach.]
[ Honestly, he's impressed Daisy managed that brief run as well as she did on zero sleep and all that hot coffee sloshing around inside her. Bucky comes to a stop beside her, and unthinkingly reaches out and rests his right hand between her shoulderblades while she drapes herself around the railing.
He's mostly forgotten what it's like to get drunk; he's gotten out of the habit, can't really remember what it's like fighting that whirling dizziness. ]
Yep. Metabolism's about four times faster than usual.
[ It helps keep him lean, but has its annoying side-effects: the food bills, the inability to enjoy that mellow tipsiness. Bucky probably could get drunk if he really put in the effort and outpaced it, but it'd be conspicuous. Then, a thought occurs to him and he smiles a little, although it's still directed to her back and so she can't see it unless she looks back over her shoulder: ]
So I'm the opposite of a cheap drunk. Kind of an expensive date, sorry.
[Sheβs about to push off the railing when she feels her phone buzz. Opening her eyes, she reaches for it from her back pocket and pulls it out to see Jemma texting her.]
Iβm in trouble.
[Daisy doesnβt actually sound concerned as she looks up at Bucky with a small smile.
[ Bucky snorts, amused, but he looks a little relieved at her saying they should do it again. ]
Alright. Maybe I'll take it easier on you next time.
[ But that means there is going to be a next time, so there's that. Just sitting on the sands together, without anyone else around, had been... nice. Daisy's easy to talk to; far more than he ever expected, considering how difficult he finds it to get close to people. He can already tell his therapist is probably going to have a goddamn field day with a new name cropping up in his phonebook.
Hands shoved into his threadbare hoodie pockets, he's suddenly unsure how they're supposed to part ways — he's fallen out of the habit of hugs, and doesn't really know where they stand, and what the hell is a normal way to say hello or goodbye to anyone, anyway? With someone like Sam, Bucky tends to just march up to him, launch straight into the conversation, and then awkwardly duck his head and march right out again afterwards.
But once upon a time, eighty years ago, he'd known how to do this. How to turn on the charm, like an old and guttering lightbulb flickering on after years in storage. So he steps a little closer as Daisy straightens up, and he presses a polite, whiskery kiss to her cheek, his jaw rough with stubble. ]
See you then, Daisy.
[ And then he steps away again with a nod, and veers away and settles back into his jog down the boardwalk. Might as well use the rest of the morning, now that he's down here. ]
[Despite the fact that they havenβt seen each other since Coney Island, Daisy and Bucky have been talking every day. Itβs later in the day and after a long day of work, she has plans to watch a movie over FaceTime with him.
Heβs walking home from the bodega, and Daisy is teasing him over his choice of snacks when she hears shouting followed by gunfire. Her stomach instantly drops.]
Whatβs going on? Bucky? Bucky?!
Shit.
[Sheβs out of her small room in seconds, running to the cockpit where May is to tell her to turn the plane around. She just hopes they arenβt too late.
By the time they arrive, Daisy is in her suit and running down the ramp as soon as it lowers. May and Mack behind her, she holds her hand out ready to use her powers. It doesnβt take her long to spot Bucky fighting someone off and she uses her powers to send them flying across the road and into someone else that was clearly with them.]
Bucky!
[She shouts as she runs towards him, making sure that no one is coming at her.]
[ She's one of such a minuscule handful of numbers on his phone — and he's keen on not driving her away, so when Daisy texts him, Bucky actually replies. He also turns out to be fond of actual phonecalls, much to her horror, but he's old-fashioned that way; it turns out he likes having the voice in his ear while he's out running errands or puttering around at home, having the companionability without the physical presence.
Tonight, though, is already turning into a mess. His bag of bodega snacks is ripped and scattered across the pavement, the sixpack of beer (he can't even get drunk off it but it was for the sake of the thing) shattered and spilling into the gutter, while he faces down a set of heavily-armed men. When Daisy goes haring into his neighbourhood, she can see the debris of the fight: a broken newspaper dispenser. An unconscious man slammed into a car, the imprint of his body having caved in the door. Bullets embedded in trashcans. A trail of chaos leading to one (1) Bucky Barnes.
And even in the middle of a fight, he can't stop thinking about how messy it is. If he's unlucky, it's gonna be all over the news and it's gonna give the Avengers a bad name, Steve would be disappointed—
(Steve isn't around anymore, and neither are the Avengers—)
He's superpowered, he can handle himself, but they've also come equipped. These men know exactly who they were coming for, the asset they're trying to reclaim, and so they've used some kind of specialised taser on him: it's temporarily shut down his arm and it hangs from his shoulder, so much dead weight. There's blood seeping through his shirt. There's a kind of fleeting panic in his blue eyes when he looks over and sees her pelting towards him.
... Because of course. The gunshots over the phone. She knows where he lives. ]
Daisy—
[ The HYDRA agents (because what else could they be?) are circling like a pack of wolves, now sizing up this new addition to the party. Someone mutters something in Russian to someone else, and Bucky's head snaps toward the sound, his gaze narrowing into a glower. ]
[Hearing Bucky say her name like that is like a punch to the gut, and just by his tone she can tell heβs injured. As she gets closer she can see that heβs hurt and it sends her into a a panic.
Raising her hand, Daisy doesnβt hesitate to start sending the HYDRA agents flying through the air.
From back at the bus, Simmons is warning everyone through comms that more company is showing up. Itβs becoming more apparent whatβs going on here, theyβre here to try and get Bucky back. Her stomach sinks, and just for a second she loses focus long enough for one of the HYDRA goons is able to knock her in the back of the head hard.
She crumples to the ground, not knocked out, but temporarily stunned at least.]
[ It's probably not the greatest move on his enemy's part. Because that fear on Bucky's face is less for himself; it's more for her, barreling into a dangerous situation that he's brought on her head, their heads, this entire neighbourhood's head, when nobody else deserves to suffer for his baggage. And so when Daisy falls to the ground, some fraying string in James Barnes just— snaps, a little. Like a thread that's been unraveling and unraveling for years now, no matter how good he's been at keeping that vise-like grip on his self-control, and it finally comes loose.
He turns around and uses his metal arm as a bludgeon. It might be temporarily paralysed but it's still forty pounds of metal, and forty pounds of metal driven repeatedly into someone's face puts them down for the count. His hand still isn't responding and he can't move it, but it'll do for now: there's another gunshot and he spins, letting it ricochet off his metal shoulder. Even if it's motionless, he can still use it as a shield, too.
(God. Seriously. What he wouldn't give to have Steve and his shield here today.)
And then he's running towards Daisy. There's other agents back at the plane, he realises with a pang of contrition. Ah, jeez. He's probably going to get a talking-to from his government liaison after this. ]
Daisy. Hey. Hey, are you okay?
[ He lands on a knee beside her, his free hand at her pulse. The soldiers are getting closer, and he can feel that stinging hitch in his side of the bullet probably grinding against his kidney or something, and he needs backup. ]
[Daisy hears shouting in her ear from multiple different voices, and it's difficult for her to understand what they're saying. Groaning in response when Bucky starts talking to her, Daisy's nose scrunches up. Not because of the pain, but because he's calling her Quake.]
Don't call me that.
[Because, really, that's more important than anything else going on right now.
She's fine.
Opening her eyes, Daisy blinks twice to get her vision to stop swimming. That's when she notices the soldiers closing the distance. She raises her hand to send them flying again, but May is already on top of it. Kneeing one of them hard enough that they crumple to the floor in a heap.
Pushing herself up off the ground, Daisy notices the blood on Bucky and her face gives away her concern. Hands held out as if expecting him to collapse.]
[ Adrenaline is churning through him, dimming his awareness of the pain. It's just buying him time, so the full awareness of it will hit him afterwards and he'll probably need some help then, but for now he's running on anger and instinct and determination. He watches as May dispatches a couple of the men — the woman is surprisingly imposing despite her fairly diminutive height — and then as another man is still trying to get back up to his feet where Daisy sent him flying. ]
Useful powers you got there.
[ Daisy's reached out to Bucky as if he's delicate spun-glass and on the verge of breaking, but he catches her hand instead. Tugs her back up to her feet as they stand together, and he shoots a closer look at her arm, and the finely-fitted compressed microfibers beneath his hand. Bucky gives an arch of his eyebrow, a rueful smile as his gaze shifts between it and his own metal arm visible through a rip in his sleeve: ]
[She wants to argue that Bucky needs to get it taken care of now, but there's no direct path back to the Bus right now, and he's still standing. It's hard to tell in the dimness but he doesn't look sickeningly pale.
Daisy is so caught up with trying to take care of the situation that she doesn't realize Bucky has never seen her use her powers, until he brings it up.]
Oh. Thanks.
[If she sounds caught off guard, it's because she is. It's not the usual response to her powers, to be complimented for them.
Daisy opens her mouth to say something when he compliments her gauntlet, but she's so focused on the fact that he he's still holding onto her hand even after she's on her feet. Her stomach does that increasingly familiar feeling whenever he touches her, or looks at her a certain way. In the moment, her being distracted is dangerous for them both and she's quickly snapped out of her thoughts when she hears a gun go off.
Her heart sinks, thinking it's one of her own, but then she sees Mack lowering his gun and one of the HYDRA assholes on the ground grabbing at his side.
Pulling her hand from Bucky's grip, Daisy sees an opening. It's not even about taking the rest of them down, it's about getting Bucky out of here.]
[ It's a quick, brisk way that she snaps to attention and focuses on what matters, and the thought occurs to him that though she's never served in the military, Quake is still a soldier. It's the kind of focused attention he'd once seen in the Howling Commandos. But when she suggests leaving the field, he instinctively recoils. ]
No, I—
[ But. Bucky is, after all, the asset, isn't he? And you need to remove the target from the battlefield. His arm's still dead at his side. They need to get out of here. He's more of a liability than not.
And that awareness stings, grinds like a thorn in his side. He hates feeling like a useless liability. But Bucky takes a deep breath and nods, and then he's running after her, following Daisy back towards the Bus as they take the opportunity her teammates have given them to escape. And as the plane looms into view above them, he... goggles. Head craning upwards and his superhuman speed slowing as he peers up at its multistoreyed bulk. It's not as big as one of the Helicarriers he'd downed (oops), but it's still astonishing. Impressive. ]
Holy shit. You said you lived on a plane, but I didn't expect it to be, like, a flying building.
[Daisy is on the comms with Simmons, letting her know they're coming back and that Bucky needs to be seen. Good luck trying to fight her on that one, if he thinks Daisy is stubborn, Simmons is 10 times worse.
At this point, Daisy is so used to her life on the plane that it doesn't faze her anymore.]
Welcome to SHIELD.
[Daisy replies cheekily as they make their way up the ramp. Smiling tightly at Mack, he puts a hand on her shoulder as they pass.]
Nice work, Tremors.
[He's the only one who has a nickname for her, and he's about the only one who could get away with it actually being endearing. Leading the way to the lab, Daisy debates whether or not to leave or stay with Bucky. Wringing her hands out, Daisy's choice is quickly made for her when Simmons tells her she needs to be checked out today.]
I'm fine, Jemma.
[Remember how Jemma was 10 times more stubborn? Daisy ends up taking a seat not far from Bucky, making sure he at least gets checked out before she does.]
How are you doing?
[She asks Bucky, keeping her voice low as Jemma goes to grab some supplies.]
I'm alright. Thanks for coming. And for bringing the party.
[ He'd been trying not to peer around too much like a slack-jawed yokel when they made their way through the Bus and to the laboratory. He's settled on a chair now, waiting for Simmons and feeling oddly like he's a kid in the nurse's office again. (He'd been there often. Schoolyard fights.) When the doctor returns, she turns out to be quick and efficient, telling him to remove his jacket — he half-considers being stubborn and refusing, but there's something in her tone of voice that brooks no argument, so he winds up dutifully shucking the leather and folding it in his lap instead.
He has to tug up his shirt slightly to let her get at his injuries, and he goes oddly still and quiet while she works. Over the years, the Winter Soldier had grown accustomed to sitting obediently in one place, immobile as a statue, letting the doctors and scientists swarm over him like ants. He stares off into the middle distance, looking at the lab but not fully taking it in. Jemma extracts a bullet (he winces, but doesn't make any noise), sets it aside with a clatter, cleans the wound, and then presses some adhesive gauze to it.
She beckons Daisy closer, tells her to be useful, to hold the bandage to his stomach while it sets. Daisy wheels closer on her chair and suddenly she's in his personal space, right up next to him out of sheer necessity, their knees bumping.
Jemma's eyes had lit up when he shrugged out of his jacket and she got a closer look at the vibranium arm, and now she gets to try to wake it up; she moves into his blind spot, tinkering with the hinges, muttering to herself about how Fitz ought to be seeing this.
Bucky tunes it out. Shifts his attention to the gentle pressure of Daisy's hands against his abdomen instead; the drifting curl of her dark hair out of the corner of his eye; her face so close to his. He clears his throat. Feels a self-conscious flush heating his throat. ]
[Daisy is holding an ice pack to the back of her head, trying to look everywhere but at Bucky when he takes off his shirt. It feels like an invasion of privacy and she just wants to give him as much space as he needs. Almost as if picking up on it, Jemma asks for her help. Setting down the ice pack, Daisy forces down any awkwardness so she can help get Bucky out of her faster.
Biting her lower lip, Daisy briefly glances at his chest before looking up and away. Were there always lights on the ceiling?!]
You can fix it though, right?
[Daisy asks, looking at Jemma as she messes with his arm to try and fix it. Sure, Fitz would probably get his arm working faster, but, Jemma was smart. She'd figure it out.]
I'm okay.
[She probably as a concussion, but that's not what she's focusing on right now.
Could Bucky hear her heart hammering in her chest or was that not part of his enhancements? With how close she is to him it's hard to not notice how good he smells, even after being in a pretty intense fight.
Oh god. How bad does she smell right now? The suit doesn't exactly breathe and she's usually out of it by now. Shifting so she puts a bit of space between them, just in case, she keeps her hand on the bandage. She could've sworn she just saw Jemma fight back an amused smile before oh so casually telling her she could let go.
Tongue pressing against her cheek when Jemma basically confirms she had done this purpose, Daisy clears her throat as she scoots back in her chair. Grabbing the ice pack, Daisy places it back on the spot where a knot is definitely forming. Once Jemma was done fixing Bucky's arm, she turns her attention on Daisy. Telling Bucky he's good to leave if he'd like to go get some rest.]
You can have my bunk, you know, if you want. It's the one on the end farthest from the stairs.
[ Once the vibranium lights up again, he rotates the arm, feeling it settle back into place with an edge of relief. Tugging his shirt back on, he feels— whole again, thankfully no longer paralysed.
And at Daisy's offer, he hesitates before accepting and also giving a grateful murmured Thanks, doc — because James Barnes might be combative with his therapist, but he does tip his hat to doctors — and then he wanders off to find the bunk. It feels odd, not being closely-supervised or watched with wary mistrust. He passes the occasional agent who blinks wide-eyed at him, but he's so recognisable with his arm visible, so they don't challenge his presence on the plane — maybe word's already gotten out that they've scooped up a stray.
He goes down the narrow hallway, eventually finds the living quarters, and stands there taking it in for a moment. The lines of bunks do have privacy but they're small, cramped, not exactly sprawling luxury.
But that makes it feel far more familiar to him. He isn't exactly built for comfort. He unlaces and toes off his boots and then settles into Daisy's bunk, all six feet of his height sprawled out; he stares at the bobbing hula figurine, which starts to move as the plane starts to hum around them, powering up for takeoff.
He should probably be more worried about where they're headed, the unknown of what's coming next, but he's too tired for it, and he supposes is SHIELD is a good enough place to stay for now.
Bucky never sleeps well, but that droning hum is soothing, the faint vibration lulling him almost hypnotically into a doze. He closes his eyes, feeling the aches and twinges of pain starting to settle in. They'll heal quick, given his capabilities — but that doesn't change the fact that right now, it hurts. His body feels like a weary and battered machine. With an arm tucked behind his head, he drifts off slightly while waiting for Daisy to get discharged — but he's hyper-aware enough about his surroundings that he'll jolt awake again when she approaches. ]
[Of course the moment Bucky is out of the room Jemma is giving Daisy a look. Most of the time Jemma is examining her she's asking Daisy questions about him, and as much as she tries to hide it, there's a smile on her face the entire time. Partially because it felt good to have saved him, but mostly because, whether she'll admit it or not, she likes him.
Getting the go-ahead to go and rest Daisy makes her way to the showers first to clean up and change into something less--
Superhero-y
Despite it being her bunk, Daisy still knocks gently before sliding the door open.]
Nah, just resting my eyes. [ He'd grown long-since accustomed to catching little snatches of sleep wherever he can; drifting off, waking up, immediately jumping right back into the saddle with a gun in his hand. Here, though... Sequestered away in a plane above the city, Bucky almost(?) feels safe. Somebody could always still get onto the Bus — villains can fly too, and HYDRA can infiltrate SHIELD, he knows that better than anyone — but there's something to that background drone and knowing that they're out-of-reach of most people that makes him, finally, breathe out a little.
He shifts on the bed, swinging his legs back out and rubbing at his face, elbows propped against his knees. His jacket's hanging on a hook nearby. ]
Sorry. About all this hassle. Didn't exactly mean to drag your whole workplace into having to deal with a scuffle in my neighbourhood.
[She knew her 'room' was small, but seeing him in it made her realize just how cramped it really was. Realizing she's staring at her arms she looks away and catches sight of her underwear on the floor near the foot of her bed. Trying not to bring attention to it, Daisy kicks it out of view.]
Are you kidding me? Here I thought I was going to have a boring night of watching movies with you.
[Concussion or not, Daisy is right back to teasing him.]
Which, by the way, I'm still down for if you are. Simmons says I'm supposed to rest.
[Daisy rolls her eyes as if she's bothered by it.]
[ Bucky glances down the hall, back towards where they came from, the exit somewhere in the belly of the plane. He's kind of stuck here for the duration unless he decides to plummet out of yet another SHIELD aircraft— but also, it doesn't really feel like the worst thing ever, either. It means he gets to spend more time with Daisy, without going through that awkward negotiating tapdance of your place or mine? and overthinking every last little thing or feeling self-conscious and awkward about his empty apartment. Serendipity landed their movie night here instead, and they might as well make the best of it. ]
You got snacks or drinks? I kinda lost all of mine.
[ He slides further up to the head of the bed, clearing space for her, and pats the mattress beside him, a little sheepishly. ]
I'm down. Although— not really sure how we're both gonna fit.
[Her eyes light up when he seems down to continue movie night, half expecting him to just give her the brush up. She wouldn't even blame him, especially because he got shot. Pressing her lips together to keep from smiling too big, Daisy looks over her shoulder in the direction of the kitchen.]
Uh--
Yeah, what do you want?
[She's not sure how much she'll eat, or how much she'll even be able to pay attention to the movie, but it's just nice to have him there. Eyebrows shooting up when he brings up an, admittedly, good point, Daisy bites her lower lip.]
It might be tight, but, I'm sure we can figure it out.
[ While she's off fetching supplies from the kitchen, Bucky squeezes himself against the wall with its porthole-like window, the shutter pulled down for nighttime. His left arm's against the wall. He tries to make himself comfortable again, shifting and restlessly rearranging himself and his long limbs, except this time he also consciously leaves space on the other half of the bed for Daisy once she returns.
It really doesn't seem like a lot of space. He keeps eyeing that strip of empty mattress mistrustfully, envisioning how close they're gonna have to get to make it work. Like a submarine, space is a premium when you're literally airborne, so the bunks are twin beds; it doesn't leave much room to fit two. Sitting elbow-to-elbow on his stupid sofa probably would've been less nerve-wracking.
All of it reminds him mortifyingly of being a teenager again, all his nerves suddenly in his throat, climbing out of his skin at the mere prospect of being so close to a girl. He's rusty; he's forgotten how to do this. God, it's annoying.
But when she returns, Bucky's expression at least doesn't betray how nervous he feels, although he does try to wedge himself even further against the wall to make room for her. ]
[Daisy has a minor internal freak out while she's in the kitchen, gathering what she thinks he might like. Thankfully it's later at night and people are already heading bed, so there's no one there to call her out on how nervous she might look.
Most of their interactions have been over the phone, including some minor flirting. Now? She's got to deal with any insecurities head on when she didn't expect it.
Coming back about five minutes later with two different types of chips, a bowl of popcorn, and two bottles of water tucked under an arm, Daisy nudges the door open all the way with her foot.]
Think this is enough?
[So focused on not dropping anything, it's not until she lets the water bottles fall onto the mattress that she realizes he's already reclining on the bed. Her stomach does another flip.]
You look--
[Hot.]
Comfortable.
[Daisy internally cringes as she waits for him to help grab things so she can sit down. It feels weird to just lay down next to him, but wouldn't it be more awkward to just sit there while he's reclining? Reaching for one of the pillows, Daisy props it against the wall so she can rest her back against it.]
Which movie do you want to start with?
[Looking at him Daisy realizes this is the closest she's been to him, you know, other than when she 'helped' Jemma earlier in the lab. Her eyes briefly flicker to his lips before she firmly removes her gaze from them and makes eye contact with him again.
She realizes then, with some panic, that she's really into him. She thought she would have a better handle on her emotions around him, but she can't help it. Daisy had been so afraid that she was going to lose him tonight, and now he's here. With her. Safe, and looking like that.
Made myself comfortable, sorry. Figured that was the only way we'd both fit. [ Bucky had considered propping himself up and sitting sideways, but the arching curve of the exterior wall won't really allow it, and the idea of both of them sitting awkwardly upright and getting a crick in their neck to face the monitor, well, it sounds uncomfortable as hell anyway. He reaches down for one of the bottles of water, twists it open and takes a sip; between bloodloss and battle and running around, he could do with just hydrating and taking it easy for a little while.
At the question of what movie to watch, though, he has to stop and consider. He's unfamiliar with so many movies; he's still working his way up through decades' worth of necessary pop culture, yet another to-do list in his notebook being meticulously crossed off, recommendations pooled together from everyone in the Avengers. He can't really bring himself to rewatch things when there's so much else to catch up on. But... There are some exceptions: ]
Got a pretty good idea I might fall asleep partway through, so maybe something I've seen before. A comedy. His Girl Friday?
[ This old man looks a little sheepish suggesting it, revealing his oldfashioned streak. Bucky's fond of screwball romantic comedies; he'd been to see that one in theaters. ]
[And sheβs sure she would be a lot more comfortable if she mirrored his position, but that would put them even closer together than already are. She just hopes he canβt feel her heart hammering in her chest.
Smiling at his suggestion, Daisy reached for the remote to bring up the streaming service.]
I donβt even think Iβll make it ten minutes in, but, Iβve never seen it before.
[As sheβs typing in the title, Daisy keeps her eyes firmly on the screen because thereβs a pretty big chance of her doing something stupid if she looks at him again.]
It's a Howard Hawks flick. He did a bunch of stuff, both action movies and comedies, like Bringing Up Baby, the original Scarface — it's weird, how many movies got remade? — and he also adapted The Big Sleep, although that came out after—
[ After he went into the ravine. ]
Anyway. It's about a star newspaper reporter whose editor is her ex-husband, and she's about to quit her job and go get remarried to an insurance salesman. And her ex dangles a hot new scoop under her nose and tries to do everything possible to delay her trip and try to win her back. [ The corner of his mouth quirks. ] It's a lot of fun, I promise.
[ Then he glances over. Daisy's practically falling off the edge of the bed herself in trying to be polite, the popcorn bowl wedged between them, and Bucky finally just sighs. Takes the bowl and props it up on his chest and waves her over to get closer, even when it makes his nerves turn over in his throat. ]
[Daisyβs eyebrows shoot up as he lists of different movie by this director. She enjoyed movies, but heβs clearly got a lot more knowledge on them.
Finding the movie, Daisy brings it up but doesnβt hit play just yet.]
It sounds like itβll be good.
[Daisy feels the popcorn bowl that was digging into her side move, and thatβs when she finally looks at him again. Itβs like sheβs never been this close to a guy before as her mine suddenly backfires. Has it really been that long for her that she doesnβt know how to do this without making a fool out of herself?
Okay, maybe it has been a minute...]
If I get any closer Iβll be on top of you.
[As soon as she says it the regret is evident on her face. Laughing out of embarrassment, Daisy reaches for some of the popcorn as a way to get herself to stop talking. She hits play, but as it starts all sheβs doing is replaying what she just said in her head.
[ A beat, a moment of his own embarrassment upon realising he'd just said something that basically amounted to yes, please do. ]
As in, I mean. There's space. We'll just have to, uh. Get a little cozy. If you don't mind that.
[ Each one of his words comes out haltingly, tripping over his tongue like a sputtering machine. Bucky clears his throat and tries to make himself look away from her, focusing back on the screen, where the movie's starting to play. He's normally so good at compartmentalising, honing all of his attention on the thing in front of him and nothing else; but now he's distracted, again, by Daisy's weight on the mattress beside him, the sound of her laughter, the huff of her breath.
Fuck.
This might be a problem. He'd toyed around with online dating, mostly egged into it by his teammates, but always skittered away from committing to an actual date. Always inevitably dropped the conversation, the text messages, the rigmarole, the dancing in circles. It felt like speaking a language he wasn't fluent in any longer, one where he'd forgotten all the vocabulary — and didn't have the energy, besides, to lie through his teeth for an entire evening and another and another.
But he doesn't have to lie to Daisy, and she gets it, and she has such a goddamn great sense of humour and a beautiful laugh, and this might be a problem. ]
[Eyes widening, Daisy looks over at Bucky as he starts rambling. A smile spreads across her lips when he ends up tripping over his words, it was oddly comforting that he seemed to be just as bad at this as she was.
Her smile fades a little when she realizes what sheβs about to do. As if sheβs no longer in control of what her body tells her to do, she leans down and brushes her fingers across his cheek. She looks into his eyes, giving him an out but if he doesnβt stop her she closes the distance between them to kiss him.]
[ Bucky goes still and quiet at first: not pulling away or stopping her, but he's a deer in the headlights, frozen, ready to bolt. In a way, he's still waiting to see if he'll bolt. It still takes a few seconds after Daisy's lips meet his, a moment of hesitation, before he seems to react and kisses her back, long-dormant instincts finally humming back to life after eighty years (eighty years) gone to rust. He leans in and curls his right arm around her where she's finally closed the distance; tries to remember how his mouth works; worries for a second that he literally won't know how to do it; but then he eventually realises that it is, in fact, like riding a bike, and he does remember how to balance this delicate pressure of lips and tongues and teeth and his mouth against hers.
...And his elbow jolts, accidentally knocking over the bowl and spraying popcorn all over both of them, breaking the kiss. ]
Ah, shit—
[ He curses, looks embarrassed, brushes a few pieces of popcorn out of her hair; but then a laugh finally breaks through and his face lights up, and Bucky leans in and kisses her again, and again, movie forgotten. ]
[Relieved that he didnβt reject her, Daisy smiles against his lips on the verge of almost laughing before he even knocks over the popcorn. First kisses can be awkward, and she canβt help but think that sheβs kissing someone who is way older than her.
Laughing with him as he pulls the popcorn out of her hair, she pushes the bowl out of the way when he leans back in.
So much for the movie.
Itβs easily been a few minutes when thereβs an abrupt knock on the door before Jemmaβs voice breaks through, asking how theyβre doing.]
Shit.
[She hisses out, pulling away from Bucky and rolling away from him. Okay, so maybe things had escalated, sue her. Itβs been a while.]
Uhβ
[Daisy looks over at Bucky, her face flushed as she quickly fixes her shirt, making sure he looks decent before she answers]
By the time the doctor is peering skeptically down at them, Bucky's swiveled away from Daisy. Although his right arm is still pinned beneath her and she's caught in the crook of his arm, using him as a human pillow by now, the two of them half-cuddling just out of sheer proximity in order to fit on the bed. They're both a little rumpled, and there's popcorn debris scattered on both of them. ]
Yeah, uh, just watching a movie.
[ Even though his attention's completely gone away from it. And as he glances back up at the monitor, he catches the black-and-white screen and a heap of newspapermen milling around an office. The embarrassment of someone looking in on them is mortifying, and yet also— refreshingly banal and normal, like he's rewound time, and they're just two teenagers being caught together. It's a nice low-stakes thing to worry about, compared to his usual life. Compared to dodging HYDRA's dregs earlier. ]
Promise I'm not straining the bandages, [ he says, with a flash of a radiant smile at Jemma, which is Bucky Barnes trying to be his Most Charming™ with a medical authority. ]
[Daisy struggles not to laugh, again, when it's pretty clear Jemma doesn't believe them. Sitting up straighter, Daisy grabs her bottle of water from its place on the floor next to the bed.]
I'll just leave you two to your movie.
[Daisy isn't worried that she would go in snitch, because really, it's not some big secret. When the door slides shut again, Daisy looks over at Bucky. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't a little anxious now that they've gotten over that hurdle.
She's got a bad habit of not thinking before doing something.]
So that was--
[She wants to say how she feels about it, but she's afraid he won't feel the same way.]
[ He's still sprawled in her bed, and she's still far too close for his heartbeat to be anything but normal, and now Bucky's just looking at her. His expression a little wry, a little fond. He wonders what word she was about to say there before she cut herself off, and he can't help but have that instinctive little flicker of self-doubt — maybe he's a horrible kisser now! it's been long enough that he's not entirely sure! maybe she'll think it was a huge mistake!
But then again, she'd been the one to cross that line first, so maybe he really shouldn't question it this much. Instead: ]
That was nice, [ he says, filling in the blank. ] I'll even forgive you for not paying enough attention to one of my favourite movies.
[ But there's a quirk at the corner of his mouth — he's teasing — and he leans in just close enough to press another kiss to her jaw. ]
[Eyes lighting up when he agrees with her, Daisy shoves lightly at his shoulder when he teases her.]
Well someone was distracting me--
[She trails off when he leans in and kisses her jaw, inhaling sharply at the contact. Does he really expect her to be able to pay attention when he's doing something like that? Eyes closing again, Daisy tilts her head to give him more access because that felt nice.]
There's no way this is your first time kissing someone in--
Thanks. I mean, I swear it is, but I'm realising it's kind of like riding a bike.
[ Barnes had, once upon a time, been a ladies' man. The dashing flirtatious skirt-chaser of a sergeant, with a friendly wink and a smile for pretty much anyone. That particular version of him is long-gone, buried and dead — but sometimes echoes of it stir back up and he can almost remember what it was like, like some ancient muscle-memory in his fingertips. A moment too late, though, he realises what that sounded like. ]
Not that... you're... the bike.
[ He winces, his nose scrunching, and he leans his face against Daisy's shoulder instead. ]
[And while heβs probably regretting everything he just said, Daisy is giggling. He makes her laugh, a lot. Even if at times itβs at his own expense. She hasnβt felt this at ease with someone in a long time, and he makes it easy for her to forget how messed up her life is.]
I think itβs cute.
[Daisy looks down at the side of his face since itβs mostly hidden.]
Youβre making me feel less like inept with it comes to romance-y stuff, so, thereβs that.
[Her smile only grows when she basically calls him an idiot.]
[ He rolls his eyes in return, but she can see him biting back another smile. ]
Oh, great. So you just keep me around because my total ineptitude makes you feel better.
[ Bucky hasn't been good at humour or playfulness lately (beyond the occasional petty mockery between him and Sam), but Daisy makes it easier; makes it feel like she's excavating a long-forgotten side of him, stoking it back to life. Which is why what comes next is so lightheartedly, childishly silly. He really should be more careful about staying still and resting and not risking jostling the gauze on his abdomen, but he wriggles his right hand anyway and pokes her gently in the ribs, a jabbing tickle in revenge. ]
She is so cruel to feeble senior citizens who can't control what they say.
[Letting out a squeal, Daisy brings her elbow down to try and block him from continuing to tickle her side. There isnβt much room for her to be able to back away from him, but she does try to wriggle away from him.]
Wait.
[She makes herself look like sheβs about to ask a serious question, even going as far as to act like sheβs mulling it over.]
Does dating you mean I get to take advantage of your senior discount at McDonalds?
Please. You say that as if they even let me use it. And it's not really much of a discount anyway, it's insane how much a cup of coffee costs these days—
[ Somehow, thanks to her always prodding at it, Bucky's age has become less something he's sore about and more something he can laugh over; and he can let himself settle into that crotchety 'back in my day...' mentality without being self-conscious about it. It's comfortable, and it's almost terrifying how comfortable it is. It's been months since he lost his last main tether to this world, to other people.
It would be so easy to lean in and get lost in her again, get carried away and see where that particular road led — he'd be lying if he said he wasn't thinking about it — but they're in a small bunk in what equates to a semi-public dormitory, and someone's already checked in on them once. Probably there's a line. Probably they shouldn't cross it.
(As much as, he's realising, he would like to.)
He stops tickling her, but he does flop back against the pillow at the head of the bed, and nudges Daisy's knee with his. Tries to consider what he wants to say, and in the end he can't express all of it, but he does settle for: ]
[Daisy has so many questions she'd love to ask him about what it was like growing up in his time, but she's not sure if it would just make him sad or not. She's definitely thinking along the same lines as him, but her head is increasingly hurting and one or both of them might end up accidentally hurting the other. She'd rather that not be how their first time goes.]
Dragging you? I'm pretty sure you went willingly.
[Daisy teases, grabbing some of the popcorn that didn't manage to spill out of the bowl and flopping down on the bed next to him. She really doesn't want to be lame and go to sleep, but, it's been A Day. Her smile fades a little as she turns her head to look at him, it's clear she had been scared about what could've happened if they hadn't been on the phone when it all went down. Frowning, Daisy looks down at his hand and laces her fingers through his. Giving it a small squeeze as she locks eyes with him again.]
I'm just glad you're okay.
[It scares her how much she already cares for him. It's never ended well for her, caring for someone.]
[ He's still half-grinning from their joking around, but when her expression shifts and turns more serious, his own mirrors hers. Daisy just holding his hand — even the human one — somehow feels more intimate and close than her mouth on his, his tongue against hers. Bucky glances down at where their hands are linked; she can feel the callouses on his knuckles from trigger guards, the nicks of ancient scars on his palms and the backs of his hands. His fingers curl carefully around hers. ]
Hey, I would've taken care of it eventually.
[ I had him on the ropes. ]
Anyway. Give your eyes a rest. I like to think I'm a pretty good human pillow.
[ The crook of his shoulder will be comfortable to curl up against, to just settle into that hollow and let herself drift off. Old movies were good for that, too. Just the murmuring of voices fading into a hum, the patter of dialogue, not much by way of loud music or action or explosions to jolt awake again. ]
[He shouldnβt have to still be dealing with HYDRA after all of these years, and sheβs very tempted to have some words with the people who let this happen. He should be more protected than this.
Smiling when he offers up his shoulder for her to prop her head on, Daisy would be lying if she said she could stay awake much longer.]
I should probably warn you, I drool.
[She hasnβt slept next to someone in a long time, but somehow this doesnβt feel as weird as much as she imagined it would. Her hair was still damp as she moves to rest her head on his shoulder.]
Weβll watch that movie at some point.
[Daisy mumbles, eyes already closing not even a minute into settling down next to him.]
[ Bucky notices when Daisy falls asleep, her breathing settling into the deep evenness of unconsciousness, while he stays awake and still half-watching the movie. He thumbs the sound even lower on the remote, lets it lull her off, and he watches for a bit longer before he finally dozes off too.
He hadn't exactly meant to spend the night here, but it's hard to get off the Bus; he's exhausted just at the idea of wandering down the halls and finding someone who looked authoritative and awkwardly asking, So hey, can you put me down somewhere in Manhattan? So instead, he's just accepted that he's here for the evening.
He's worried about waking her up in the middle of the night with his nightmares, but something about having another warm body beside him means that Bucky sleeps— easier. Not perfectly, but easier. There's a moment somewhere around 4am where he stirs, his face buried in Daisy's hair, the room dark, the screen having put itself to sleep; there's the unwelcome jolt of finding himself in an unfamiliar place, his heart thudding sharply in his chest, before he takes a deep breath and manages to make himself calm down again. As far as restless nights go, this is actually one of his better ones.
Back to sleep, then, only to wake up at dawn a couple hours later. They're both sprawled on top of the covers, still dressed in their clothes, and he feels slightly grimy and rumpled, but it's at least warm and comfortable. There's still that background hum around them. Maybe living on a plane isn't the worst thing ever.
Daisy is stirring, and somewhere in the night he had flipped over onto his stomach; right arm tangled under the pillow, left arm between them. A wince of self-consciousness. Thank god he hadn't actually slung it over her body; forty pounds would've driven the breath out of her lungs. He withdraws even further, rolling half onto his side. ]
[Daisy had woken up once in the middle of the night to take some advil for her pounding headache, which apparently had done much because she had woken up feeling just as shitty. Inhaling deeply, Daisy whined when the sun hit her eyes, having forgotten to close the blind last night. For a moment, she completely forgot Bucky was even there until her arm hit something hard. Pulling her hand back she opened her eyes only to relax when she saw Bucky only inches from her face.]
Hey.
[She croaked out, running a hand over her face before reaching over to pull down the blind. Flopping back down on the bed, she closed her eyes for what felt like minutes but in reality was maybe a minute before it fully sunk in that Bucky had actually spent the night, in her bed.
Act. Natural.
It's not like anything happened.
Eyes still closed, Daisy shifted so she was on her back, arm resting across her eyes.]
How're you feeling?
[She's not a person before she has coffee, but she's trying.]
[ And he does feel fine, in fact. Bucky actually looks fresher than she does: the cuts and nicks on his skin have healed, and the conspicuous beginning to a bruise that should've worsened today has faded instead. That accelerated healing putting in the work overnight, his body already starting to laboriously piece itself back together while he rested. He won't be regrowing limbs anytime soon, but like how his metabolism is annoyingly sped-up, so is his recovery time.
He's half-burrowed into her spare pillow. Facing her, Bucky finds one last surviving piece of popcorn between them, and he smirks and tosses it out of the bed. There's something so oddly domestic about this whole scene, so there should probably be a riotous panic behind his ribcage at the fact that he'd spent the night with someone for the first time in— ages— but he just feels a kind of queasy happiness instead. Nerves fluttering in his chest, where they haven't taken root in so long. ]
How about you? Sorry if I kicked you in the night or anything.
[She can feel him staring at her, even with her eyes closed and a tiny smile tugs at her lips in spite of herself. She can't remember the last time she spent the night in the same bed with something where nothing happened, but Daisy is honestly glad they hadn't taken it too far last night. As much as she wanted to at the time, it wouldn't have been the best time to do anything else.]
Like I got punched in the head, and that I need coffee.
[Smile growing, Daisy finally moves her arm to look at him tiredly. Squinting in the dimness she can see that scrapes on his face are gone and the confusion sets in on her face.]
You--?
I knew you could heal faster but that's just unfair.
[ That smirk grows into a proper shit-eating grin — his favourite kind, honestly — as Daisy points that out. For a moment, she can see a glimmer of the mouthy soldier he'd once been, all the playful attitude he'd once wielded in comfort around Steve. ]
Told you so.
[ And she's mentioned coffee, and at the thought of it, Bucky realises he could also really do with a cup. He could lie here for a while with her, but that nervous energy needs somewhere to go, and he's usually so sleep-deprived that he needs that kick of caffeine in the morning too.
With a preemptive apology, he reaches an arm across her, and for a moment it looks like he's just going to sprawl his body over hers— but then he keeps going, a hand and a foot pressed into the covers on Daisy's other side, and he uses it to vault himself and roll neatly over her, almost falling out of the bed, but he thankfully catches himself at the last moment. They'd walked past the kitchen on this floor last night, so he remembers where it is, assumes he can probably figure out the coffee machine. He rises to his feet, instinctively rolls his shoulder again, checking the limberness of the arm after the damage it took yesterday. It's fine. ]
[Suppressing a bigger smile when he gets that shit-eating grin on his face, Daisy weakly shoves at her shoulder before looking up at the ceiling. She really should get up, but staying here also seemed like a great idea. At the very least she should grab some more pain reliever if she wanted to get through the day without her head pounding.
Sheβs about to get up when Bucky is suddenly on top of her, and just as quickly is he off of her before she even has time to fully process it. Daisy wouldnβt be surprised if he wanted to bail now that they were awake, after how last night went...
A smile breaks out on her face this time when he offers to get her coffee. She almost tells him not to, but, it would give her a few minutes alone with her thoughts.]
Black, and there should be sugar packets next to the machine if you could bring me three?
[While heβs gone she quickly looks at her phone before tossing it to the end of the bed. Pulling her knees up, Daisy replays what happened last night in there head. Trying to think of anything she mightβve done wrong but coming up blank. Maybe it should feel awkward, but she canβt find any reason for it to be.]
[ It's not the simple glass carafe he's used to, but he finds a complicated-looking coffee machine bolted into place in the kitchen — smart, when it's a plane that might wind up dipping and turning or jolting around during turbulence — and he eventually puzzles through the buttons enough to get some piping hot black coffee out of it and into two SHIELD-branded mugs. Bucky pours in the sugar, stirs the coffee, and then makes his way back, eventually slipping into Daisy's quarters and nudging the door shut again behind him. There was a bottle of painkillers sitting on a shelf right outside (a gift from the doctor, maybe), and so he brings that with him, too.
The man settles down on the edge of Daisy's bed, his weight sinking the mattress beside her, and he gently lobs the painkillers at her, then holds out the hot mug, his metal fingers gripping the edges so he can offer her the handle without minding the burning heat. Bemused: ]
Exactly three sugar packets?
[ He's restless this morning, but there's also a fondness in his gaze when he looks at Daisy, sitting back down on that cramped bed next to her. ]
[He's not gone long, but Daisy is quickly brushing out her unruly hair with her fingers and cleaning up the bed as much as she can. When she hears him approaching she moves to sit back down on the bed, wishing she had her clothes in here so she could switch into something less ridiculous of doughnut printed PJ pants. Her other pajamas were dirty, okay?!
Smiling when he opens the door, Daisy manages to catch the pill bottle from him.]
Thanks.
[Taking out two, she grabs the coffee cup from him and drinks some so she can down the pills. Rolling her eyes fondly when he calls her out for the amount of sugar packets she uses.]
You're telling me you don't get specific with your coffee?
[Despite it being hot, Daisy is so used to burning her tongue that she takes another sip before scooting back on the bed so her back is against the wall. Whether he decides to sit on the edge of the bed, or scoot back with her is up to him. She takes a look at him from over the rim of his coffee mug, now that the window is open she can really see the lack of scrapes bruising on his body.]
So that's it? Overnight your body just repairs itself?
Nope. You saw me down at Coney Island. Black coffee, no frills. [ He blows on said coffee, cooling his down, hands wrapped contemplatively around the mug before he takes a sip. He's still perched on the edge, but after a moment it feels too much like it means he's ready to bolt — one metaphorical foot in, one foot out the door — so he slides back into the bed, his back to the wall and right shoulder against Daisy's. There's no particular script for this kind of sleepover, so he's just. Winging it.
Her question thankfully gives him something to focus on that isn't the warmth of her shoulder and her knee so close to his, though. Ugh. He really isn't used to this. ]
Not everything. It's not like I can, I dunno, regrow missing fingers. It's not a superpowered healing factor or anything.
[ If there were mutants like that out there, they'd successfully stayed off the general public's radar. So far. ]
So it's just the same thing your body does, just... quicker. Like how my metabolism's quicker. Immune system's stronger, cells repair faster, I guess. I haven't caught a cold in... Well, ever since.
[Daisy teases, trying to hide her delight when he moves to sit next to her on the bed by taking another sip of her coffee. Passing a glance at his metal arm again, Daisy looks up at him with an almost guilty expression if he caught her staring at his arm.
Thereβs still so many questions she has, and sheβs sure Fitz-Simmons have even more. Honestly sheβs surprised neither of them have come busting in. Maybe Jemma learned her lesson.]
So youβre not a lizard, got it.
[Leaning over the bed to put her mug on the floor for now, Daisy ignores the head rush she gets as she moves up again. Jemma has gotten on her before about drinking more water, but coffee is mostly water anyway.]
Now youβre just bragging.
[Clearly she doesnβt mind with that affection smile on her face.]
Maybe I am, [ Bucky says, with a flash of a grin at her pointing out his bragging. Some more of that pain-in-the-ass humour he mostly tends to wield around people like Sam. But her next comment gives him pause, thinking it over. ]
And nope. I mean, it makes sense that maybe HYDRA wouldn't have gotten the serum mixture right, but it seems like they recreated it fine.
[ Not everybody knew the real circumstances of what had happened to him — his pardon had been vague, trying not to publicly announce the sergeant's HYDRA-conditioned vulnerabilities to the world — but Daisy was SHIELD, so he figured she was already privy to some of the declassified information. He'd worked closely with the organisation's precursor in the form of the SSR, and SHIELD held most of the details on him. ]
Guess I'll never say never, but— it's lasted this long. So it seems pretty permanent.
[Daisy's smile fades when he brings up HYDRA. She can only imagine how awful that must've been for him, hell, it still has to be for him at times. Last night was a prime example of that. Having had her own personal experiences with HYDRA, she wishes they'd just disappear for good, but she just doesn't see that happening.]
I'm sorry.
[For bringing up bad memories, for him having to go through all of that.
Quickly she changes subjects, not wanting to make this conversation depressing as hell.]
I gotta ask. What's with the flip phone? You know it's the 21st century, right?
[And Daisy is a tech nerd, so it pains her to see him with such dated technology.]
[ He leans over, fishes for his phone on the bedside table and then turns it end-over-end in the palm of his hand, bemused. ]
It does what I need it to. I can make calls and text. I can play Snake. The smartphones just seem kinda overwhelming. Like, why do phones have to be smarter than I am?
[ Something warms unexpectedly in his chest at that. Just that small reassurance of someone actually wanting to see him, to be around him. It's something so easy to take for granted until you've been without it. Trying to pick through his words and decide what to say in return (while, meanwhile, that mountain grinds in his ribcage), he settles on: ]
I could make an exception for you.
[ a beat, then: ] And, I mean. You've got a pretty nice face I wouldn't mind looking at, either.
[ Uggghhhhh, Buck, why you gotta be such a dork— ]
[ Phones were expensive these days. Smartphones were ludicrously expensive compared to what he was used to. That was the other thing holding him back, but he'd get there eventually. He takes another sip from his coffee, head tipping back against the wall of the plane, feeling that faint vibrating hum all around them. ]
So do you guys just... stay up in the sky? All the time? Where do you land?
[ The logistics of all these agents living on the Bus was starting to pique Bucky's curiosity. How in the hell did it work? ]
[It takes a minute for it to hit her, he was willing to spend money on a phone just so they can talk. Her stomach does another flip, but she tries to keep her expression neutral.]
We land when we need to, where we need to. Sometimes weβre grounded for a day, but usually itβs only when we need to refuel or get called in.
[ There's a small teasing lilt to his voice, but then Bucky turns serious again, his words careful as he doesn't meet her eye for a moment. ]
You sure that'd be okay? I can't imagine I'm... your employer's most favourite person.
[ He'd never exactly planned on crossing this particular bridge, and still doesn't plan on going into it in detail, but it felt necessary to at least address. Accepting SHIELD's charity feels strange, ill-fitting. (There's a few names tucked away in his notebook. Relatives of agents he'd killed.) His debt to this agency, to what the SSR became, is hazy and still undefined. ]
[ There's a flicker that crosses his face, a faint wince, although he lets her take his hand. Bucky's still slumped against the wall and he glances down at her hand; his thumb hooks around one of her fingers, just the slightest anchoring contact. Bare skin-to-skin touch, even something as small as fingers grazing, still feels new to him. ]
It still happened, though. Doesn't change that fact.
[ The Winter Soldier had torn through the SHIELD pilots like a wrecking ball, leaving devastation in his wake on that helicarrier. If Daisy had been there at the time—
God. He doesn't want to ask this. Still doesn't want to cross this bridge, especially on the heels of such a nice evening and morning, but if not now, he's not sure they'll ever trip into it again. And something something, facing the past. That's what he's supposed to be doing. Isn't it? ]
[Daisy breaks eye contact with Bucky when he brings up a question she feared he might ask. Not because she at all saw this as his fault, but because she hasnβt thought about all of that in a while. It brings up a lot of bad memories for her. Wardβs betrayal, Fitzβs brain damage. All of it comes to the forefront of Daisyβs mind.]
Ironically? Just becoming an official field agent for SHIELD. Then SHIELD fell, soβ
[Daisy smiles sadly, eyes lifting to meet his, she shrugs.]
[ Bucky waves his metal hand, the one that isn't still interlinked with hers; gesturing to her quarters, the massive plane around them. ]
You came back to the organisation. You guys must have been rebuilding.
[ He doesn't actually know very much of what had happened with SHIELD in the years in-between; it's one of the blank spots on the map that he hadn't gotten to pay attention to, while he'd had so much else going on. Living on the run or being sequestered away in Wakanda, off-grid. ]
[Daisyβs smile brightens a little when he points that out.]
Never stopped really, even when we werenβt official for a while.
[Maybe it was stupid. How much she just wanted that badge to mean something. She didnβt have many goals growing up other than to find her parents. So to want to work towards something, it just meant a lot to her.
This couldnβt be easy for him to hear or talk about, so she tries to give him an out.]
We donβt have to keep talking about it, if you donβt want to.
[ He hesitates, trying to figure out if he does want to keep going down this road. He'll have more questions down the line, probably. This is the organisation born from the SSR; the one that thawed Steve; employed Nat for a while; put together the Avengers. It feels like Bucky's been nipping at their heels for decades now, circling them, with all these unexpected, vague connections to his life. ]
I don't think I have any more questions right now, really, except—
[ His voice is faint, bemused and a little disbelieving: ] Is my name actually carved on a wall at headquarters?
[She does a decent job of hiding her concern when he makes it clear he's going to ask something else, but her eyes light up immediately when he asks her about the wall of valor.]
It is.
[Would the next part freak him out? Or would it brighten his day? She risks bringing it up anyway.]
You're in history books too. Non-SHIELD ones. Not that I paid much attention in school, but, I definitely recognized your name on that wall because of history class.
Oh, god. [ Bucky untangles his hand from hers in order to bury his face in his hands — but it doesn't sound like he's miserable or freaked out, more just the sheepish, bashful reaction of someone who still has absolutely no idea how to accept that particular fact. ] And I thought I'd just come to terms with having a plaque at the Smithsonian.
[ That was never going to not be weird. His old clothes were there, propped up on a standee alongside the other Howling Commandos' uniforms. ]
Somehow it was easier if I just thought, like, it was Steve's exhibit, and I was just a footnote there. [ His hands sink and he peers at her again, warily. ] What do the history books say? Is it just the usual stuff? Captain America's childhood friend, fought HYDRA, died heroically falling off a train?
[ There's something rueful in his voice; at least he's able to half-joke about it. (He can joke about it as long as he doesn't touch on the other half. The 'shouldn't all those history books be revised and my name be scratched off the Wall of Valor, because I'm actually still alive and I killed a bunch of you' part.) ]
[Eyes lighting up, Daisyβs smile only grows at his reaction. She doesnβt think heβs actually mortified, which is why she doesnβt hide how sheβs on the verge of laughing.]
Basically, yeah. I mostly just remember when they showed us footage in class and I thought:
βWow. That guy is cute, and so is that James guy.β
[ Somewhere partway between sheepishness, still, but also feeling a strange sort of charmed and flattered. For a second, Bucky doesn't think anymore about how the most famous footage is from immediately after the liberation of the POW camp; doesn't think about how haggard and tired he often looked in the reels. (It was war; everyone was tired.) ]
That old footage was garbage. Sepia and all jumpy, and scratched up from being transported overseas. Nowadays you have like... what d'you call it? High-def hotties.
[ He's somewhere partway between mortified and amused, and this just digs the hole deeper as he bites back another laugh. He'd shove her, if he didn't have superstrength. ]
I just mean pictures! Pictures are really high-quality these days! You can practically see people's pores!
[ Years and years before he was this stony-faced shell of himself, he'd been a goof, once upon a time. With her, around her, Bucky can feel himself slowly coming back to that version of himself. ]
Hey, Agent Johnson, I'll remind you that you specifically asked for video calls. That means you're gonna have to suffer through my overblown pores. So. As long as you're okay with it.
[ instead of pushing her, he does lightly knock his shoulder against hers, companionably. it's? nice?? just being able to joke around like this, and to be so increasingly comfortable with each other. ]
[Daisy bites back a laugh when he teasingly calls her βAgent Johnsonβ. Letting out a sigh, she pretends to act as though it would be a real struggle.]
Iβll just move my phone further away so I canβt see them in detail.
[Smiling wide when he knocks his shoulder into hers, Daisy looks down at her coffee mug, suddenly feeling a little shy.]
As messed up as last night was, Iβm glad we got to spend time together.
[Daisy peeks at him from the corner of her eye before lifting her gaze to make eye contact with him again.]
[ A kind of fleeting panic crosses his face — oh no, is she talking about the kiss, has he made a huge mistake — but then he puts two-and-two together a moment later. Jesus. He'd almost completely forgotten about the HYDRA agents, despite them being the whole reason they'd wound up on this helicarrier like this, patched-up and practically evacuated from the city streets. ]
Oh. Right. Yeah. Man, I actually almost forgot. [ It is, almost literally, just another day in the life for Bucky Barnes. But now his own smile is broadening, charmed and surprised by her unexpected shyness. He's not used to seeing Daisy bashful. ]
I mean, I think I might owe some thanks to that attempted kidnapping. Watching movies with you in person is— way better.
[ How do you say 'hey I enjoyed the makeouts, let's do that again sometime'? He has no idea, and so he doesn't even try yet. ]
[Eyes widening briefly when he seems to be drawing a blank, Daisy wonders if maybe she should have Jemma check on him again. Just in case.]
Should I be concerned?
[Daisy asks teasingly, smile widening when he, in so many words, brings up what happened last night. It feels good to have that confirmation that she wasn't the only one who enjoyed herself.]
Which means I am gonna force you to rewatch it someday, by the way. It's genuinely one of my favourites.
[ #priorities, Bucky!! But even he seems to acknowledge it a moment later, his grin turning self-conscious, knowing — the movie, for all that it's a fave, ranks somewhere pretty far low on the list of considerations from last night.
Which. Speaking of. ]
But yeah, we did get, uh, pretty distracted.
[ He still doesn't know how to say it, so maybe this will say it for him. He carefully sets his coffee aside on her endtable, and then scoots closer on the bed in order to lean in and catch Daisy's mouth in another kiss, trying not to knock over her own coffee cup in doing so. Stealing a moment, before the doctor walks in again or the plane lands or HYDRA attacks again or the day just marches relentlessly onwards and he loses his opportunity or his nerve. ]
[Daisy teases, her smile growing as her stomach flutters in excitement. They're making plans to see each other again, so clearly she's not the only one who feels something here.
He only furthers prove that when, suddenly, he's scooting closer to her. Heart hammering in her chest, Daisy's eyes fall to his lips just before he leans in. Cup of coffee resting against her lap, Daisy reaches up with her free hand to cup the side of his face, smiling against his lips before she kisses him back.
Coffee breath be damned.
Daisy pulls back for a minute, realizing she's still holding onto the cup and reaches over to place hers next to his own.]
Really don't want either of us to get burned.
[Daisy says, her face flushed as she laughs before leaning into kiss him again.]
[ She hadn't intended it, but those words hold a meaning on so many levels even beyond the coffee.
Really don't want either of us to get burned. They could both be hurt so easily by this — unaccustomed to romantic relationships, to vulnerability, to placing your heart in someone else's hands, to risking this with each other after their respective wounds. He hadn't dated seriously even back in the old days, before the war. He'd been more carefree and that had meant no commitments, just glancing fleeting entanglements.
Now, today, everything came with strings and with baggage. A kiss means more. Means unbricking those longstanding impenetrable walls.
But Bucky doesn't want to think about it. Can't even begin to define what this newfound possibility is between them. Don't want either of us to get burned. So heΒ avoids the two cups of coffee they'd set on the table, and he kisses her, and Daisy leans back into him, and together they can start to fall into this— whatever it is. ]
"How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you."
Well, that had been a damn lie, hadn't it. It seemed that the instant Bucky had left her for good, the second he shipped off for real, Steph went and did something monumentally stupid: she signed up to be a test subject for a military project so secret that she didn't even understand what it was supposed to be when she signed her name on the dotted line.
Look. She's not stupid, despite all evidence to the contrary. Without Bucky around to help her cover rent, with her ill health preventing her from getting factory work, without generous family members around who might bail her out in an emergency, the best she could hope to scrounge up to survive on would be a single bed in a boarding house full of other women, someplace probably damp and crowded, with no heat in the winter and no shade in the summer, somewhere that would only make her already numerous health problems even worse.
What did she have to lose?
Nothing. Which is why she let herself be assessed by a parade of scientists, why she hardened her expression and didn't react when she could hear them talking about "wasting the serum on someone like her," why she didn't let herself think about the possibility that maybe Bucky would come home after all, and what if something happened to her instead? He'd be furious with her for getting herself offed somehow when his back was turned, but she couldn't focus on that thought at the time. Besides, he was doing exactly that to her, wasn't he?
Stepping into that iron coffin had felt like dying for real. Her overwhelming memories of that day are ones of excruciating pain, the kind that makes you think that Hell is real, the kind that tears you out of your own head in an effort to save your mind while your body gets ripped apart and re-made.
Colonel Phillips was pleased to see her stagger out of Stark's contraption. If that serum could turn a weak little runt like her into a movie star, then think of what it could do for an actual soldier. Think of what an asset it would be, to have an entire squadron of men that were taller, broader, stronger than the average soldier. Think of how quickly they could win the war!
It's hard to think back to that day, and not just because she had to watch Dr Erskine bleed out beneath her feet as her body buzzed with adrenaline and sweat cooled at the hollow of her throat. It feels like a million years ago, even though she knows it's only been a few months. It feels like it happened to a different person. She knows she's lucky that the army decided to make her useful instead of locking her in some lab somewhere to let people run tests on her to try and recreate Dr Erskine's work. She's grateful she's not spending her days strapped to a table under a bright light while her blood is stolen and bits of her are excised.
But does she really have to do high-kicks all the time?
At least the other girls are sweet to her. There's a little awkwardness, sometimes, since Steph isn't really very good at all the peripherals of womanhood — she can put on her own makeup, more or less, but she's hopeless at doing her own hair, and has to beg some of the other girls to help her set it every night — but they get along well enough, and she's never dropped a single dancer when she lifts them up over her head, not even once. It's kind of nice, having girlfriends. She still desperately misses Bucky, though.
Maybe after the show tonight she can ask around, see if anyone has any idea where the 107th is stationed. Even if they're not on part of her tour, she might be able to get someone to get a letter to him, wherever he is. She hopes he's being safe. He better be, or she's going to kill him.
The opening chords for her act start to play, deafeningly loud from the speakers set nearby, and she shakes herself out of her idle thoughts. Linking pinkies with the girls she'll be dancing with, she lets them complete the ritual she's grown so used to after all these shows, each of them leaning in to kiss the air above the other's cheek so no makeup is smudged, a quick good-luck before they dart on stage.
Taking a steadying breath, Stephanie tosses her hair over her shoulders, straightens her spine, and sweeps on stage. ]
yells i love it! mine also... spiraled out of control
[ The men of the 107th literally drew lots to see who got to be on leave tonight and go see the show.
Names were plucked out of a colonel's steel-pot helmet while soldiers shifted their weight restlessly from foot-to-foot, bumping shoulders in disorderly lines. Order has broken down overseas, lost somewhere in their damp clothes and soggy boots and brittle coughs and those haggard shadows under their eyes. Not enough sleep, not enough reinforcements: fresh troops keep being promised and promised and promised, and every time they finally do arrive, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed from boot camp, they're ill-prepared and often just wind up being meat for the grinder. Most of them won't survive the next month.
War is hell, but for just one night, a few of them get to cluster together and listen to the tinny music and hoot and holler as the pretty women high-kick their way across the stage, led by their new supposedly-superpowered mascot.
James Barnes is one of the winners tonight, and like everybody else, of course he's seen the posters. (He doesn't recognise her in the pictures, behind the mask. This primped and preened and perfectly-coiffed creature doesn't resemble the Steph he remembers, and they don't put her name anywhere on the posters either. The symbol and the product matters more than the woman.)
He's tired, bone-deep tired, but knows that a few more hours of restless sleep back in his cot won't help, either. He's lucky to have gotten his name pulled. So he should enjoy this. The man beside him is laughing uproariously at the performers, Show a little more leg, darlin' — and once upon a time Bucky's sure he might have enjoyed this, he was a skirt-chaser, he always did like women, so isn't he supposed to enjoy this?
But it's when he finally sees her in the flesh, rather than grainy newspaper photographs or stylised illustrations, that Bucky suddenly leans forward on his bench, frowning at the sight. It can't be. Surely it's not.
It's like seeing Stephanie Rogers' taller sister up on that stage, all pin curls and smiles and glowing skin. Some of it is the blush; she had never bothered with makeup around him, not the boy she'd grown up with, the one who'd taken her under his wing like a brother (at least, they'd always both told themselves it was like a brother). She's taller, healthier, fit enough to keep up with all of the other athletic women on the stage. It doesn't make any sense, and neither does the way she's able to lift them without breaking a sweat, carrying a bench laden with other dancers.
He's leaning forward, hands against his knees, all of his attention riveted forward with an avid intensity. What, you never seen girls before, Barnes? someone else asks beside him, but he ignores them.
He drinks in this impossible sight, and he waits it out. After the show wraps (along with calls for encores), it does seem to have managed to revive the soldiers' spirits, at least a little. They disperse towards the mess tent, while Bucky goes and waits where the performers are. He sees some of them eventually file out, dressed in more normal clothes (there's fewer sequins, for one), but there's no Steph yet. He's fidgeting, worried about someone accusing him of being a peeping tom trying to sneak in on the dancers — but finally, he just goes ahead and asks an aide where Liberty Belle is kept. He's pointed in the direction of her own small tent being used as impromptu dressing room — and in lieu of having an actual door to knock on, he clears his throat and calls out instead. ]
Heard they were keeping a pain-in-the-ass named Rogers back here.
[ Is he about to accidentally walk in on her changing? Maybe. ]
[ It's different, performing for soldiers spread out on rickety folding chairs in a muddy field-turned-army camp. She's used to auditoriums, used to stage lights and an orchestra pit, used to not really being able to see the faces spread out in front of her because the light in her eyes is too bright and the rest of the room is too dark.
Doing the whole song and dance routine out in bright sunshine with dozens of weary faces looking up at her is like a punch to the gut.
She thought she was helping? She thought that The Liberty Belle was somehow assisting the war effort? No. These men were helping. These men, who fought, and who died, who gave up everything to defend the country they loved, they were the real heroes. She's just a chorus girl, pretty, and stupid, and ultimately useless.
She tries not to look at the soldiers' faces too closely. She doesn't want to see them either lusting after her or too dead-eyed to care. It unsettles her deeply.
Still, she's been doing this long enough that she can fake it pretty well now, and she's even memorized all her dialogue to such a degree that she can just shut herself down mentally and open her mouth to let the words fall out, ringing out across the assembled men hunched in front of her without the need of a microphone to assist.
Once the set is over, and after the multiple encores have been performed, she slips away as quickly as she can, trying to hide in the small knot of dancers so she won't have to keep up her public facade and smile and flirt with the soldiers milling around. It's not that she's unappreciative of their attention — this is the first time in her life any man other than Bucky has actually seemed interested in her, although most of the time men nowadays are more interested in her tits or her legs and not in what she has to say — but she's tired, and guilty for reasons she can't explain, and she wants to get back to her tent so she can write to Bucky.
Getting out of her costume is an easy enough thing after all this time, shucking the star-spangled skirt and her striped bustier, peeling her stockings off her legs and wiggling her toes now that they're released from their high-heeled prison, and then it's time to take off the rest of her get-up, starting with her war paint.
She's in the middle of applying cold cream to melt her makeup when she hears a man's voice call out near her door, a man's voice that asks for her by name, a man's voice that sounds like...
No. It can't be. ]
Hold on! [ she replies, taking a tissue and wiping at her face hastily to remove the cream and the makeup beneath, smearing mascara around her eyes until she looks like a raccoon. ] I'll be there in a second! [ Rubbing roughly at them with a fresh tissue, she gets the worst of the kohl removed and then hurries to adjust her civilian clothes so she looks presentable and won't give whatever soldier it is who's bold enough to loiter outside her tent a show he didn't sign up for before rushing to the 'door' and smiling as she pulls it aside. ]
Did you want an autogra—oh. Oh, Bucky. [ She stares at him for a moment, stunned despite the fact that she knew she recognized his voice, then takes a step forward, barefoot and uncaring about the mud, and flings her arms around him to hug him tightly while she tries not to tremble. ] It's really you.
[ She steps right out into the cold clammy mud and flings herself unthinking into his arms, where Bucky catches her with a small oof and a breath against the top of her head, his arms instinctively going around her and lifting her off that freezing ground— and the most disorienting thing, really, is how inexplicably taller Steph is. How much less distance there is for him to pick her up and spin her into a crushing hug. Her newfound height brings her closer to his face, buried in the crook of his neck rather than pressed low against his chest where she used to be, and so the center of balance is all off, unexpectedly different: her body is sturdy muscle beneath his hands rather than a mere slip of a thing, the skinny little mutt she'd been.
It looks like her, sounds like her, her blonde hair even smells like her, and yet. ]
And it's really you. What the hell. I thought you were smaller?
[ Bucky doesn't let go of her yet, where her arms are still wrapped around his neck and swept up in his embrace; he just frog-walks them both into the tent, and only then sets her back down once they're safely inside. He leans back and peers down as if she's somehow hiding invisible six-inch heels, but instead it's just her bare, muddy feet wiggling on the floor of the tent. Thankfully, the skirt and the bustier have been swapped out, so he's able to politely snap his gaze back to her face, his glacier-blue eyes poring over her features, mapping it to what he remembers of the friend he left behind in New York.
There's a little bit of kohl still smeared at the corner of Steph's eyes. His hand reaches up, absentmindedly wipes that small clump of it away— and then he realises how close they're standing and he takes a genteel step away, clears his throat. Bashful in a way he never had been, before. Hearing half a fieldful of men openly salivating over his best friend's calves had been a surreal experience. ]
I thought Liberty Belle was just a publicity thing. But you're really...
[ Healthy? Strong? Superpowered? He's not sure what word to fill in that blank. Marveling, he finally says: ]
You lifted that bench of girls like it was nothing.
[ If she's conscious that they're in the middle of an army camp and there are dozens of people going to-and-fro around them, people who might be witness to Miss Liberty Belle flinging herself at an enlisted man like she's his patiently-waiting bride reunited after a long separation — (wait, is that assumption really that far off?) — she doesn't seem to care at all; she lets Bucky sweep her up in his arms and whirl her around, lifting her feet and clinging to his shoulders probably a little too hard, but it's too difficult to remember to be careful when she's so goddamn relieved.
Basic packed on a bit more muscle on his frame than working at the docks was able to do, and even being in an active war zone living on Army rations hadn't been enough to erase all that breadth. He feels solid and real in her arms, and yet she's still half-convinced she's dreaming somehow. ]
You're here.
[ She laughs as he marches her back into her tent, his arms still snugly wrapped around her, and she obliges by clinging on a little bit longer and keeping her knees bent, her feet kicked up behind her like a careless child being hauled around.
She's put on a good six inches and seventy pounds of muscle since he's last seen her, her body still feeling alien to her, like a suit of armor she's shrugged into and not herself, but with Bucky here in front of her, she's felt the most like herself that she has in months. ]
I wasn't— I didn't know if— Where you'd be stationed. I hoped someone could tell me, but I didn't think that— You're alright. Oh, Bucky.
[ She lets him thumb at the corner of her eye, her lashes dipping as he strokes her cheek gently, her own hands settling on his chest because it just feels natural to let them land there. It's a much easier maneuver to pull now that she's almost as tall as he is.
Going a little bit pink when he steps away from her, she chews her lips, still faintly stained from her lipstick. ]
You're going to be cross as two sticks when I tell you...
The mail's been pretty unreliable for a while, like, they try to get messages through, but with everything the way it is—
[ The line slipping forward and back as they won and lost ground, temporary outposts being set up and then collapsing, taking refuge in little Italian towns and then moving onwards, mail carriers trying to get their deliveries through without losing them across hundreds of miles of mud and wire. There really wasn't much stability in their lives. Those little letters from home are a lifeline for these men, signed with a kiss or a photograph from sweethearts in hometowns. Bucky had gotten one from his sister in Indiana; had double-checked the envelope at the time, half-hoping but not expecting a second one from Stephanie. Having her inexplicably here in person, though, is a far better alternative.
Peering around the tent, he surveys the relative luxury that they've set her up in, better than what the other girls have had to share and make do with. There's the trove of makeup, tubes of lipstick scattered like bullets across the tabletop, stacks of signed Liberty Belle prints, some stockings draped over the back of the chair—
Blushing slightly, Bucky's gaze snaps back to hers. There's still open curiosity on his face, and a bit of confusion. Because now, standing so much closer to her than when he'd seen her on stage, there's really no hiding it. Out there, maybe he could've convinced himself that it was makeup and heels and wires, stagecraft like an elaborate magic trick. But. He'd felt Steph's body under his hands when she'd hugged him. You couldn't fake that. ]
[ She nods along as he talks, words bubbling up inside her the way they haven't in so long; chatting with the other dancers has a different quality to it than conversations with Bucky ever did. With the other girls, she's much more aware of the fact that she's different than them, that while they've all seen each other naked and helped each other dress and checked to make sure nothing was showing where it shouldn't, they still hold her apart from them just a little, just enough that she's always aware that she should probably hold her tongue and not let loose with the sharp truth of her opinions. ]
I guess you didn't get the one I sent last month? [ She hadn't really expected a response, but she figures he would have made an effort. Bucky was always good about that sort of thing. ] I was gonna write you another tonight, but I guess now I don't have to.
[ Her tent really isn't much to write home about, but she's got her own cot and a little folding desk and chair, squeezed in beside her trunk with all her clothes and costumes stuffed inside. It seems whatever she went through to get her body to change so drastically, it didn't change the fact that she's far messier than she'd like to be, distracted so often by her thoughts and everything she has to do that she forgets to tidy up unless she has to. Or unless someone's around to nag her into doing it.
Ever since Bucky left her, her life's been lacking in many different ways.
Chewing on her lip for a little bit longer, she stares up at him like she's memorizing his face before taking a breath and letting it out with a little huff of a sigh, no hitch or rattle or any of the other symptoms in that breath like she used to battle every day. ]
[ The surprise cuts through him, ripping loose that burst of profanity before he can pull it back — but then again, neither of them had ever really reined themselves in with each other. A childhood running loose on the streets together had eroded boundaries and propriety between them until he'd always just treated her as another one of the boys, the pair of them thick as thieves. His mouth's only become more worthy of being scrubbed out with soap after joining the army.
This was exactly the sort of thing he'd told her not to do. Cross as two sticks, indeed. Bucky paces to the other side of the tent, scrubs at his face with a hand, running it through his hair — which is shorter than usual, cut brutally short to military specification, although his stubble's been growing in rougher than it ever did back stateside.
When Bucky wheels around and paces back and faces her again, he's biting down on that anger, which really just masks his concern. He reaches thoughtlessly outward, his fingertips grazing against Steph's bicep. Muscle. Clear-cut muscle, the kind that she'd never managed to put on even when he was training her in boxing. For self-defense, he'd said at the time. You gotta be able to protect yourself from these lowlifes when I'm not around. ]
So the things they say about Liberty Belle— the program actually worked? It really did... all this to you? Turned you into some kind of, of superwoman?
[ Honestly, at this point in their lives, Bucky swearing doesn't even make her blink; he'd always been pretty good at holding his tongue around her poor sainted Catholic ma, but Stephanie's been stuck to his side like a burr since they were little, and he's always treated her just like anyone else, so it stands to reason she's pretty damn used to how he talks. The only reason she'd startle at this outburst is from the vehemence of it, not the words themselves.
Though, truth be told, she was sort of expecting it.
He all but flings himself away from her, stalking across her tent in a few long strides, and she finds herself standing barefoot where he left her, her hands settling on her hips as she grits her jaw and tries not to snap back at him. Bucky's temper has always been a bit of a spark for her own, the two of them like flint and tinder, always mere seconds from setting each other off. She needs to bite back that impulse right now.
She's had months to get used to the new direction her life has taken. Bucky's only had a few minutes. She can give him some time. ]
It ain't like that, Buck, jeez. [ It's exactly like that, actually. Bucky used to be able to wrap his hand around her arm and have his fingertips all but overlap. Now, she's pretty sure if he tried to grab her biceps like that, it would be a whole 'nother story, and it has nothing to do with the thickness of her blouse. ] It worked, but... [ She waves her hand around her tent, encompassing the stockings and her sequined bustier and the stupid little shield she carries where it lies tossed aside against her chest. ] This has nothing to do with why I did it. I didn't want this.
[ Did she want to be strong? In an abstract sort of way. Did she want to be beautiful? Yeah, even if that wish made her feel shallow and silly. But more than all that, all Stephanie really wanted was to be healthy. She didn't think the pendulum would swing from one extreme all the way to the other, but here she is. Star of her very own vaudeville show, painted on the noses of fighter planes, flashing her knickers to hundreds of strangers every night. ]
[ She's used to waiting him out, and they're both used to navigating each others' moods, so Bucky finally pauses in the middle of the room and looks up to the ceiling of the tent, re-gathering himself. Deep breaths. He was supposed to be her rock, and vice versa; they'd always been there for each other, and even moreso after her mother had died and Steph had become an increasingly common sight at the Barnes residence, Bucky's ma constantly shoving food in front of the girl in the hopes that she'd put some meat on those bones. Not look so sickly-thin all the time.
That's changed now, but not exactly in the way he expected. ]
Then why did you do it?
[ His voice is softer now, calmer, as his gaze drops and he looks at her again. ]
And don't worry, I know it wasn't to be plastered on posters. You're not some glory hound. [ He waves a dismissive hand, as if the idea isn't even worth considering. Even in all their childish dreams of what they wanted to be when they grew up, showbiz hadn't exactly been on the list. While he's mulling it over and trying to come to terms with this impossibility standing in front of him, another thought suddenly occurs to him: ]
[ Just as they tend to set each other off at the drop of a hat, their tempers tend to cool just as quickly, so the sudden change from angry-upset-betrayed to something a lot calmer doesn't surprise her much, though she'd be lying if she said she wasn't relieved to watch his hackles lower.
He looks back at her just in time to watch her cross her arms over her chest, except that she's forgotten yet again that her chest has a lot more to it than it used to, and she can't fold her arms like that any more. Awkwardly untangling them, she tries to fold them under her chest instead, but that just serves to push things up even more than her brassiere does, so she lets her arms drop to her sides to dangle instead, her fingers curling into her palms. ]
I— [ Whatever she'd been about to say gets cut off by him flapping his hand at her dismissively, and while she knows Bucky isn't the type of man who'd think that of her, who'd think that her one goal in life is to be famous and adored, having him say it aloud lifts a burden from her shoulders she wasn't even really aware of carrying.
Hopefully the way her knees wobble with relief is hidden by her trousers, though she's pretty sure there's no hiding the soft noise trapped in her throat, something pitifully close to a whimper that she tries to turn into a sigh. ]
I wanted to help, [ is what she says in the end, instead of saying anything about not being able to stomach accepting the Barnes' charity any longer, about nights spent curled up in her lumpy little bed under a threadbare blanket half-hoping she'd fall asleep and never wake up again, just so she wouldn't have to keep surviving in the useless frail body she'd been saddled with.
She shakes her head at his question, opening her mouth to explain, but finding that the words just won't come. Rolling her lips between her teeth, she bites them hard enough to hurt, trying to keep her chin from wobbling. ] Just me.
[ His gaze accidentally drifts down when her movement shoves her bosom forward in her shirt, and then something just flat-out glitches in the back of his head. Cleavage. His best friend has cleavage, and holy shit, something just doesn't parse about that; she'd never had the sort of figure that men could sneak a peek at, before, but now—
Suddenly self-conscious, Bucky drags his attention back to her face. Again. He exhales. ]
Okay. Shit. I'm glad to see you here, Steph. Even if it's the last place I actually expected to see you show up—
[ This place. This place, with its misery, hollow-eyed soldiers and limping convalescents and mud and the knowledge that, sooner or later, they all get fed back into the machine again, and not all of them will be back a few months from now for the next high-kicking entertainment revue.
There's still something stunned in his demeanour, as he tries to wrap his mind around it. She wanted to help. Of course she did. It had driven her crazy when he'd enlisted, going to the place where she couldn't follow, even as a nurse. Knowing how inevitable her choice would've been, once it was offered, doesn't make him any less shocked by the transformation. ]
Are you... The the asthma, and your heart murmurs, and everything. How do you feel?
[ Peggy had taken her shopping, after the dust settled. There was no way she'd be able to fit in any of her old clothes, and borrowing some kit from the men would only take her so far.
She'd hated it, the shopping. Trying on clothes, letting other women stare at her and make considering noises, being pushed and prodded until she was standing on a little pedestal feeling like some sort of doll or fancy little dog, stiff and uncomfortable swaddled up in ways she wasn't used to.
Of course Bucky wouldn't be used to the things she's wearing either. All their lives, she'd made do with hand-me-downs or dresses she or her ma sewed herself. Plain, simple, sturdy. She'd never worn blouses with wide collars and gathered sleeves. She'd never worn trousers with cuffed hems and pleated waists. She'd certainly never worn dresses with artful darts to help the fabric cling in all the right places, or blazers with pads in the shoulders and shining brass buttons.
She assumes Bucky's staring is because of her clothes. ]
I wasn't gonna let you go off to war without me, [ she teases with a little laugh, sticking her hands in her pockets so they don't have to dangle at her sides any longer. ]
I feel... Bucky, I feel good. It's all gone. I'm... [ She takes a deep breath as if to demonstrate, her ribs expanding smoothly, and lets it out in a slow sigh. No hitching, no burbling, no coughing. Smooth as silk. ] Cured.
[ He can't help it, then: his paranoid suspicion and reservations and worries start to ebb and melt away in the face of Steph's laughter, her clear breath, that satisfied contentment to her voice. The fact that there's no unhealthy weedy rattle in the back of her throat, no thin reedy gasp to each breath as she struggled to get enough oxygen to her frail body. ]
Then it was worth it.
[ Bucky says it like an official conclusion, a firm and unwavering proclamation. Anything would be worth it compared to her being healthy again, in full fighting form, and no longer fretting that the next wave of flu might be the one that finally takes her out. ]
Flashing some knee is probably a pretty easy price, then, compared to kicking all those sicknesses. I just don't like seeing you here, this place is hell, but—
[ But there never was any stopping her once she set her mind on something. And just as quickly, Bucky makes a decision, too: ]
How long are you here? Can we grab a drink, catch up? The Brits have rum rations, I scored a small bottle by beating this one kid at poker— I was saving it for a special occasion, but if this ain't a special occasion, I don't know what is.
so in terms of my second experience with aliens ever, i can't say this one was that great.
[ he and sam had been sent out in response to a baffling distress call. when SHIELD explained that they thought it was aliens, sam had sent bucky a Look which made bucky fling an empty paper cup of coffee at the other man. "androids, aliens, wizards," sam had said again with a waggle of his eyebrows. "every damn time."
which is how the pair of them wound up fighting off horrible screaming things that kept trying to attach themselves to people's faces. one had latched onto bucky's vibranium arm, its mouthparts digging uselessly at the metal. he'd thought maybe they were related to tiny chitauri leviathans, but apparently there were more things and other kinds of aliens in heaven, earth, and space— as evidenced by the RAC agents who had showed up, and shown them how to neutralise the beasts. helped bail their asses out of the fire. ]
just think, soldier boy these were only the babies
[ baby aliens of an invasive species that, as far as dutch can tell, is intent on conquering the universe, terraforming planets to their particular brand of hellhole, and wiping out all of humanity.
she's not a fan. hasn't been since before she started a war because of their mother, really. (well, and her own sister/mother, but that's a whole other story and she's not going to get into that, thank you.) ]
sincerely, then: what the fuck. what are the adults like, and how much would i not want to meet one?
[ her suggestion is casual and easy enough but it makes him hesitate for a second, wondering— he couldn't even say the last time he went and bought drinks for a pretty woman. but drinks for a battlefield compatriot? that, he knows how to do. ]
what kind of drinks do suave, heroic secret agents from space like to drink?
[ he does a double-take at that one. sarcastic and mildly horrified: ]
cool. very cool. earth already fought off one alien invasion in broad daylight, so i guess maybe it was our turn to field an invasion of the body snatchers one.
and you might regret being that open-minded, just so you know. i've had some horrible swill in my time. like, moonshine-in-the-trenches level swill.
does that mean you go around politely cutting people to verify their blood? just asking out of, y'know, logistics.
and i might know a good hole-in-the-wall in new york that'll fit the bill. are you guys okay with being around in public on this planet?
[ you guys; leaving open the dangling possibility that she might want to drag her crew along. just in case he misinterpreted the one-on-one invitation. ]
nothing polite about it, usually, but yeah, sometimes. when there's doubt, yeah
i'm leaving the kids on the ship, but that's because they can't hold their liquor, not because they can't be trusted hanging around on strange planets that have barely discovered space travel
[ "the kids", like they aren't trained rac agents -- but the truth is that dutch is their leader and responsible for them and anything she gets them into, she'll get them out of, but they're not team awesomeforce, they're not hers the way johnny and d'avin and the rest of them were.
hey, the planet might be strange as hell but they did discover spaceflight a whole like 60 years ago.
[ which probably pales in comparison to the rest of the universe, but he can't help but stick up for earth just a little, teasingly. ]
guessing that's a hint that you can hold your liquor? i'm not trying to be an obnoxious showoff about this, either, but fair warning i'm an expensive drunk. enhanced metabolism.
although the rounds are on me, since i'm guessing you don't have local currency.
[ not. impressed. not that dutch has any right to take pride in spaceflight when she barely knows how a ship even functions. but hey, that's what nerds are for. and ship ais. ]
intriguing. but i think i can hold my own, yeah.
and you'd be buying even if i had what passes for joy around here. but i don't, so you're definitely buying. [ joy, of course, being the currency in the quad. ]
fair point. it's not like i've even been to space, so not sure why i'm even trying to argue it. [ answer: because bucky is a little shit and being contrary is his way of being friendly. ]
you're dutch, right? was kind of hard to hear the names between all the yelling.
[ and even after all these years, there's still a ghost of the polite midcentury boy there, a metaphorical tip of the hat: yes, ma'am. but then, a second later, although he should really get started on finding that dive bar and sending her directions, the curiosity gets the better of him first: ]
depends whether you mean in actual space or if planets count because pree's bar in old town, hands down, but that's planetside
i don't really care about space all that much one way or the other guy i know, johnny, now he's ready to cream his pants every time there's an asteroid, but that's not me
planets totally count. i've never been to another planet.
which means i guess i might be more in your pal johnny's camp about asteroids, but if i'm ever out there, i'll try to maintain my dignity
what's good about pree's bar? maybe i can try to find somewhere similar here
[ he is, secretly, a nerd. he's trying to play it cool but of course he would lose it over spaceβ even normal commercial airflight had been a relative novelty in his day. ]
if you make it worth my while, maybe i'll let you tag along for a little joyride to the nearest asteroid field might even give you a moment of privacy, if you need it real bad
[ dignity, what dignity? ]
i drink for free at pree's and i know the joint
[ it used to be something akin to home, as close to the notion as dutch knew how to let herself come. ]
[ she is and isn't and this probably isn't fair, but dutch wasn't raised to be fair. (she was raised to be a weapon, a killer, the kind of person who'd survive the transition to hullen, but that's neither here nor there.) ]
[ had he stolen a moment, during the whole 'oh dear fucking god an alien is trying to eat my face' chaos, to still pause and admire how the newcomer handled herself in a fight? yep. sure did. ]
it's the name of a country here on this planet. the people from it are dutch. i keep thinking it means you're from there somehow, but obviously that makes literally no sense
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
It's Daisy
You still up for that trip to Coney Island?
no subject
Flat-out completely forgotten about their original plans for Coney Island. Normally he really is a morning bird, but last night's sleep had been even more restless than usual, tossing and turning and going over the events of the night: that heady mixture of something he thinks might've been a good date for his first time in the better part of a century; fretting over whether she really thought it was a disaster; considering this new threat he'd heard of for the first time; wondering if he ought to mention it to Sam; preemptively girding himself for the eventual ribbing he'll probably get from Sam if he brings it up—
All of which means Daisy's text message wakes him up, Bucky jolting awake and pawing for his phone where it's sitting on the floor plugged into the wall beside his head. He stares at the message, blinking, his mouth muzzy. Thank god it's a text and not a call. He feels like death warmed over. (He always feels like death warmed over.) ]
i'm gonna need coffee to feel human again but yes, please
a jog will probably wake me up
you get home safe last night?
[ Of course she did, Buck, otherwise she wouldn't be texting you. He kicks himself a moment after he's already pressed send. ]
no subject
Maybe he wonβt even answer.
Sheβs about to pocket her phone when it buzzes. Her stomach does another flip as she reads his response.]
Yeah, I got home okay.
[About four hours after she left, and with a black eye forming. Jemma of course fussed over her, and she may or may not be sneaking out of the bus to go see him.]
Meet you outside the Starbucks near the subway??
no subject
[ The steady proliferation of Starbucks over the years has been annoying, unseating so many local coffeeshops, but at least it'll get him his fix. Bucky gets dressed quickly enough, waffling over his clothes for a moment, before finally just going for functional exercise-wear: joggers and a long-sleeved shirt, with a frayed hoodie tugged on over it. Gloves, as always. When he gets on the subway to Brooklyn, he's yawning, but the early-morning sunlight starts to scour away that tiredness. He's lost in thought when the train goes over the bridge; he stares out through the windows, automatically looking for the Statue of Liberty out in the water. It's a clear enough day that he can catch a glimpse of it, a distant washed-out green.
It's cheesy as hell, but he always looks for it. These fleeting glimpses over the bridge. Like a steady lodestone in his surroundings; something familiar to anchor the rest of this strange world by, to remind himself that some parts of New York just don't change. He hasn't irrevocably lost the city he grew up in.
When the subway's swallowed back up underground, Bucky lets himself drift a little: head tipped back against the wall, eyes closed and half-dozing while he waits for the last stop. Eventually, the train spits him back out at Coney Island, and he moves through the station — sunlight glittering through the murals, the rush of morning commuters, he's feeling almost dizzy and disconnected again, but maybe that's the sleep deprivation talking — and he beelines straight for the Starbucks. When he spots Daisy already in line, he moves up to join her. Flashes her a smile, approaching: ]
Hey. Morning.
no subject
Turning to look at him, a smile spreads across her face.]
Hey.
[She's at least attempted to cover the bruise, but when she had it wasn't nearly as bad as it was now so it's a shoddy job at best.]
Is it technically morning if you haven't slept yet?
[Daisy teases, and judging by the tired look on his face he hasn't gotten much sleep over.]
no subject
What the hell, Daisy.
[ Said, perhaps, with more familiarity than he should— more abject fondness for her than he should— but yesterday had been a long night by the time they'd parted ways. She already knew far more about him than he'd intended to let slip on a first, blind date, and he knew more about her than she was likely prepared to give away either. It was a shortcut to suddenly caring more.
It was a shortcut leading from his head to his shoulder to his arm, his right hand reaching unthinkingly out to graze his gloved fingers gently (it's odd, how his touch can still be so gentle) across the bruised hollow of Daisy's cheek, the swollen skin of her black eye. Haphazard makeup can only do so much. He traces the evidence of an evening gone ugly, not putting pressure on the skin lest he press too hard and make it hurt. She looks like hell, and that's on top of learning she hasn't even slept yet. ]
You said you got home okay. What the fuck happened last night?
no subject
I did, eventually.
[They're in a line, so she keeps her voice low.]
That guy's friends found me.
[AKA the Watchdogs.]
It's fine. I'm fine.
[And she is, she's dealt with far worse than this.]
no subject
[ Bucky doesn't sound exactly enamoured with the organisation — the fact that Nat had worked with them was the biggest thing in their favour — but he doesn't sound like he dislikes them, either. Mostly ambivalent. Steve et al had remained cordial with the agency, but the Avengers were no longer working under their heel. He supposed they were like most agencies: they were products of their people, and they had people who earnestly wanted to do the right thing.
Like Daisy.
They move a little further up in the crowded morning line, and Bucky takes up position on her bruised side, helping shield her face slightly from view. Hopefully it doesn't raise any suspicious eyebrows. ]
You know I wasn't kidding about calling me if you ever need backup. This is the kind of thing I'm used to dealing with.
You didn't need to— drag yourself down here just because we made plans, either. If you'd rather just go back to bed. I feel bad dragging you around if you haven't even slept.
[ Shoulders sloped, hands now slipped into his hoodie pockets; he's trying to give her an out. ]
no subject
Of course they are. It's just--
[She hadn't called for backup, and that included not calling her teammates.]
With them--
[The Watchdogs.]
It's personal.
[Daisy looks over at him, hoping he understood why she took care of them herself. Sure, maybe she's reckless at times, sue her. It's hard habit to break when she grew up learning to rely on only herself. Eyebrows lifting in surprise when he makes it clear, again, that he was ready to help her she has to stop herself from asking why.
Stepping up again in line, they're that much closer to the front door.]
What? No. I wanted to come. I'm just surprised you said yes.
[Daisy looks down at the ground, kicking a cigarette butt around.]
Especially after how last night went.
[Looking up at him again somewhat sheepishly, Daisy sees her opportunity to tease him again and takes it. Eyes narrowing in fake suspicion.]
Is this your way of saying you want to take me to bed?
no subject
[ And Daisy is now treated to the sight and sound of one James Buchanan Barnes flustered, the tips of his ears burning in a blush, as he holds open the door for them and they enter the coffee shop. He's unexpectedly easy to tease, and he always walks right into the trap. It's easier for him to shoot the shit with Sam, to banter and argue goodnaturedly back and forth with the other man, but he's rapidly discovering that around her, he gets tongue-tied whenever she presses that particular button.
This is really, really inconvenient. ]
I don't. I mean, I wouldn't not, you're very pretty— But that's not what I—
[ aaauuuuugh ]
I just mean sleep is important and what are you talking about, last night was fine.
no subject
The fact that he keeps talking as if she actually meant what she said was hilarious.]
I was joking. Chill.
[Daisy can hardly keep the smile off her face as she moves to lean against the wall. Okay, so maybe she was still a little drunk...]
It was. Until it wasn't. Then it was--
Oddly nice.
Then it got awkward again.
[She should just stop talking.]
no subject
[ He's chewing over his next thought, mulling over whether or not he should say what he's considering saying. You're not supposed to mention other women, or let on if there have been others. At least, he's pretty sure how that works. But there's a point to be made here, and so finally Bucky just swallows his reservations and makes it: ]
The last date a friend set me up with, I got too deep in my own head and just walked out on her. So. Us being interrupted by some renegade terrorist cell with an axe to grind against superhumans? That's way preferable, actually. At least that's not either of our faults. Can't exactly promise I'm good company, but I'd run away from criminals with you any day.
[ A nice recovery? Maybe? ]
no subject
Fuck HYDRA.
Her stomach does another flip and she wants to make herself believe it's just the alcohol, but she's felt that feeling before. It's never ended well for her when she's felt like this, but she can't help it.]
I dunno. You must be good enough company for me to show up at Coney Island at the ass crack of dawn--
[
And still drunk.They're next in line and Daisy already knows what she's ordering.]What do you want? My treat. Least I can do for last night.
no subject
[ "You mean a venti?" the tired cashier asks, and Bucky stares back for a moment, baffled, before agreeing.
"Which roast?"
He stares a little longer at the long list of available beans, lost with the overwhelming variety of choice, before his gaze snags on the Italian roast, mostly because of the moped on the bags. He points, and thank god, that's the ordering done.
Bucky exhales a breath beside her as he listens to the next customer beside them rattling off a long complicated order, like some kind of unintelligible pass-phrase. His next comment really does make him sound like a grumpy old man: ]
They made coffee too complicated.
no subject
Moving off to the side to wait for their order, Daisy doesnβt even try to hide her amusement.]
You have no idea what a venti is, do you?
[Reaching for the cake pops sheβs being handed, Daisy holds them out in front of her.]
Which one do you want?
no subject
Bucky eyes the two cake pops when she offers them, before accepting the cookie dough one with an automatic thanks. He tries a delicate bite while they wait for their orders, before they take their drinks and wander out into the dawn sunshine. He winds up having to wolf down the rest of the cake pop before it tumbles off the stick, but he looks pleasantly surprised, enjoying the flavour: ]
Okay. So some modern things aren't the worst.
no subject
Good choice.
[Daisy takes a bite out of her birthday cake one, watching his expression as he eats it she has to stop from laughing.]
Uh, I think you could say that about most things.
[Her cake pop falls off the stick but she manages to catch it in her hand. Fuck it. She shoves the whole thing in her mouth, just as her name is called for the drinks. She manages to say βThank youβ around a mouthful of cake. Swallowing thickly she hands Bucky his coffee.]
You sure youβre going to drink all of that?
[Daisy teases, having a feeling he had no idea just how big it would be.]
no subject
[ Bucky takes a swig of coffee. Already knows he's not going to finish this whole thing, especially if they're about to go running. ]
Where do you live?
[ It seems like a sudden jerk sideways, topic-wise, but he clarifies quickly enough: ]
As in, did it take you a while to get here? If it's the Bronx you must be like two hours away.
no subject
[Daisy corrects before taking a sip of hers. She has a very personal and intimate relationship with coffee. Okay, itβs a full blown addiction.
Sheβs about to answer his question when he makes another joke.]
I live on a plane, but I took the subway to get here. The team kind of has no idea I slipped out.
[Sheβs already prepared for angry voicemails and text messages, which is why she put her phone on silent.]
You want to go sit on the beach?
no subject
[ Is she kidding?? Daisy doesn't look or sound like she usually does when she's ribbing him, so he squints at her as they start moving across the boardwalk and towards the water. ]
Backtrack for a sec. You live on a plane?
no subject
Itβs kind of necessary when youβre basically always on call.
[
Unless you turn your phone on silent.]Never know when the next alien invasion might happen.
no subject
[ As he thinks about it, a dusty memory yawns its way to life in a series of disconnected images: a HYDRA infiltration. Moving his way steadily through one of said helicarriers. His fist; Steve's cheek. He makes a thoughtful noise. ]
I jumped off one once as it was crashing.
[ No big deal. ]
no subject
[Once they're close enough to the water, Daisy plops down in the sand and looks up at Bucky expecting him to do the same.
Wincing when he tries to relate to her, Daisy tries not to laugh.]
That sounds--
Fun.
[He was cute, even when he said stupid things.]
It's been a while since I've been to a beach.
no subject
[ Washing up on the beach after jumping out of that helicarrier didn't count. He's slipsliding slightly in the sand, but he finally hobbles slightly to slip off his jogging shoes and socks, which makes it easier to walk beside her and then settle on the sand by her side. The sand is cool for now, but once the sun rises, the heat will ratchet higher and higher. And it'll start heating the metal in his arm, too, until it becomes a burning brand.
Speaking of. While he takes another drink, he moves his left shoulder a little, thoughtfully, like he's working the rotator cuff. The joints in his arm don't like the salt in the water and the air, either. One of several reasons he hasn't enjoyed a day down at the beach for a while. He glances to the side, down the boardwalk, to where the ferris wheel and rollercoaster rises in the distance. ]
I used to come here all the time when I was a kid. Here, or the Rockaways.
Luna Park looks different. Glad they rebuilt it, though.
no subject
This has to be so weird for you.
[Daisy puts her drink down for now to wrap an arm around her legs as she leans into them.]
Thereβs things that are different from even the last time I was here , I can only imagine how jarring it is for you.
no subject
[ He and Steve had talked about that for a bit, too. Steve's experience when he was thawed: his panicked run out onto the streets, and that dizzying, overwhelming, mind-reeling view of what Times Square had become. Like a blow to the face.
Bucky had had the benefit of living through the decades, but he hadn't really experienced them either, only in choppy disconnected moments whenever he was woken from cryo and brought out for a mission. The memories were slippery, and didn't stick. It was like a procession of still images rather than a cohesive experience. Blink. The sixties. Blink. Seventies. Blink, blink, blink. The years sliding by in a blank colourless haze, and he hadn't properly woken out of his stupor until 2014. Until one day he'd finally woken up, and hadn't gone back under. ]
You said you grew up in Hell's Kitchen?
no subject
Which is ironic because now, without him realizing it, heβs asking her questions that she doesnβt really like to answer. Not when it leads to questions about her family.]
Yeah. I got out the moment I could though.
[Daisy tilts her head to look at him.]
LA is more my style.
[She leaves out the part where pretty much all of her memories here are not great.
She uses the uno reverse card on him.]
Brooklyn, right?
no subject
And yep. Born and raised.
[ A slight hesitation. It's that pause where, ordinarily, he'd be lying or evading or simply sitting silent right about now. It's unexpectedly strange knowing that he doesn't have to do that around her; that he can be a little more honest. So he gives it a shot: ]
I slummed it in Europe for a couple years when I was on the run. It was— kinda nice, actually, but coming home was better. Still can't really picture myself living anywhere else long-term, even if the city's all different.
no subject
Itβs the pants, isnβt it?
[Yoga wasnβt her thing despite May trying to teach her. Sheβs much rather take her emotions out by sparring, or in actual fights.]
Where in Europe did you live?
no subject
[ And he'd never stepped foot back in Russia, either, until circumstances with the Avengers had forced his hand. He still never intended to unless it was outright necessary. ]
How about you? Anywhere besides NYC and LA?
no subject
Would you ever go back to Prague?
[She sits up a bit straighter when he asks her about where else she mightβve moved to.]
I traveled cross-country to get to LA, does that count?
no subject
[ Another flicker at the corner of his mouth. It's... nice? just sitting in the sand, side-by-side, and talking. Waiting as that ever-present tension in his shoulders loosens. There are fewer people around at this early hour and there's a fresh sea breeze coming in off the water, free of the car exhaust and rotting trash of Manhattan. The smells of the twenty-first century had been one of the things that had shocked him most, and which he'd had to get used to. ]
And it counts. I haven't really done the whole cross-country roadtrip thing; it sounds like it'd be fun. Did you stop at diners and go see those roadside attractions? World's biggest ball of yarn?
no subject
Sometimes, yeah. Most of my time was spent--
[She stops herself, not ready to open up too much about her past.]
I was kind of a hacktivist before SHIELD. So, spent a lot of time chasing anything I could get my hands on. Putting the truth out there, which included SHIELD intel.
no subject
[ Nat's doing. Back during aforementioned helicarrier incident: he can almost feel the sting of pain at the memory, muscle-memory in his broken shoulder, and then the accompanying sting of thinking about Nat at all. His memory's a goddamned series of traps that he keeps walking into, and having to steer away from. ]
no subject
[Daisy tilts her head to look over at him, clearly amused by the memory.]
Which is exactly what I wanted to happen. Just never expected I would end working with them.
[Resting on one elbow, Daisy grabs her drink. Trying to hide the change in expression when he mentions a pretty dark day for SHIELD.]
Before. I had nothing to do with that.
no subject
Heard things got— rocky. For you guys. After.
[ This is such a pain in the ass, the way he keeps bringing up sore subjects and walking himself or her right into them. He can't help it. It's like a compulsion to pick at a scab. ]
no subject
[That wasnβt the worst part though, but Daisy would rather not think about that.
Which is why sheβs quick to try and change the subject.]
Howβs your coffee?
no subject
no subject
Thatβs Quake to you, Sergeant Barnes.
[Speaking of luck, Daisy is just setting her coffee down when a seagull decides to ruin the rest of it for her.
At least it missed her hand?
Letting out a groan, Daisy drops the cup and dramatically falls back into the sand, bringing a hand up to her face. This just wasnβt her
nightmorning.]no subject
And the laugh builds and builds up inside him, caught in his throat, like a bubbling fountain that he can't push back down. Irrepressible and buoyant and greater amusement than he's had in— man, he can't even remember. A long time. And then it finally slips loose and he's just cracking the fuck up at her misery. He can't stop. ]
Some seagull's got it out for you. Have you pissed off anyone lately that can talk to animals?
[ Maybe it's also the exhaustion, the surreal circumstances of their first meeting. The tension finally overflows into laughter, and Bucky lets himself tip backwards and flops down beside her, his hands interlaced over his stomach, staring up into the bright blue sky. ]
Birds 1. Quake 0.
no subject
Shut up.
[A smile is fighting to break through as she looks at him, and she looks away to see her drink still very much tainted by bird poop.]
Want to trade?
no subject
[ There was no chance he was finishing it, really. Its likely fate was getting cold and then thrown away. So he reaches over for the paper cup and holds it out blindly to her; when Daisy takes it from him, his gloved fingers brush hers and he feels that stupid lurch in his stomach again.
Again: it's been a while. Since the last time his hands were used for anything except a clenched fist. ]
no subject
Just a sip.
[She promises as she lifts the cup to down a decent portion of it. What? Itβs just her version of a sip.
Handing it back to him, the smile is still very much planted on her face.]
Thanks.
[She debates whether or not to ask, but sheβs still drunk enough that she ends up blurting out the question anyway.]
Whatβs with the gloves?
no subject
But in the end, it comes down to the fact that Daisy's technically in the know, and knows exactly who he is. She's not just a random civilian. So. Maybe it's okay. He tugs at his left glove, sliding it off and revealing the metal hand, the dark vibranium gleaming dully in the sunlight. His gaze stays riveted on the hand rather than her face (he is, perhaps, afraid of what he'll see), so he turns it back and forth, flexing the fingers and curling them in his palm.
It really is exquisitely made. Wakandan design and material, carefully wrought by Shuri. Gold accents at the joints and knuckles. The interlocking plates slide smoothly, silently, and it looks almost as real as an actual hand.
Almost. ]
Kind of a startling detail. So. That's what's up with the gloves.
no subject
Thatβs so cool.
[Daisy reaches out to touch it, but stops short when she realizes how rude that is.]
Do you mind if Iβ?
no subject
[ That is not the reaction he expected. Bucky cuts a disbelieving look over at her, but doesn't see sarcasm or incredulity or pity on her face. Another moment of hesitation, before he reaches his hand out further, holds it out for her to inspect.
He'd been less self-conscious about it around the Avengers — they were familiar with it, and most of them had some strange qualities of their own — but readjusting to people in everyday life had been something else. ]
Go ahead.
no subject
[The amount of detail alone.
Gingerly she touches his arm, feeling the vibrations bouncing off of it. She had sensed it before, but somehow hadn't connected the dots until just now. The moment she feels the vibrations bounce off of her and back onto his arm she pulls her hand away.]
Sorry.
[It wouldn't hurt him, but it would likely feel weird]
no subject
It absorbs the vibrations emanating from her and glows slightly yellow around the edges, and when she pulls away, Bucky reaches out and catches her hand instead. It feels like touching a running motor, that hum building up; he can sense it thrumming into him. Now it's his turn to sound fascinated: ]
Do you do that all the time?
no subject
It definitely feels weird, having the vibrations bounce off like that, but he doesn't seem to be freaking out about it--
Nodding in response to his question, Daisy tears her gaze away from his arm and looks at his face.]
It's like I have a thousand bees trapped inside of me. It's not painful, just---
Intense. I'm used to it now, though.
no subject
Do other people notice it if you touch them?
[ Bucky could touch her with his human hand to double-check, but that, too, feels rude. So he leaves it at the one hand for now, his fingers splayed against hers, not letting go just yet. ]
no subject
[She's never thought about it before, and she tries to think back to all of the times she's touched other people since getting her powers.]
I don't know. No one has ever said anything.
no subject
[ A thoughtful flicker of his expression. Still thinking it over. And then he props himself up with an elbow, angling to look at Daisy a little more head-on. Taking a leap of faith, he reaches out with his right hand after all; a raise of an eyebrow, a wry smile as he echoes her exact words: ]
Do you mind if I?
no subject
This is definitely a first for her. Sitting on the beach, just touching arms with a guy she had been set up with. It's--
Not usually what she would be doing with her date on the beach. Daisy looks at his expression, trying to figure out if he can feel it or not.]
Well?
[From her perspective it defintiely feels less tense, but she can still feel some sort of vibration. Not enough that it bounces off of him like it does on his metal arm.
For him, however, it might feel like something is crawling under his skin.]
no subject
The whole scene is strangely intimate, despite the fact that they're sitting fully-clothed on the beach. Bucky feels naked with the one glove off. Realising that he's been sitting there holding her hand for a probably-awkward amount of time, he finally, finally lets go and settles his weight back on his elbows in the sand. The left arm is forty pounds of dead weight, enough that it affects the way he walks, so there's a heaviness to the way he settles. ]
Different. A little strange, but not bad. 'Bees' is right.
Does it ever bother you?
no subject
Oh. He was speaking.]
Oh, uh--
It used to? But, I'm so used to it now that I kind of forget what it's like to feel nothing.
no subject
It's cool, though. That you have actual superpowers. Enhanced strength and speed is kind of— I dunno, vanilla in comparison.
no subject
Now, though, they were a part of her.]
You canβt run super fast, can you? Because that would be cheating.
[If they were even going on that run still. In all honesty, sheβs really enjoying just sitting here getting to know him.]
no subject
I do, yeah. Was kind of hoping you wouldn't ever find out about that part.
I can go easy on you, though. I do it with Sam all the time.
[ Smarm. ]
no subject
Reaching forward, Daisy makes a grab for his coffee to take another sip. Remember when she said one sip? Yeah, she was lying.]
What else can you do?
no subject
I mean, that's pretty much the gist of it. Everything's just dialed up a notch. Super-strength, durability, speed, agility, stamina, reflexes. Faster metabolism, which is a bitch for getting drunk. Slower aging. I heal a little faster than normal — but it's not extreme, so don't go chopping off more limbs. And the arm's super-strong too and can absorb impact, which you already got a sense of earlier.
[ He isn't accustomed to being— proud? of his capabilities, considering they're mostly a product of the serum and horrific experimentation. But there are silver linings. It makes him useful to have in a fight. He's grateful for that part. ]
no subject
So no cold cream for you then.
[Daisy teases as she sets down the coffee cup between them.]
That had to take a while to get used to. Being able to do all of that.
no subject
[ Bucky's still cracking light jokes where he can. But when Daisy brings that up, his thoughts inevitably wend back to those readjustment periods. As ever, he's not used to broaching the subject of Steve, but he touches on it now, and that's where his answer comes from: ]
Yeah, it took me a while. Our whole lives, I was always the one looking after Steve. Then I had to get used to him being superhuman, suddenly bigger and better than all of us, the cornerstone of our squadron. Then, later— my abilities matched his. It's been a lot of changes.
Yours must've been an adjustment too, though.
no subject
[She knows heβs old but he better get that reference or sheβs out of here!
She honestly forgets that there was a time where Steve Rogers was anything but Captain America, but Bucky knew him well before all of that happened. The fact that Bucky and her have so much in common is almost a relief though. They donβt need to explain in so many words how each other feels, they justβ-
Get it.]
Yeah, it was pretty bad.
[Daisy smiles sadly, looking down at the sand as her finger traces shapes.]
I was so desperate to try and get rid of them.
no subject
He watches the movement of her hand, the whorls in the sand, as if they hold some hidden meaning. ]
Do you know anybody else with powers, or any other Inhumans? People who know what it's like?
[ So you're not alone. ]
no subject
[She keeps her tone light, as if the question hasnβt brought up some really upsetting memories for her. Brushing the sand off her hands, Daisy smiles up at him as she moves to sit cross-legged.]
How long did you say youβve been back here for?
no subject
I wasn't specific. But I guess it must be about six months living in the city now. Since getting back from the, uh... [ he waves a hand, a vague gesture, because how do you mime 'getting dusted out of existence'? ] The whole Blip. Thing.
no subject
How's that been going for you? Readjusting to everything.
no subject
[ It should sound horrifying, maybe, but Bucky's used to it by now, so he doesn't sound too bitter talking about it in the context of the Blip. At least that one had been a universal tragedy. There are support groups for that sort of thing, for people somewhat out of time like him. There hadn't been that, before. ]
I did it before, with way longer than five years. And this time I'm not an international fugitive, so it's easier.
[ His blue gaze travels up from her hand to her face. ]
Guessing that means you were part of the half who stayed?
no subject
I can't even imagine.
[Her heart skips a beat when he makes eye contact with her again, but she'll just brush it off as having too much caffeine.]
Yeah. It's--
I didn't experience it on a personal level though.
no subject
[ He doesn't sound incredulous, just curious. ]
no subject
[
It's the least the Universe could for her tbh.]Anyway, you still up for paying for over expensive hot dogs?
[Because that cake pop wasn't going to cut it.]
no subject
[ He leaves his coffee with her and clambers back to his feet, meticulously dusting himself off and frowning at his hand, before gloving up again. There's probably some sand in the cracks between the metal, and he'll have to go dusting it out when he gets home later. More reasons the beach is more of a pain than it used to be. ]
So how about that run to work up an appetite before they open? We can be the first customers in line at the hot dog stand after we do a loop of the boardwalk.
[ He had, once upon a time, been a pain-in-the-ass physical trainer for Steve Rogers himself. Congrats, Daisy, now you're on the receiving end of it! ]
no subject
hisher coffee, Daisy gets to her feet and chugs down a good portion of it.]I thought you were joking about the jog.
no subject
[ Smirk. And just like that, Bucky's already off and running without giving her any forewarning or a headsup— but he does keep his pace carefully-measured, scaled down to a regular-but-fit human level, so it won't turn any heads and Daisy stands a chance of actually catching up to him, with a little bit of legwork. ]
no subject
[Daisy mutters as he runs off, sighing she looks for a place to put the coffee before just placing it back down on the sand. She's got a stomach full of coffee and alcohol, what could go wrong?
Taking off after him in the sand wasn't exactly easy, but she manages to get at least within earshot of him.]
Do you want me to hurl?
[Daisy asks breathlessly, hoping he'll at least slow down.]
no subject
There is something slightly off about his balance, though — more noticeable when he's in motion, the way he favours one shoulder a bit more, with the weight of it. But Bucky eventually slows down enough that Daisy reaches his side, and he settles into a jog beside her.
He is irritatingly upbeat and unaffected when he exercises. ]
If you do feel like you're gonna hurl, shout and I'll find a trashcan.
no subject
[She could easily drink three of those, but not when she's running through sand. The sand makes this way harder and he's running through it like it's nothing.
Him being upbeat is a good contrast to how much of a mess she is right now. She can feel a knot forming in her side as she slows to a jog.]
It's becoming a bigger possibility by the second.
no subject
You doing okay?
no subject
Stopping to lean against the railing, Daisy doubles over.]
I just need a minute.
[Coming down from being drunk, and from adrenaline, the aches and pains from the fight are really starting to settle in. Not to mention her mess of a stomach.]
no subject
He's mostly forgotten what it's like to get drunk; he's gotten out of the habit, can't really remember what it's like fighting that whirling dizziness. ]
Take your time. I shouldn't've pushed.
no subject
No. It's my fault.
[Licking her lower lip, Daisy closes her eyes to try and keep herself from hurling.]
M'the idiot who drank too much.
no subject
[ Yeah, he's really bad at judging these things anymore — particularly when Daisy even at her default is playful and chatty. ]
no subject
[Both, maybe? She was so desperate to be distracted by coming out here that she didnβt think about how that might not have been a good idea.]
Iβm guessing youβre fine becauseβ-
[Daisy gestures blindly.]
Of the serum.
no subject
[ It helps keep him lean, but has its annoying side-effects: the food bills, the inability to enjoy that mellow tipsiness. Bucky probably could get drunk if he really put in the effort and outpaced it, but it'd be conspicuous. Then, a thought occurs to him and he smiles a little, although it's still directed to her back and so she can't see it unless she looks back over her shoulder: ]
So I'm the opposite of a cheap drunk. Kind of an expensive date, sorry.
no subject
[Sheβs about to push off the railing when she feels her phone buzz. Opening her eyes, she reaches for it from her back pocket and pulls it out to see Jemma texting her.]
Iβm in trouble.
[Daisy doesnβt actually sound concerned as she looks up at Bucky with a small smile.
Reading over the messages, she groans.]
Iβve got to go.
no subject
no subject
[And normally she wouldnβt be so disappointed. Typing back to Jemma, Daisy pockets her phone and looks up at him.]
We should do this again. Maybe not the running though.
end
Alright. Maybe I'll take it easier on you next time.
[ But that means there is going to be a next time, so there's that. Just sitting on the sands together, without anyone else around, had been... nice. Daisy's easy to talk to; far more than he ever expected, considering how difficult he finds it to get close to people. He can already tell his therapist is probably going to have a goddamn field day with a new name cropping up in his phonebook.
Hands shoved into his threadbare hoodie pockets, he's suddenly unsure how they're supposed to part ways — he's fallen out of the habit of hugs, and doesn't really know where they stand, and what the hell is a normal way to say hello or goodbye to anyone, anyway? With someone like Sam, Bucky tends to just march up to him, launch straight into the conversation, and then awkwardly duck his head and march right out again afterwards.
But once upon a time, eighty years ago, he'd known how to do this. How to turn on the charm, like an old and guttering lightbulb flickering on after years in storage. So he steps a little closer as Daisy straightens up, and he presses a polite, whiskery kiss to her cheek, his jaw rough with stubble. ]
See you then, Daisy.
[ And then he steps away again with a nod, and veers away and settles back into his jog down the boardwalk. Might as well use the rest of the morning, now that he's down here. ]
no subject
Heβs walking home from the bodega, and Daisy is teasing him over his choice of snacks when she hears shouting followed by gunfire. Her stomach instantly drops.]
Whatβs going on? Bucky? Bucky?!
Shit.
[Sheβs out of her small room in seconds, running to the cockpit where May is to tell her to turn the plane around. She just hopes they arenβt too late.
By the time they arrive, Daisy is in her suit and running down the ramp as soon as it lowers. May and Mack behind her, she holds her hand out ready to use her powers. It doesnβt take her long to spot Bucky fighting someone off and she uses her powers to send them flying across the road and into someone else that was clearly with them.]
Bucky!
[She shouts as she runs towards him, making sure that no one is coming at her.]
no subject
Tonight, though, is already turning into a mess. His bag of bodega snacks is ripped and scattered across the pavement, the sixpack of beer (he can't even get drunk off it but it was for the sake of the thing) shattered and spilling into the gutter, while he faces down a set of heavily-armed men. When Daisy goes haring into his neighbourhood, she can see the debris of the fight: a broken newspaper dispenser. An unconscious man slammed into a car, the imprint of his body having caved in the door. Bullets embedded in trashcans. A trail of chaos leading to one (1) Bucky Barnes.
And even in the middle of a fight, he can't stop thinking about how messy it is. If he's unlucky, it's gonna be all over the news and it's gonna give the Avengers a bad name, Steve would be disappointed—
(Steve isn't around anymore, and neither are the Avengers—)
He's superpowered, he can handle himself, but they've also come equipped. These men know exactly who they were coming for, the asset they're trying to reclaim, and so they've used some kind of specialised taser on him: it's temporarily shut down his arm and it hangs from his shoulder, so much dead weight. There's blood seeping through his shirt. There's a kind of fleeting panic in his blue eyes when he looks over and sees her pelting towards him.
... Because of course. The gunshots over the phone. She knows where he lives. ]
Daisy—
[ The HYDRA agents (because what else could they be?) are circling like a pack of wolves, now sizing up this new addition to the party. Someone mutters something in Russian to someone else, and Bucky's head snaps toward the sound, his gaze narrowing into a glower. ]
no subject
Raising her hand, Daisy doesnβt hesitate to start sending the HYDRA agents flying through the air.
From back at the bus, Simmons is warning everyone through comms that more company is showing up. Itβs becoming more apparent whatβs going on here, theyβre here to try and get Bucky back. Her stomach sinks, and just for a second she loses focus long enough for one of the HYDRA goons is able to knock her in the back of the head hard.
She crumples to the ground, not knocked out, but temporarily stunned at least.]
no subject
He turns around and uses his metal arm as a bludgeon. It might be temporarily paralysed but it's still forty pounds of metal, and forty pounds of metal driven repeatedly into someone's face puts them down for the count. His hand still isn't responding and he can't move it, but it'll do for now: there's another gunshot and he spins, letting it ricochet off his metal shoulder. Even if it's motionless, he can still use it as a shield, too.
(God. Seriously. What he wouldn't give to have Steve and his shield here today.)
And then he's running towards Daisy. There's other agents back at the plane, he realises with a pang of contrition. Ah, jeez. He's probably going to get a talking-to from his government liaison after this. ]
Daisy. Hey. Hey, are you okay?
[ He lands on a knee beside her, his free hand at her pulse. The soldiers are getting closer, and he can feel that stinging hitch in his side of the bullet probably grinding against his kidney or something, and he needs backup. ]
Quake. Get up.
no subject
Don't call me that.
[Because, really, that's more important than anything else going on right now.
She's fine.
Opening her eyes, Daisy blinks twice to get her vision to stop swimming. That's when she notices the soldiers closing the distance. She raises her hand to send them flying again, but May is already on top of it. Kneeing one of them hard enough that they crumple to the floor in a heap.
Pushing herself up off the ground, Daisy notices the blood on Bucky and her face gives away her concern. Hands held out as if expecting him to collapse.]
Is that your blood?
no subject
[ Adrenaline is churning through him, dimming his awareness of the pain. It's just buying him time, so the full awareness of it will hit him afterwards and he'll probably need some help then, but for now he's running on anger and instinct and determination. He watches as May dispatches a couple of the men — the woman is surprisingly imposing despite her fairly diminutive height — and then as another man is still trying to get back up to his feet where Daisy sent him flying. ]
Useful powers you got there.
[ Daisy's reached out to Bucky as if he's delicate spun-glass and on the verge of breaking, but he catches her hand instead. Tugs her back up to her feet as they stand together, and he shoots a closer look at her arm, and the finely-fitted compressed microfibers beneath his hand. Bucky gives an arch of his eyebrow, a rueful smile as his gaze shifts between it and his own metal arm visible through a rip in his sleeve: ]
I like the gauntlets.
no subject
Daisy is so caught up with trying to take care of the situation that she doesn't realize Bucky has never seen her use her powers, until he brings it up.]
Oh. Thanks.
[If she sounds caught off guard, it's because she is. It's not the usual response to her powers, to be complimented for them.
Daisy opens her mouth to say something when he compliments her gauntlet, but she's so focused on the fact that he he's still holding onto her hand even after she's on her feet. Her stomach does that increasingly familiar feeling whenever he touches her, or looks at her a certain way. In the moment, her being distracted is dangerous for them both and she's quickly snapped out of her thoughts when she hears a gun go off.
Her heart sinks, thinking it's one of her own, but then she sees Mack lowering his gun and one of the HYDRA assholes on the ground grabbing at his side.
Pulling her hand from Bucky's grip, Daisy sees an opening. It's not even about taking the rest of them down, it's about getting Bucky out of here.]
We need to go. Now.
no subject
No, I—
[ But. Bucky is, after all, the asset, isn't he? And you need to remove the target from the battlefield. His arm's still dead at his side. They need to get out of here. He's more of a liability than not.
And that awareness stings, grinds like a thorn in his side. He hates feeling like a useless liability. But Bucky takes a deep breath and nods, and then he's running after her, following Daisy back towards the Bus as they take the opportunity her teammates have given them to escape. And as the plane looms into view above them, he... goggles. Head craning upwards and his superhuman speed slowing as he peers up at its multistoreyed bulk. It's not as big as one of the Helicarriers he'd downed (oops), but it's still astonishing. Impressive. ]
Holy shit. You said you lived on a plane, but I didn't expect it to be, like, a flying building.
no subject
At this point, Daisy is so used to her life on the plane that it doesn't faze her anymore.]
Welcome to SHIELD.
[Daisy replies cheekily as they make their way up the ramp. Smiling tightly at Mack, he puts a hand on her shoulder as they pass.]
Nice work, Tremors.
[He's the only one who has a nickname for her, and he's about the only one who could get away with it actually being endearing. Leading the way to the lab, Daisy debates whether or not to leave or stay with Bucky. Wringing her hands out, Daisy's choice is quickly made for her when Simmons tells her she needs to be checked out today.]
I'm fine, Jemma.
[Remember how Jemma was 10 times more stubborn? Daisy ends up taking a seat not far from Bucky, making sure he at least gets checked out before she does.]
How are you doing?
[She asks Bucky, keeping her voice low as Jemma goes to grab some supplies.]
no subject
[ He'd been trying not to peer around too much like a slack-jawed yokel when they made their way through the Bus and to the laboratory. He's settled on a chair now, waiting for Simmons and feeling oddly like he's a kid in the nurse's office again. (He'd been there often. Schoolyard fights.) When the doctor returns, she turns out to be quick and efficient, telling him to remove his jacket — he half-considers being stubborn and refusing, but there's something in her tone of voice that brooks no argument, so he winds up dutifully shucking the leather and folding it in his lap instead.
He has to tug up his shirt slightly to let her get at his injuries, and he goes oddly still and quiet while she works. Over the years, the Winter Soldier had grown accustomed to sitting obediently in one place, immobile as a statue, letting the doctors and scientists swarm over him like ants. He stares off into the middle distance, looking at the lab but not fully taking it in. Jemma extracts a bullet (he winces, but doesn't make any noise), sets it aside with a clatter, cleans the wound, and then presses some adhesive gauze to it.
She beckons Daisy closer, tells her to be useful, to hold the bandage to his stomach while it sets. Daisy wheels closer on her chair and suddenly she's in his personal space, right up next to him out of sheer necessity, their knees bumping.
Jemma's eyes had lit up when he shrugged out of his jacket and she got a closer look at the vibranium arm, and now she gets to try to wake it up; she moves into his blind spot, tinkering with the hinges, muttering to herself about how Fitz ought to be seeing this.
Bucky tunes it out. Shifts his attention to the gentle pressure of Daisy's hands against his abdomen instead; the drifting curl of her dark hair out of the corner of his eye; her face so close to his. He clears his throat. Feels a self-conscious flush heating his throat. ]
How about you?
no subject
Biting her lower lip, Daisy briefly glances at his chest before looking up and away. Were there always lights on the ceiling?!]
You can fix it though, right?
[Daisy asks, looking at Jemma as she messes with his arm to try and fix it. Sure, Fitz would probably get his arm working faster, but, Jemma was smart. She'd figure it out.]
I'm okay.
[She probably as a concussion, but that's not what she's focusing on right now.
Could Bucky hear her heart hammering in her chest or was that not part of his enhancements? With how close she is to him it's hard to not notice how good he smells, even after being in a pretty intense fight.
Oh god. How bad does she smell right now? The suit doesn't exactly breathe and she's usually out of it by now. Shifting so she puts a bit of space between them, just in case, she keeps her hand on the bandage. She could've sworn she just saw Jemma fight back an amused smile before oh so casually telling her she could let go.
Tongue pressing against her cheek when Jemma basically confirms she had done this purpose, Daisy clears her throat as she scoots back in her chair. Grabbing the ice pack, Daisy places it back on the spot where a knot is definitely forming. Once Jemma was done fixing Bucky's arm, she turns her attention on Daisy. Telling Bucky he's good to leave if he'd like to go get some rest.]
You can have my bunk, you know, if you want. It's the one on the end farthest from the stairs.
no subject
And at Daisy's offer, he hesitates before accepting and also giving a grateful murmured Thanks, doc — because James Barnes might be combative with his therapist, but he does tip his hat to doctors — and then he wanders off to find the bunk. It feels odd, not being closely-supervised or watched with wary mistrust. He passes the occasional agent who blinks wide-eyed at him, but he's so recognisable with his arm visible, so they don't challenge his presence on the plane — maybe word's already gotten out that they've scooped up a stray.
He goes down the narrow hallway, eventually finds the living quarters, and stands there taking it in for a moment. The lines of bunks do have privacy but they're small, cramped, not exactly sprawling luxury.
But that makes it feel far more familiar to him. He isn't exactly built for comfort. He unlaces and toes off his boots and then settles into Daisy's bunk, all six feet of his height sprawled out; he stares at the bobbing hula figurine, which starts to move as the plane starts to hum around them, powering up for takeoff.
He should probably be more worried about where they're headed, the unknown of what's coming next, but he's too tired for it, and he supposes is SHIELD is a good enough place to stay for now.
Bucky never sleeps well, but that droning hum is soothing, the faint vibration lulling him almost hypnotically into a doze. He closes his eyes, feeling the aches and twinges of pain starting to settle in. They'll heal quick, given his capabilities — but that doesn't change the fact that right now, it hurts. His body feels like a weary and battered machine. With an arm tucked behind his head, he drifts off slightly while waiting for Daisy to get discharged — but he's hyper-aware enough about his surroundings that he'll jolt awake again when she approaches. ]
no subject
Getting the go-ahead to go and rest Daisy makes her way to the showers first to clean up and change into something less--
Superhero-y
Despite it being her bunk, Daisy still knocks gently before sliding the door open.]
Hey, sorry. Did I wake you?
no subject
He shifts on the bed, swinging his legs back out and rubbing at his face, elbows propped against his knees. His jacket's hanging on a hook nearby. ]
Sorry. About all this hassle. Didn't exactly mean to drag your whole workplace into having to deal with a scuffle in my neighbourhood.
[ 'Scuffle', he says. ]
no subject
Are you kidding me? Here I thought I was going to have a boring night of watching movies with you.
[Concussion or not, Daisy is right back to teasing him.]
Which, by the way, I'm still down for if you are. Simmons says I'm supposed to rest.
[Daisy rolls her eyes as if she's bothered by it.]
no subject
You got snacks or drinks? I kinda lost all of mine.
[ He slides further up to the head of the bed, clearing space for her, and pats the mattress beside him, a little sheepishly. ]
I'm down. Although— not really sure how we're both gonna fit.
[ He is very tall. ]
no subject
Uh--
Yeah, what do you want?
[She's not sure how much she'll eat, or how much she'll even be able to pay attention to the movie, but it's just nice to have him there. Eyebrows shooting up when he brings up an, admittedly, good point, Daisy bites her lower lip.]
It might be tight, but, I'm sure we can figure it out.
no subject
[ While she's off fetching supplies from the kitchen, Bucky squeezes himself against the wall with its porthole-like window, the shutter pulled down for nighttime. His left arm's against the wall. He tries to make himself comfortable again, shifting and restlessly rearranging himself and his long limbs, except this time he also consciously leaves space on the other half of the bed for Daisy once she returns.
It really doesn't seem like a lot of space. He keeps eyeing that strip of empty mattress mistrustfully, envisioning how close they're gonna have to get to make it work. Like a submarine, space is a premium when you're literally airborne, so the bunks are twin beds; it doesn't leave much room to fit two. Sitting elbow-to-elbow on his stupid sofa probably would've been less nerve-wracking.
All of it reminds him mortifyingly of being a teenager again, all his nerves suddenly in his throat, climbing out of his skin at the mere prospect of being so close to a girl. He's rusty; he's forgotten how to do this. God, it's annoying.
But when she returns, Bucky's expression at least doesn't betray how nervous he feels, although he does try to wedge himself even further against the wall to make room for her. ]
no subject
Most of their interactions have been over the phone, including some minor flirting. Now? She's got to deal with any insecurities head on when she didn't expect it.
Coming back about five minutes later with two different types of chips, a bowl of popcorn, and two bottles of water tucked under an arm, Daisy nudges the door open all the way with her foot.]
Think this is enough?
[So focused on not dropping anything, it's not until she lets the water bottles fall onto the mattress that she realizes he's already reclining on the bed. Her stomach does another flip.]
You look--
[
Hot.]Comfortable.
[Daisy internally cringes as she waits for him to help grab things so she can sit down. It feels weird to just lay down next to him, but wouldn't it be more awkward to just sit there while he's reclining? Reaching for one of the pillows, Daisy props it against the wall so she can rest her back against it.]
Which movie do you want to start with?
[Looking at him Daisy realizes this is the closest she's been to him, you know, other than when she 'helped' Jemma earlier in the lab. Her eyes briefly flicker to his lips before she firmly removes her gaze from them and makes eye contact with him again.
She realizes then, with some panic, that she's really into him. She thought she would have a better handle on her emotions around him, but she can't help it. Daisy had been so afraid that she was going to lose him tonight, and now he's here. With her. Safe, and looking like that.
How long has she been staring at him now?]no subject
At the question of what movie to watch, though, he has to stop and consider. He's unfamiliar with so many movies; he's still working his way up through decades' worth of necessary pop culture, yet another to-do list in his notebook being meticulously crossed off, recommendations pooled together from everyone in the Avengers. He can't really bring himself to rewatch things when there's so much else to catch up on. But... There are some exceptions: ]
Got a pretty good idea I might fall asleep partway through, so maybe something I've seen before. A comedy. His Girl Friday?
[ This old man looks a little sheepish suggesting it, revealing his oldfashioned streak. Bucky's fond of screwball romantic comedies; he'd been to see that one in theaters. ]
no subject
[And sheβs sure she would be a lot more comfortable if she mirrored his position, but that would put them even closer together than already are. She just hopes he canβt feel her heart hammering in her chest.
Smiling at his suggestion, Daisy reached for the remote to bring up the streaming service.]
I donβt even think Iβll make it ten minutes in, but, Iβve never seen it before.
[As sheβs typing in the title, Daisy keeps her eyes firmly on the screen because thereβs a pretty big chance of her doing something stupid if she looks at him again.]
What is it about?
no subject
[ After he went into the ravine. ]
Anyway. It's about a star newspaper reporter whose editor is her ex-husband, and she's about to quit her job and go get remarried to an insurance salesman. And her ex dangles a hot new scoop under her nose and tries to do everything possible to delay her trip and try to win her back. [ The corner of his mouth quirks. ] It's a lot of fun, I promise.
[ Then he glances over. Daisy's practically falling off the edge of the bed herself in trying to be polite, the popcorn bowl wedged between them, and Bucky finally just sighs. Takes the bowl and props it up on his chest and waves her over to get closer, even when it makes his nerves turn over in his throat. ]
It's your bed. I'm hogging all the space. C'mon.
no subject
[Daisyβs eyebrows shoot up as he lists of different movie by this director. She enjoyed movies, but heβs clearly got a lot more knowledge on them.
Finding the movie, Daisy brings it up but doesnβt hit play just yet.]
It sounds like itβll be good.
[Daisy feels the popcorn bowl that was digging into her side move, and thatβs when she finally looks at him again. Itβs like sheβs never been this close to a guy before as her mine suddenly backfires. Has it really been that long for her that she doesnβt know how to do this without making a fool out of herself?
Okay, maybe it has been a minute...]
If I get any closer Iβll be on top of you.
[As soon as she says it the regret is evident on her face. Laughing out of embarrassment, Daisy reaches for some of the popcorn as a way to get herself to stop talking. She hits play, but as it starts all sheβs doing is replaying what she just said in her head.
no subject
[ A beat, a moment of his own embarrassment upon realising he'd just said something that basically amounted to yes, please do. ]
As in, I mean. There's space. We'll just have to, uh. Get a little cozy. If you don't mind that.
[ Each one of his words comes out haltingly, tripping over his tongue like a sputtering machine. Bucky clears his throat and tries to make himself look away from her, focusing back on the screen, where the movie's starting to play. He's normally so good at compartmentalising, honing all of his attention on the thing in front of him and nothing else; but now he's distracted, again, by Daisy's weight on the mattress beside him, the sound of her laughter, the huff of her breath.
Fuck.
This might be a problem. He'd toyed around with online dating, mostly egged into it by his teammates, but always skittered away from committing to an actual date. Always inevitably dropped the conversation, the text messages, the rigmarole, the dancing in circles. It felt like speaking a language he wasn't fluent in any longer, one where he'd forgotten all the vocabulary — and didn't have the energy, besides, to lie through his teeth for an entire evening and another and another.
But he doesn't have to lie to Daisy, and she gets it, and she has such a goddamn great sense of humour and a beautiful laugh, and this might be a problem. ]
no subject
Her smile fades a little when she realizes what sheβs about to do. As if sheβs no longer in control of what her body tells her to do, she leans down and brushes her fingers across his cheek. She looks into his eyes, giving him an out but if he doesnβt stop her she closes the distance between them to kiss him.]
no subject
...And his elbow jolts, accidentally knocking over the bowl and spraying popcorn all over both of them, breaking the kiss. ]
Ah, shit—
[ He curses, looks embarrassed, brushes a few pieces of popcorn out of her hair; but then a laugh finally breaks through and his face lights up, and Bucky leans in and kisses her again, and again, movie forgotten. ]
no subject
Laughing with him as he pulls the popcorn out of her hair, she pushes the bowl out of the way when he leans back in.
So much for the movie.
Itβs easily been a few minutes when thereβs an abrupt knock on the door before Jemmaβs voice breaks through, asking how theyβre doing.]
Shit.
[She hisses out, pulling away from Bucky and rolling away from him. Okay, so maybe things had escalated, sue her. Itβs been a while.]
Uhβ
[Daisy looks over at Bucky, her face flushed as she quickly fixes her shirt, making sure he looks decent before she answers]
Weβre okay, just watching a movie.
[Please donβt open the door.]
no subject
By the time the doctor is peering skeptically down at them, Bucky's swiveled away from Daisy. Although his right arm is still pinned beneath her and she's caught in the crook of his arm, using him as a human pillow by now, the two of them half-cuddling just out of sheer proximity in order to fit on the bed. They're both a little rumpled, and there's popcorn debris scattered on both of them. ]
Yeah, uh, just watching a movie.
[ Even though his attention's completely gone away from it. And as he glances back up at the monitor, he catches the black-and-white screen and a heap of newspapermen milling around an office. The embarrassment of someone looking in on them is mortifying, and yet also— refreshingly banal and normal, like he's rewound time, and they're just two teenagers being caught together. It's a nice low-stakes thing to worry about, compared to his usual life. Compared to dodging HYDRA's dregs earlier. ]
Promise I'm not straining the bandages, [ he says, with a flash of a radiant smile at Jemma, which is Bucky Barnes trying to be his Most Charming™ with a medical authority. ]
no subject
I'll just leave you two to your movie.
[Daisy isn't worried that she would go in snitch, because really, it's not some big secret. When the door slides shut again, Daisy looks over at Bucky. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't a little anxious now that they've gotten over that hurdle.
She's got a bad habit of not thinking before doing something.]
So that was--
[She wants to say how she feels about it, but she's afraid he won't feel the same way.]
no subject
But then again, she'd been the one to cross that line first, so maybe he really shouldn't question it this much. Instead: ]
That was nice, [ he says, filling in the blank. ] I'll even forgive you for not paying enough attention to one of my favourite movies.
[ But there's a quirk at the corner of his mouth — he's teasing — and he leans in just close enough to press another kiss to her jaw. ]
no subject
Well someone was distracting me--
[She trails off when he leans in and kisses her jaw, inhaling sharply at the contact. Does he really expect her to be able to pay attention when he's doing something like that? Eyes closing again, Daisy tilts her head to give him more access because that felt nice.]
There's no way this is your first time kissing someone in--
[She can't do the math right now.]
A lot of years.
no subject
[ Barnes had, once upon a time, been a ladies' man. The dashing flirtatious skirt-chaser of a sergeant, with a friendly wink and a smile for pretty much anyone. That particular version of him is long-gone, buried and dead — but sometimes echoes of it stir back up and he can almost remember what it was like, like some ancient muscle-memory in his fingertips. A moment too late, though, he realises what that sounded like. ]
Not that... you're... the bike.
[ He winces, his nose scrunching, and he leans his face against Daisy's shoulder instead. ]
Yeah. See. Foot in mouth.
no subject
I think itβs cute.
[Daisy looks down at the side of his face since itβs mostly hidden.]
Youβre making me feel less like inept with it comes to romance-y stuff, so, thereβs that.
[Her smile only grows when she basically calls him an idiot.]
no subject
Oh, great. So you just keep me around because my total ineptitude makes you feel better.
[ Bucky hasn't been good at humour or playfulness lately (beyond the occasional petty mockery between him and Sam), but Daisy makes it easier; makes it feel like she's excavating a long-forgotten side of him, stoking it back to life. Which is why what comes next is so lightheartedly, childishly silly. He really should be more careful about staying still and resting and not risking jostling the gauze on his abdomen, but he wriggles his right hand anyway and pokes her gently in the ribs, a jabbing tickle in revenge. ]
She is so cruel to feeble senior citizens who can't control what they say.
no subject
[Letting out a squeal, Daisy brings her elbow down to try and block him from continuing to tickle her side. There isnβt much room for her to be able to back away from him, but she does try to wriggle away from him.]
Wait.
[She makes herself look like sheβs about to ask a serious question, even going as far as to act like sheβs mulling it over.]
Does dating you mean I get to take advantage of your senior discount at McDonalds?
[Sheβs a little shit and she knows it.]
no subject
[ Somehow, thanks to her always prodding at it, Bucky's age has become less something he's sore about and more something he can laugh over; and he can let himself settle into that crotchety 'back in my day...' mentality without being self-conscious about it. It's comfortable, and it's almost terrifying how comfortable it is. It's been months since he lost his last main tether to this world, to other people.
It would be so easy to lean in and get lost in her again, get carried away and see where that particular road led — he'd be lying if he said he wasn't thinking about it — but they're in a small bunk in what equates to a semi-public dormitory, and someone's already checked in on them once. Probably there's a line. Probably they shouldn't cross it.
(As much as, he's realising, he would like to.)
He stops tickling her, but he does flop back against the pillow at the head of the bed, and nudges Daisy's knee with his. Tries to consider what he wants to say, and in the end he can't express all of it, but he does settle for: ]
Thanks for dragging me onto a plane.
no subject
Dragging you? I'm pretty sure you went willingly.
[Daisy teases, grabbing some of the popcorn that didn't manage to spill out of the bowl and flopping down on the bed next to him. She really doesn't want to be lame and go to sleep, but, it's been A Day. Her smile fades a little as she turns her head to look at him, it's clear she had been scared about what could've happened if they hadn't been on the phone when it all went down. Frowning, Daisy looks down at his hand and laces her fingers through his. Giving it a small squeeze as she locks eyes with him again.]
I'm just glad you're okay.
[It scares her how much she already cares for him. It's never ended well for her, caring for someone.]
no subject
Hey, I would've taken care of it eventually.
[ I had him on the ropes. ]
Anyway. Give your eyes a rest. I like to think I'm a pretty good human pillow.
[ The crook of his shoulder will be comfortable to curl up against, to just settle into that hollow and let herself drift off. Old movies were good for that, too. Just the murmuring of voices fading into a hum, the patter of dialogue, not much by way of loud music or action or explosions to jolt awake again. ]
no subject
[He shouldnβt have to still be dealing with HYDRA after all of these years, and sheβs very tempted to have some words with the people who let this happen. He should be more protected than this.
Smiling when he offers up his shoulder for her to prop her head on, Daisy would be lying if she said she could stay awake much longer.]
I should probably warn you, I drool.
[She hasnβt slept next to someone in a long time, but somehow this doesnβt feel as weird as much as she imagined it would. Her hair was still damp as she moves to rest her head on his shoulder.]
Weβll watch that movie at some point.
[Daisy mumbles, eyes already closing not even a minute into settling down next to him.]
no subject
He hadn't exactly meant to spend the night here, but it's hard to get off the Bus; he's exhausted just at the idea of wandering down the halls and finding someone who looked authoritative and awkwardly asking, So hey, can you put me down somewhere in Manhattan? So instead, he's just accepted that he's here for the evening.
He's worried about waking her up in the middle of the night with his nightmares, but something about having another warm body beside him means that Bucky sleeps— easier. Not perfectly, but easier. There's a moment somewhere around 4am where he stirs, his face buried in Daisy's hair, the room dark, the screen having put itself to sleep; there's the unwelcome jolt of finding himself in an unfamiliar place, his heart thudding sharply in his chest, before he takes a deep breath and manages to make himself calm down again. As far as restless nights go, this is actually one of his better ones.
Back to sleep, then, only to wake up at dawn a couple hours later. They're both sprawled on top of the covers, still dressed in their clothes, and he feels slightly grimy and rumpled, but it's at least warm and comfortable. There's still that background hum around them. Maybe living on a plane isn't the worst thing ever.
Daisy is stirring, and somewhere in the night he had flipped over onto his stomach; right arm tangled under the pillow, left arm between them. A wince of self-consciousness. Thank god he hadn't actually slung it over her body; forty pounds would've driven the breath out of her lungs. He withdraws even further, rolling half onto his side. ]
Uh. Good morning.
no subject
Hey.
[She croaked out, running a hand over her face before reaching over to pull down the blind. Flopping back down on the bed, she closed her eyes for what felt like minutes but in reality was maybe a minute before it fully sunk in that Bucky had actually spent the night, in her bed.
Act. Natural.
It's not like anything happened.
Eyes still closed, Daisy shifted so she was on her back, arm resting across her eyes.]
How're you feeling?
[She's not a person before she has coffee, but she's trying.]
no subject
[ And he does feel fine, in fact. Bucky actually looks fresher than she does: the cuts and nicks on his skin have healed, and the conspicuous beginning to a bruise that should've worsened today has faded instead. That accelerated healing putting in the work overnight, his body already starting to laboriously piece itself back together while he rested. He won't be regrowing limbs anytime soon, but like how his metabolism is annoyingly sped-up, so is his recovery time.
He's half-burrowed into her spare pillow. Facing her, Bucky finds one last surviving piece of popcorn between them, and he smirks and tosses it out of the bed. There's something so oddly domestic about this whole scene, so there should probably be a riotous panic behind his ribcage at the fact that he'd spent the night with someone for the first time in— ages— but he just feels a kind of queasy happiness instead. Nerves fluttering in his chest, where they haven't taken root in so long. ]
How about you? Sorry if I kicked you in the night or anything.
no subject
Like I got punched in the head, and that I need coffee.
[Smile growing, Daisy finally moves her arm to look at him tiredly. Squinting in the dimness she can see that scrapes on his face are gone and the confusion sets in on her face.]
You--?
I knew you could heal faster but that's just unfair.
no subject
Told you so.
[ And she's mentioned coffee, and at the thought of it, Bucky realises he could also really do with a cup. He could lie here for a while with her, but that nervous energy needs somewhere to go, and he's usually so sleep-deprived that he needs that kick of caffeine in the morning too.
With a preemptive apology, he reaches an arm across her, and for a moment it looks like he's just going to sprawl his body over hers— but then he keeps going, a hand and a foot pressed into the covers on Daisy's other side, and he uses it to vault himself and roll neatly over her, almost falling out of the bed, but he thankfully catches himself at the last moment. They'd walked past the kitchen on this floor last night, so he remembers where it is, assumes he can probably figure out the coffee machine. He rises to his feet, instinctively rolls his shoulder again, checking the limberness of the arm after the damage it took yesterday. It's fine. ]
How do you take your coffee?
no subject
Sheβs about to get up when Bucky is suddenly on top of her, and just as quickly is he off of her before she even has time to fully process it. Daisy wouldnβt be surprised if he wanted to bail now that they were awake, after how last night went...
A smile breaks out on her face this time when he offers to get her coffee. She almost tells him not to, but, it would give her a few minutes alone with her thoughts.]
Black, and there should be sugar packets next to the machine if you could bring me three?
[While heβs gone she quickly looks at her phone before tossing it to the end of the bed. Pulling her knees up, Daisy replays what happened last night in there head. Trying to think of anything she mightβve done wrong but coming up blank. Maybe it should feel awkward, but she canβt find any reason for it to be.]
no subject
The man settles down on the edge of Daisy's bed, his weight sinking the mattress beside her, and he gently lobs the painkillers at her, then holds out the hot mug, his metal fingers gripping the edges so he can offer her the handle without minding the burning heat. Bemused: ]
Exactly three sugar packets?
[ He's restless this morning, but there's also a fondness in his gaze when he looks at Daisy, sitting back down on that cramped bed next to her. ]
no subject
Smiling when he opens the door, Daisy manages to catch the pill bottle from him.]
Thanks.
[Taking out two, she grabs the coffee cup from him and drinks some so she can down the pills. Rolling her eyes fondly when he calls her out for the amount of sugar packets she uses.]
You're telling me you don't get specific with your coffee?
[Despite it being hot, Daisy is so used to burning her tongue that she takes another sip before scooting back on the bed so her back is against the wall. Whether he decides to sit on the edge of the bed, or scoot back with her is up to him. She takes a look at him from over the rim of his coffee mug, now that the window is open she can really see the lack of scrapes bruising on his body.]
So that's it? Overnight your body just repairs itself?
no subject
Her question thankfully gives him something to focus on that isn't the warmth of her shoulder and her knee so close to his, though. Ugh. He really isn't used to this. ]
Not everything. It's not like I can, I dunno, regrow missing fingers. It's not a superpowered healing factor or anything.
[ If there were mutants like that out there, they'd successfully stayed off the general public's radar.
So far.]So it's just the same thing your body does, just... quicker. Like how my metabolism's quicker. Immune system's stronger, cells repair faster, I guess. I haven't caught a cold in... Well, ever since.
no subject
[Daisy teases, trying to hide her delight when he moves to sit next to her on the bed by taking another sip of her coffee. Passing a glance at his metal arm again, Daisy looks up at him with an almost guilty expression if he caught her staring at his arm.
Thereβs still so many questions she has, and sheβs sure Fitz-Simmons have even more. Honestly sheβs surprised neither of them have come busting in. Maybe Jemma learned her lesson.]
So youβre not a lizard, got it.
[Leaning over the bed to put her mug on the floor for now, Daisy ignores the head rush she gets as she moves up again. Jemma has gotten on her before about drinking more water, but coffee is mostly water anyway.]
Now youβre just bragging.
[Clearly she doesnβt mind with that affection smile on her face.]
So it just never goes away? The serum.
no subject
And nope. I mean, it makes sense that maybe HYDRA wouldn't have gotten the serum mixture right, but it seems like they recreated it fine.
[ Not everybody knew the real circumstances of what had happened to him — his pardon had been vague, trying not to publicly announce the sergeant's HYDRA-conditioned vulnerabilities to the world — but Daisy was SHIELD, so he figured she was already privy to some of the declassified information. He'd worked closely with the organisation's precursor in the form of the SSR, and SHIELD held most of the details on him. ]
Guess I'll never say never, but— it's lasted this long. So it seems pretty permanent.
no subject
I'm sorry.
[For bringing up bad memories, for him having to go through all of that.
Quickly she changes subjects, not wanting to make this conversation depressing as hell.]
I gotta ask. What's with the flip phone? You know it's the 21st century, right?
[And Daisy is a tech nerd, so it pains her to see him with such dated technology.]
no subject
[ He leans over, fishes for his phone on the bedside table and then turns it end-over-end in the palm of his hand, bemused. ]
It does what I need it to. I can make calls and text. I can play Snake. The smartphones just seem kinda overwhelming. Like, why do phones have to be smarter than I am?
no subject
[Of course she smiles as she says it, because any chance to dig at his age is fun for her.]
no subject
And what if that's exactly what I am?
no subject
I donβt know, are you? Or are you willing to get with the 21st century and get a phone where we can video chat?
[She wonβt admit it but she would love to see his face when theyβre not together.]
no subject
You wanna video chat?
no subject
I wouldnβt mind seeing you even when weβre physically apart.
no subject
I could make an exception for you.
[ a beat, then: ] And, I mean. You've got a pretty nice face I wouldn't mind looking at, either.
[ Uggghhhhh, Buck, why you gotta be such a dork— ]
no subject
Wouldnβt want you making an exception just for me, but I wouldnβt mind looking at your face either.
[Of course sheβs going to tease him, even if she means what she says.]
no subject
[ Phones were expensive these days. Smartphones were ludicrously expensive compared to what he was used to. That was the other thing holding him back, but he'd get there eventually. He takes another sip from his coffee, head tipping back against the wall of the plane, feeling that faint vibrating hum all around them. ]
So do you guys just... stay up in the sky? All the time? Where do you land?
[ The logistics of all these agents living on the Bus was starting to pique Bucky's curiosity. How in the hell did it work? ]
no subject
[It takes a minute for it to hit her, he was willing to spend money on a phone just so they can talk. Her stomach does another flip, but she tries to keep her expression neutral.]
We land when we need to, where we need to. Sometimes weβre grounded for a day, but usually itβs only when we need to refuel or get called in.
no subject
[ There's a small teasing lilt to his voice, but then Bucky turns serious again, his words careful as he doesn't meet her eye for a moment. ]
You sure that'd be okay? I can't imagine I'm... your employer's most favourite person.
[ He'd never exactly planned on crossing this particular bridge, and still doesn't plan on going into it in detail, but it felt necessary to at least address. Accepting SHIELD's charity feels strange, ill-fitting. (There's a few names tucked away in his notebook. Relatives of agents he'd killed.) His debt to this agency, to what the SSR became, is hazy and still undefined. ]
no subject
You're a hero, Bucky, and not just to SHIELD.
[Daisy reaches out to place her hand on top of his if he lets her.]
What happened to you wasn't your fault and everyone here knows it.
no subject
It still happened, though. Doesn't change that fact.
[ The Winter Soldier had torn through the SHIELD pilots like a wrecking ball, leaving devastation in his wake on that helicarrier. If Daisy had been there at the time—
God. He doesn't want to ask this. Still doesn't want to cross this bridge, especially on the heels of such a nice evening and morning, but if not now, he's not sure they'll ever trip into it again. And something something, facing the past. That's what he's supposed to be doing. Isn't it? ]
Where were you? That day? Can I ask?
no subject
Ironically? Just becoming an official field agent for SHIELD. Then SHIELD fell, soβ
[Daisy smiles sadly, eyes lifting to meet his, she shrugs.]
I was used to being disappointed by that point.
no subject
[ Bucky waves his metal hand, the one that isn't still interlinked with hers; gesturing to her quarters, the massive plane around them. ]
You came back to the organisation. You guys must have been rebuilding.
[ He doesn't actually know very much of what had happened with SHIELD in the years in-between; it's one of the blank spots on the map that he hadn't gotten to pay attention to, while he'd had so much else going on. Living on the run or being sequestered away in Wakanda, off-grid. ]
no subject
[Daisyβs smile brightens a little when he points that out.]
Never stopped really, even when we werenβt official for a while.
[Maybe it was stupid. How much she just wanted that badge to mean something. She didnβt have many goals growing up other than to find her parents. So to want to work towards something, it just meant a lot to her.
This couldnβt be easy for him to hear or talk about, so she tries to give him an out.]
We donβt have to keep talking about it, if you donβt want to.
no subject
[ He hesitates, trying to figure out if he does want to keep going down this road. He'll have more questions down the line, probably. This is the organisation born from the SSR; the one that thawed Steve; employed Nat for a while; put together the Avengers. It feels like Bucky's been nipping at their heels for decades now, circling them, with all these unexpected, vague connections to his life. ]
I don't think I have any more questions right now, really, except—
[ His voice is faint, bemused and a little disbelieving: ] Is my name actually carved on a wall at headquarters?
no subject
It is.
[Would the next part freak him out? Or would it brighten his day? She risks bringing it up anyway.]
You're in history books too. Non-SHIELD ones. Not that I paid much attention in school, but, I definitely recognized your name on that wall because of history class.
no subject
[ That was never going to not be weird. His old clothes were there, propped up on a standee alongside the other Howling Commandos' uniforms. ]
Somehow it was easier if I just thought, like, it was Steve's exhibit, and I was just a footnote there. [ His hands sink and he peers at her again, warily. ] What do the history books say? Is it just the usual stuff? Captain America's childhood friend, fought HYDRA, died heroically falling off a train?
[ There's something rueful in his voice; at least he's able to half-joke about it. (He can joke about it as long as he doesn't touch on the other half. The 'shouldn't all those history books be revised and my name be scratched off the Wall of Valor, because I'm actually still alive and I killed a bunch of you' part.) ]
no subject
Basically, yeah. I mostly just remember when they showed us footage in class and I thought:
βWow. That guy is cute, and so is that James guy.β
[Daisy is a shit and she knows it.]
no subject
[ Somewhere partway between sheepishness, still, but also feeling a strange sort of charmed and flattered. For a second, Bucky doesn't think anymore about how the most famous footage is from immediately after the liberation of the POW camp; doesn't think about how haggard and tired he often looked in the reels. (It was war; everyone was tired.) ]
That old footage was garbage. Sepia and all jumpy, and scratched up from being transported overseas. Nowadays you have like... what d'you call it? High-def hotties.
[ He is an embarrassment. ]
no subject
[And she was definitely more focused on the hot guys than she was about doing the work she was supposed to be doing in class.]
You're right, it doesn't do you justice.
[Smoooooth.
Her flirtatious smile only lasts a few seconds before she busts out laughing.]
What?
You mean porn?
no subject
[ He's somewhere partway between mortified and amused, and this just digs the hole deeper as he bites back another laugh. He'd shove her, if he didn't have superstrength. ]
I just mean pictures! Pictures are really high-quality these days! You can practically see people's pores!
[ Years and years before he was this stony-faced shell of himself, he'd been a goof, once upon a time. With her, around her, Bucky can feel himself slowly coming back to that version of himself. ]
no subject
[Heβs not wrong though, cameras have come a very long way.]
You know this means Iβll be able to see your pores up close on our video calls though. You going to be okay with that?
[Honestly she deserves to be shoved for being such a little shit.]
no subject
Hey, Agent Johnson, I'll remind you that you specifically asked for video calls. That means you're gonna have to suffer through my overblown pores. So. As long as you're okay with it.
[ instead of pushing her, he does lightly knock his shoulder against hers, companionably. it's? nice?? just being able to joke around like this, and to be so increasingly comfortable with each other. ]
no subject
Iβll just move my phone further away so I canβt see them in detail.
[Smiling wide when he knocks his shoulder into hers, Daisy looks down at her coffee mug, suddenly feeling a little shy.]
As messed up as last night was, Iβm glad we got to spend time together.
[Daisy peeks at him from the corner of her eye before lifting her gaze to make eye contact with him again.]
no subject
[ A kind of fleeting panic crosses his face — oh no, is she talking about the kiss, has he made a huge mistake — but then he puts two-and-two together a moment later. Jesus. He'd almost completely forgotten about the HYDRA agents, despite them being the whole reason they'd wound up on this helicarrier like this, patched-up and practically evacuated from the city streets. ]
Oh. Right. Yeah. Man, I actually almost forgot. [ It is, almost literally, just another day in the life for Bucky Barnes. But now his own smile is broadening, charmed
and surprised by her unexpected shyness. He's not used to seeing Daisy bashful. ]
I mean, I think I might owe some thanks to that attempted kidnapping. Watching movies with you in person is— way better.
[ How do you say 'hey I enjoyed the makeouts, let's do that again sometime'? He has no idea, and so he doesn't even try yet. ]
no subject
Should I be concerned?
[Daisy asks teasingly, smile widening when he, in so many words, brings up what happened last night. It feels good to have that confirmation that she wasn't the only one who enjoyed herself.]
We barely watched the movie.
[Of course she's going to be a little shit.]
no subject
[ #priorities, Bucky!! But even he seems to acknowledge it a moment later, his grin turning self-conscious, knowing — the movie, for all that it's a fave, ranks somewhere pretty far low on the list of considerations from last night.
Which. Speaking of. ]
But yeah, we did get, uh, pretty distracted.
[ He still doesn't know how to say it, so maybe this will say it for him. He carefully sets his coffee aside on her endtable, and then scoots closer on the bed in order to lean in and catch Daisy's mouth in another kiss, trying not to knock over her own coffee cup in doing so. Stealing a moment, before the doctor walks in again or the plane lands or HYDRA attacks again or the day just marches relentlessly onwards and he loses his opportunity or his nerve. ]
no subject
[Daisy teases, her smile growing as her stomach flutters in excitement. They're making plans to see each other again, so clearly she's not the only one who feels something here.
He only furthers prove that when, suddenly, he's scooting closer to her. Heart hammering in her chest, Daisy's eyes fall to his lips just before he leans in. Cup of coffee resting against her lap, Daisy reaches up with her free hand to cup the side of his face, smiling against his lips before she kisses him back.
Coffee breath be damned.
Daisy pulls back for a minute, realizing she's still holding onto the cup and reaches over to place hers next to his own.]
Really don't want either of us to get burned.
[Daisy says, her face flushed as she laughs before leaning into kiss him again.]
poss a wrap? β€οΈ
[ She hadn't intended it, but those words hold a meaning on so many levels even beyond the coffee.
Really don't want either of us to get burned. They could both be hurt so easily by this — unaccustomed to romantic relationships, to vulnerability, to placing your heart in someone else's hands, to risking this with each other after their respective wounds. He hadn't dated seriously even back in the old days, before the war. He'd been more carefree and that had meant no commitments, just glancing fleeting entanglements.
Now, today, everything came with strings and with baggage. A kiss means more. Means unbricking those longstanding impenetrable walls.
But Bucky doesn't want to think about it. Can't even begin to define what this newfound possibility is between them. Don't want either of us to get burned. So heΒ avoids the two cups of coffee they'd set on the table, and he kisses her, and Daisy leans back into him, and together they can start to fall into this— whatever it is. ]
this got a little long... oops
"How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you."
Well, that had been a damn lie, hadn't it. It seemed that the instant Bucky had left her for good, the second he shipped off for real, Steph went and did something monumentally stupid: she signed up to be a test subject for a military project so secret that she didn't even understand what it was supposed to be when she signed her name on the dotted line.
Look. She's not stupid, despite all evidence to the contrary. Without Bucky around to help her cover rent, with her ill health preventing her from getting factory work, without generous family members around who might bail her out in an emergency, the best she could hope to scrounge up to survive on would be a single bed in a boarding house full of other women, someplace probably damp and crowded, with no heat in the winter and no shade in the summer, somewhere that would only make her already numerous health problems even worse.
What did she have to lose?
Nothing. Which is why she let herself be assessed by a parade of scientists, why she hardened her expression and didn't react when she could hear them talking about "wasting the serum on someone like her," why she didn't let herself think about the possibility that maybe Bucky would come home after all, and what if something happened to her instead? He'd be furious with her for getting herself offed somehow when his back was turned, but she couldn't focus on that thought at the time. Besides, he was doing exactly that to her, wasn't he?
Stepping into that iron coffin had felt like dying for real. Her overwhelming memories of that day are ones of excruciating pain, the kind that makes you think that Hell is real, the kind that tears you out of your own head in an effort to save your mind while your body gets ripped apart and re-made.
Colonel Phillips was pleased to see her stagger out of Stark's contraption. If that serum could turn a weak little runt like her into a movie star, then think of what it could do for an actual soldier. Think of what an asset it would be, to have an entire squadron of men that were taller, broader, stronger than the average soldier. Think of how quickly they could win the war!
It's hard to think back to that day, and not just because she had to watch Dr Erskine bleed out beneath her feet as her body buzzed with adrenaline and sweat cooled at the hollow of her throat. It feels like a million years ago, even though she knows it's only been a few months. It feels like it happened to a different person. She knows she's lucky that the army decided to make her useful instead of locking her in some lab somewhere to let people run tests on her to try and recreate Dr Erskine's work. She's grateful she's not spending her days strapped to a table under a bright light while her blood is stolen and bits of her are excised.
But does she really have to do high-kicks all the time?
At least the other girls are sweet to her. There's a little awkwardness, sometimes, since Steph isn't really very good at all the peripherals of womanhood — she can put on her own makeup, more or less, but she's hopeless at doing her own hair, and has to beg some of the other girls to help her set it every night — but they get along well enough, and she's never dropped a single dancer when she lifts them up over her head, not even once. It's kind of nice, having girlfriends. She still desperately misses Bucky, though.
Maybe after the show tonight she can ask around, see if anyone has any idea where the 107th is stationed. Even if they're not on part of her tour, she might be able to get someone to get a letter to him, wherever he is. She hopes he's being safe. He better be, or she's going to kill him.
The opening chords for her act start to play, deafeningly loud from the speakers set nearby, and she shakes herself out of her idle thoughts. Linking pinkies with the girls she'll be dancing with, she lets them complete the ritual she's grown so used to after all these shows, each of them leaning in to kiss the air above the other's cheek so no makeup is smudged, a quick good-luck before they dart on stage.
Taking a steadying breath, Stephanie tosses her hair over her shoulders, straightens her spine, and sweeps on stage. ]
yells i love it! mine also... spiraled out of control
Names were plucked out of a colonel's steel-pot helmet while soldiers shifted their weight restlessly from foot-to-foot, bumping shoulders in disorderly lines. Order has broken down overseas, lost somewhere in their damp clothes and soggy boots and brittle coughs and those haggard shadows under their eyes. Not enough sleep, not enough reinforcements: fresh troops keep being promised and promised and promised, and every time they finally do arrive, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed from boot camp, they're ill-prepared and often just wind up being meat for the grinder. Most of them won't survive the next month.
War is hell, but for just one night, a few of them get to cluster together and listen to the tinny music and hoot and holler as the pretty women high-kick their way across the stage, led by their new supposedly-superpowered mascot.
James Barnes is one of the winners tonight, and like everybody else, of course he's seen the posters. (He doesn't recognise her in the pictures, behind the mask. This primped and preened and perfectly-coiffed creature doesn't resemble the Steph he remembers, and they don't put her name anywhere on the posters either. The symbol and the product matters more than the woman.)
He's tired, bone-deep tired, but knows that a few more hours of restless sleep back in his cot won't help, either. He's lucky to have gotten his name pulled. So he should enjoy this. The man beside him is laughing uproariously at the performers, Show a little more leg, darlin' — and once upon a time Bucky's sure he might have enjoyed this, he was a skirt-chaser, he always did like women, so isn't he supposed to enjoy this?
But it's when he finally sees her in the flesh, rather than grainy newspaper photographs or stylised illustrations, that Bucky suddenly leans forward on his bench, frowning at the sight. It can't be. Surely it's not.
It's like seeing Stephanie Rogers' taller sister up on that stage, all pin curls and smiles and glowing skin. Some of it is the blush; she had never bothered with makeup around him, not the boy she'd grown up with, the one who'd taken her under his wing like a brother (at least, they'd always both told themselves it was like a brother). She's taller, healthier, fit enough to keep up with all of the other athletic women on the stage. It doesn't make any sense, and neither does the way she's able to lift them without breaking a sweat, carrying a bench laden with other dancers.
He's leaning forward, hands against his knees, all of his attention riveted forward with an avid intensity. What, you never seen girls before, Barnes? someone else asks beside him, but he ignores them.
He drinks in this impossible sight, and he waits it out. After the show wraps (along with calls for encores), it does seem to have managed to revive the soldiers' spirits, at least a little. They disperse towards the mess tent, while Bucky goes and waits where the performers are. He sees some of them eventually file out, dressed in more normal clothes (there's fewer sequins, for one), but there's no Steph yet. He's fidgeting, worried about someone accusing him of being a peeping tom trying to sneak in on the dancers — but finally, he just goes ahead and asks an aide where Liberty Belle is kept. He's pointed in the direction of her own small tent being used as impromptu dressing room — and in lieu of having an actual door to knock on, he clears his throat and calls out instead. ]
Heard they were keeping a pain-in-the-ass named Rogers back here.
[ Is he about to accidentally walk in on her changing? Maybe. ]
no subject
Doing the whole song and dance routine out in bright sunshine with dozens of weary faces looking up at her is like a punch to the gut.
She thought she was helping? She thought that The Liberty Belle was somehow assisting the war effort? No. These men were helping. These men, who fought, and who died, who gave up everything to defend the country they loved, they were the real heroes. She's just a chorus girl, pretty, and stupid, and ultimately useless.
She tries not to look at the soldiers' faces too closely. She doesn't want to see them either lusting after her or too dead-eyed to care. It unsettles her deeply.
Still, she's been doing this long enough that she can fake it pretty well now, and she's even memorized all her dialogue to such a degree that she can just shut herself down mentally and open her mouth to let the words fall out, ringing out across the assembled men hunched in front of her without the need of a microphone to assist.
Once the set is over, and after the multiple encores have been performed, she slips away as quickly as she can, trying to hide in the small knot of dancers so she won't have to keep up her public facade and smile and flirt with the soldiers milling around. It's not that she's unappreciative of their attention — this is the first time in her life any man other than Bucky has actually seemed interested in her, although most of the time men nowadays are more interested in her tits or her legs and not in what she has to say — but she's tired, and guilty for reasons she can't explain, and she wants to get back to her tent so she can write to Bucky.
Getting out of her costume is an easy enough thing after all this time, shucking the star-spangled skirt and her striped bustier, peeling her stockings off her legs and wiggling her toes now that they're released from their high-heeled prison, and then it's time to take off the rest of her get-up, starting with her war paint.
She's in the middle of applying cold cream to melt her makeup when she hears a man's voice call out near her door, a man's voice that asks for her by name, a man's voice that sounds like...
No. It can't be. ]
Hold on! [ she replies, taking a tissue and wiping at her face hastily to remove the cream and the makeup beneath, smearing mascara around her eyes until she looks like a raccoon. ] I'll be there in a second! [ Rubbing roughly at them with a fresh tissue, she gets the worst of the kohl removed and then hurries to adjust her civilian clothes so she looks presentable and won't give whatever soldier it is who's bold enough to loiter outside her tent a show he didn't sign up for before rushing to the 'door' and smiling as she pulls it aside. ]
Did you want an autogra—oh. Oh, Bucky. [ She stares at him for a moment, stunned despite the fact that she knew she recognized his voice, then takes a step forward, barefoot and uncaring about the mud, and flings her arms around him to hug him tightly while she tries not to tremble. ] It's really you.
no subject
It looks like her, sounds like her, her blonde hair even smells like her, and yet. ]
And it's really you. What the hell. I thought you were smaller?
[ Bucky doesn't let go of her yet, where her arms are still wrapped around his neck and swept up in his embrace; he just frog-walks them both into the tent, and only then sets her back down once they're safely inside. He leans back and peers down as if she's somehow hiding invisible six-inch heels, but instead it's just her bare, muddy feet wiggling on the floor of the tent. Thankfully, the skirt and the bustier have been swapped out, so he's able to politely snap his gaze back to her face, his glacier-blue eyes poring over her features, mapping it to what he remembers of the friend he left behind in New York.
There's a little bit of kohl still smeared at the corner of Steph's eyes. His hand reaches up, absentmindedly wipes that small clump of it away— and then he realises how close they're standing and he takes a genteel step away, clears his throat. Bashful in a way he never had been, before. Hearing half a fieldful of men openly salivating over his best friend's calves had been a surreal experience. ]
I thought Liberty Belle was just a publicity thing. But you're really...
[ Healthy? Strong? Superpowered? He's not sure what word to fill in that blank. Marveling, he finally says: ]
You lifted that bench of girls like it was nothing.
no subject
Basic packed on a bit more muscle on his frame than working at the docks was able to do, and even being in an active war zone living on Army rations hadn't been enough to erase all that breadth. He feels solid and real in her arms, and yet she's still half-convinced she's dreaming somehow. ]
You're here.
[ She laughs as he marches her back into her tent, his arms still snugly wrapped around her, and she obliges by clinging on a little bit longer and keeping her knees bent, her feet kicked up behind her like a careless child being hauled around.
She's put on a good six inches and seventy pounds of muscle since he's last seen her, her body still feeling alien to her, like a suit of armor she's shrugged into and not herself, but with Bucky here in front of her, she's felt the most like herself that she has in months. ]
I wasn't— I didn't know if— Where you'd be stationed. I hoped someone could tell me, but I didn't think that— You're alright. Oh, Bucky.
[ She lets him thumb at the corner of her eye, her lashes dipping as he strokes her cheek gently, her own hands settling on his chest because it just feels natural to let them land there. It's a much easier maneuver to pull now that she's almost as tall as he is.
Going a little bit pink when he steps away from her, she chews her lips, still faintly stained from her lipstick. ]
You're going to be cross as two sticks when I tell you...
no subject
[ The line slipping forward and back as they won and lost ground, temporary outposts being set up and then collapsing, taking refuge in little Italian towns and then moving onwards, mail carriers trying to get their deliveries through without losing them across hundreds of miles of mud and wire. There really wasn't much stability in their lives. Those little letters from home are a lifeline for these men, signed with a kiss or a photograph from sweethearts in hometowns. Bucky had gotten one from his sister in Indiana; had double-checked the envelope at the time, half-hoping but not expecting a second one from Stephanie. Having her inexplicably here in person, though, is a far better alternative.
Peering around the tent, he surveys the relative luxury that they've set her up in, better than what the other girls have had to share and make do with. There's the trove of makeup, tubes of lipstick scattered like bullets across the tabletop, stacks of signed Liberty Belle prints, some stockings draped over the back of the chair—
Blushing slightly, Bucky's gaze snaps back to hers. There's still open curiosity on his face, and a bit of confusion. Because now, standing so much closer to her than when he'd seen her on stage, there's really no hiding it. Out there, maybe he could've convinced himself that it was makeup and heels and wires, stagecraft like an elaborate magic trick. But. He'd felt Steph's body under his hands when she'd hugged him. You couldn't fake that. ]
C'mon, Steph. Whatever it is, you can tell me.
no subject
I guess you didn't get the one I sent last month? [ She hadn't really expected a response, but she figures he would have made an effort. Bucky was always good about that sort of thing. ] I was gonna write you another tonight, but I guess now I don't have to.
[ Her tent really isn't much to write home about, but she's got her own cot and a little folding desk and chair, squeezed in beside her trunk with all her clothes and costumes stuffed inside. It seems whatever she went through to get her body to change so drastically, it didn't change the fact that she's far messier than she'd like to be, distracted so often by her thoughts and everything she has to do that she forgets to tidy up unless she has to. Or unless someone's around to nag her into doing it.
Ever since Bucky left her, her life's been lacking in many different ways.
Chewing on her lip for a little bit longer, she stares up at him like she's memorizing his face before taking a breath and letting it out with a little huff of a sigh, no hitch or rattle or any of the other symptoms in that breath like she used to battle every day. ]
I volunteered.
no subject
[ The surprise cuts through him, ripping loose that burst of profanity before he can pull it back — but then again, neither of them had ever really reined themselves in with each other. A childhood running loose on the streets together had eroded boundaries and propriety between them until he'd always just treated her as another one of the boys, the pair of them thick as thieves. His mouth's only become more worthy of being scrubbed out with soap after joining the army.
This was exactly the sort of thing he'd told her not to do. Cross as two sticks, indeed. Bucky paces to the other side of the tent, scrubs at his face with a hand, running it through his hair — which is shorter than usual, cut brutally short to military specification, although his stubble's been growing in rougher than it ever did back stateside.
When Bucky wheels around and paces back and faces her again, he's biting down on that anger, which really just masks his concern. He reaches thoughtlessly outward, his fingertips grazing against Steph's bicep. Muscle. Clear-cut muscle, the kind that she'd never managed to put on even when he was training her in boxing. For self-defense, he'd said at the time. You gotta be able to protect yourself from these lowlifes when I'm not around. ]
So the things they say about Liberty Belle— the program actually worked? It really did... all this to you? Turned you into some kind of, of superwoman?
[ God, those words sound weird. ]
no subject
Though, truth be told, she was sort of expecting it.
He all but flings himself away from her, stalking across her tent in a few long strides, and she finds herself standing barefoot where he left her, her hands settling on her hips as she grits her jaw and tries not to snap back at him. Bucky's temper has always been a bit of a spark for her own, the two of them like flint and tinder, always mere seconds from setting each other off. She needs to bite back that impulse right now.
She's had months to get used to the new direction her life has taken. Bucky's only had a few minutes. She can give him some time. ]
It ain't like that, Buck, jeez. [ It's exactly like that, actually. Bucky used to be able to wrap his hand around her arm and have his fingertips all but overlap. Now, she's pretty sure if he tried to grab her biceps like that, it would be a whole 'nother story, and it has nothing to do with the thickness of her blouse. ] It worked, but... [ She waves her hand around her tent, encompassing the stockings and her sequined bustier and the stupid little shield she carries where it lies tossed aside against her chest. ] This has nothing to do with why I did it. I didn't want this.
[ Did she want to be strong? In an abstract sort of way. Did she want to be beautiful? Yeah, even if that wish made her feel shallow and silly. But more than all that, all Stephanie really wanted was to be healthy. She didn't think the pendulum would swing from one extreme all the way to the other, but here she is. Star of her very own vaudeville show, painted on the noses of fighter planes, flashing her knickers to hundreds of strangers every night. ]
ugh sorry i fell back into being slow af
That's changed now, but not exactly in the way he expected. ]
Then why did you do it?
[ His voice is softer now, calmer, as his gaze drops and he looks at her again. ]
And don't worry, I know it wasn't to be plastered on posters. You're not some glory hound. [ He waves a dismissive hand, as if the idea isn't even worth considering. Even in all their childish dreams of what they wanted to be when they grew up, showbiz hadn't exactly been on the list. While he's mulling it over and trying to come to terms with this impossibility standing in front of him, another thought suddenly occurs to him: ]
Are there any others like you?
you're fine!!
He looks back at her just in time to watch her cross her arms over her chest, except that she's forgotten yet again that her chest has a lot more to it than it used to, and she can't fold her arms like that any more. Awkwardly untangling them, she tries to fold them under her chest instead, but that just serves to push things up even more than her brassiere does, so she lets her arms drop to her sides to dangle instead, her fingers curling into her palms. ]
I— [ Whatever she'd been about to say gets cut off by him flapping his hand at her dismissively, and while she knows Bucky isn't the type of man who'd think that of her, who'd think that her one goal in life is to be famous and adored, having him say it aloud lifts a burden from her shoulders she wasn't even really aware of carrying.
Hopefully the way her knees wobble with relief is hidden by her trousers, though she's pretty sure there's no hiding the soft noise trapped in her throat, something pitifully close to a whimper that she tries to turn into a sigh. ]
I wanted to help, [ is what she says in the end, instead of saying anything about not being able to stomach accepting the Barnes' charity any longer, about nights spent curled up in her lumpy little bed under a threadbare blanket half-hoping she'd fall asleep and never wake up again, just so she wouldn't have to keep surviving in the useless frail body she'd been saddled with.
She shakes her head at his question, opening her mouth to explain, but finding that the words just won't come. Rolling her lips between her teeth, she bites them hard enough to hurt, trying to keep her chin from wobbling. ] Just me.
no subject
Suddenly self-conscious, Bucky drags his attention back to her face. Again. He exhales. ]
Okay. Shit. I'm glad to see you here, Steph. Even if it's the last place I actually expected to see you show up—
[ This place. This place, with its misery, hollow-eyed soldiers and limping convalescents and mud and the knowledge that, sooner or later, they all get fed back into the machine again, and not all of them will be back a few months from now for the next high-kicking entertainment revue.
There's still something stunned in his demeanour, as he tries to wrap his mind around it. She wanted to help. Of course she did. It had driven her crazy when he'd enlisted, going to the place where she couldn't follow, even as a nurse. Knowing how inevitable her choice would've been, once it was offered, doesn't make him any less shocked by the transformation. ]
Are you... The the asthma, and your heart murmurs, and everything. How do you feel?
no subject
She'd hated it, the shopping. Trying on clothes, letting other women stare at her and make considering noises, being pushed and prodded until she was standing on a little pedestal feeling like some sort of doll or fancy little dog, stiff and uncomfortable swaddled up in ways she wasn't used to.
Of course Bucky wouldn't be used to the things she's wearing either. All their lives, she'd made do with hand-me-downs or dresses she or her ma sewed herself. Plain, simple, sturdy. She'd never worn blouses with wide collars and gathered sleeves. She'd never worn trousers with cuffed hems and pleated waists. She'd certainly never worn dresses with artful darts to help the fabric cling in all the right places, or blazers with pads in the shoulders and shining brass buttons.
She assumes Bucky's staring is because of her clothes. ]
I wasn't gonna let you go off to war without me, [ she teases with a little laugh, sticking her hands in her pockets so they don't have to dangle at her sides any longer. ]
I feel... Bucky, I feel good. It's all gone. I'm... [ She takes a deep breath as if to demonstrate, her ribs expanding smoothly, and lets it out in a slow sigh. No hitching, no burbling, no coughing. Smooth as silk. ] Cured.
no subject
Then it was worth it.
[ Bucky says it like an official conclusion, a firm and unwavering proclamation. Anything would be worth it compared to her being healthy again, in full fighting form, and no longer fretting that the next wave of flu might be the one that finally takes her out. ]
Flashing some knee is probably a pretty easy price, then, compared to kicking all those sicknesses. I just don't like seeing you here, this place is hell, but—
[ But there never was any stopping her once she set her mind on something. And just as quickly, Bucky makes a decision, too: ]
How long are you here? Can we grab a drink, catch up? The Brits have rum rations, I scored a small bottle by beating this one kid at poker— I was saving it for a special occasion, but if this ain't a special occasion, I don't know what is.
for ~motivation.
[ he and sam had been sent out in response to a baffling distress call. when SHIELD explained that they thought it was aliens, sam had sent bucky a Look which made bucky fling an empty paper cup of coffee at the other man. "androids, aliens, wizards," sam had said again with a waggle of his eyebrows. "every damn time."
which is how the pair of them wound up fighting off horrible screaming things that kept trying to attach themselves to people's faces. one had latched onto bucky's vibranium arm, its mouthparts digging uselessly at the metal. he'd thought maybe they were related to tiny chitauri leviathans, but apparently there were more things and other kinds of aliens in heaven, earth, and space— as evidenced by the RAC agents who had showed up, and shown them how to neutralise the beasts. helped bail their asses out of the fire. ]
still, though. think we owe you some thanks.
no subject
these were only the babies
[ baby aliens of an invasive species that, as far as dutch can tell, is intent on conquering the universe, terraforming planets to their particular brand of hellhole, and wiping out all of humanity.
she's not a fan. hasn't been since before she started a war because of their mother, really. (well, and her own sister/mother, but that's a whole other story and she's not going to get into that, thank you.) ]
you can pay me back in drinks
no subject
[ her suggestion is casual and easy enough but it makes him hesitate for a second, wondering— he couldn't even say the last time he went and bought drinks for a pretty woman. but drinks for a battlefield compatriot? that, he knows how to do. ]
what kind of drinks do suave, heroic secret agents from space like to drink?
no subject
[ drinks for a battlefield compatriot. drinks with a goodlooking guy who knows how to fight. is there a difference?
(dutch has hang-ups, but this has never been one of them.) ]
the alcoholic kind
beyond that, i'm not all that picky
no subject
cool. very cool. earth already fought off one alien invasion in broad daylight, so i guess maybe it was our turn to field an invasion of the body snatchers one.
and you might regret being that open-minded, just so you know. i've had some horrible swill in my time. like, moonshine-in-the-trenches level swill.
no subject
all you need to know is that if someone bleeds, they're human. if there's green goo, you're fucked.
never heard of moonshine, but it can't be worse than some of the algae brew i've had before pree started stocking the good shit
no subject
and i might know a good hole-in-the-wall in new york that'll fit the bill. are you guys okay with being around in public on this planet?
[ you guys; leaving open the dangling possibility that she might want to drag her crew along. just in case he misinterpreted the one-on-one invitation. ]
no subject
i'm leaving the kids on the ship, but that's because they can't hold their liquor, not because they can't be trusted hanging around on strange planets that have barely discovered space travel
[ "the kids", like they aren't trained rac agents -- but the truth is that dutch is their leader and responsible for them and anything she gets them into, she'll get them out of, but they're not team awesomeforce, they're not hers the way johnny and d'avin and the rest of them were.
and she really wants that drink. ]
no subject
[ which probably pales in comparison to the rest of the universe, but he can't help but stick up for earth just a little, teasingly. ]
guessing that's a hint that you can hold your liquor?
i'm not trying to be an obnoxious showoff about this, either, but fair warning i'm an expensive drunk. enhanced metabolism.
although the rounds are on me, since i'm guessing you don't have local currency.
no subject
[ not. impressed. not that dutch has any right to take pride in spaceflight when she barely knows how a ship even functions. but hey, that's what nerds are for. and ship ais. ]
intriguing. but i think i can hold my own, yeah.
and you'd be buying even if i had what passes for joy around here. but i don't, so you're definitely buying. [ joy, of course, being the currency in the quad. ]
no subject
you're dutch, right? was kind of hard to hear the names between all the yelling.
no subject
yeah, i'm dutch
some bits of space are cooler than others
no subject
[ and even after all these years, there's still a ghost of the polite midcentury boy there, a metaphorical tip of the hat: yes, ma'am. but then, a second later, although he should really get started on finding that dive bar and sending her directions, the curiosity gets the better of him first: ]
you got a favorite place in space?
[ what a weird question. what a weird life. ]
no subject
because pree's bar in old town, hands down, but that's planetside
i don't really care about space all that much one way or the other
guy i know, johnny, now he's ready to cream his pants every time there's an asteroid, but that's not me
no subject
which means i guess i might be more in your pal johnny's camp about asteroids, but if i'm ever out there, i'll try to maintain my dignity
what's good about pree's bar? maybe i can try to find somewhere similar here
[ he is, secretly, a nerd. he's trying to play it cool but of course he would lose it over spaceβ even normal commercial airflight had been a relative novelty in his day. ]
no subject
might even give you a moment of privacy, if you need it real bad
[ dignity, what dignity? ]
i drink for free at pree's
and i know the joint
[ it used to be something akin to home, as close to the notion as dutch knew how to let herself come. ]
no subject
no subject
i'm easy
[ she is and isn't and this probably isn't fair, but dutch wasn't raised to be fair. (she was raised to be a weapon, a killer, the kind of person who'd survive the transition to hullen, but that's neither here nor there.) ]
no subject
no subject
[ yep, that's 100% her take-away here ]
no subject
[ had he stolen a moment, during the whole 'oh dear fucking god an alien is trying to eat my face' chaos, to still pause and admire how the newcomer handled herself in a fight? yep. sure did. ]
no subject
you weren't too bad yourself, sugarpants
no subject
i give you "badass", and you give me "sugarpants"
[ he acts affronted, but he's amused. ]
no subject
no subject
trying to get used to it, honey...tits?
[ -- nevermind that sounds terrible ]
no subject
no subject
where does 'dutch' come from, anyway? is it a nickname? i'm assuming you're not actually from the netherlands
no subject
[ and then there's a brief pause, ... appearing and disappearing while dutch decides how much she wants to tell him. ]
what's the netherlands? [ and she could leave it at that, but - might as well. ] short for duchess.
no subject
and wait, you're a space duchess?
no subject
and no, i'm not a space duchess
[ is she going to say it? she's going to say it. ]
i'm actually a space queen
or i was
no subject
are you shitting me
no subject
[ he should feel honoured; she doesn't share bits of her past with just anyone ]
no subject