[ 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.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ 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.
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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.]
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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?
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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.]
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[ 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. ]
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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?
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[ 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.
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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.]
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[ 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? ]
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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.
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[ "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.
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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?
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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.
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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.]
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[ 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.
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[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?
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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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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.
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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.]
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?
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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.
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