[ 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 she’s stepping.]
It’s kind of necessary when you’re 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 that’s his fake one. Realizing she’s 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.]
There’s 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 doesn’t want to push it with him and ask questions about his past that maybe he doesn’t want to talk about.
Which is ironic because now, without him realizing it, he’s asking her questions that she doesn’t 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 wasn’t 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.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ 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?
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It’s kind of necessary when you’re basically always on call.
[
Unless you turn your phone on silent.]Never know when the next alien invasion might happen.
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[ 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. ]
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[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.
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[ 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.
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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.]
There’s things that are different from even the last time I was here , I can only imagine how jarring it is for you.
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[ 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?
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Which is ironic because now, without him realizing it, he’s asking her questions that she doesn’t 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?
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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.
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It’s the pants, isn’t it?
[Yoga wasn’t her thing despite May trying to teach her. She’s much rather take her emotions out by sparring, or in actual fights.]
Where in Europe did you live?
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[ 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?
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Would you ever go back to Prague?
[She sits up a bit straighter when he asks her about where else she might’ve moved to.]
I traveled cross-country to get to LA, does that count?
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[ 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?
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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.
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[ 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. ]
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[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.
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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. ]
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[That wasn’t the worst part though, but Daisy would rather not think about that.
Which is why she’s quick to try and change the subject.]
How’s your coffee?
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That’s 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 wasn’t 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.
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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?
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[ 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. ]
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Just a sip.
[She promises as she lifts the cup to down a decent portion of it. What? It’s 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 she’s still drunk enough that she ends up blurting out the question anyway.]
What’s with the gloves?
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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.
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