[ 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. ]
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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.