[ 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.
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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.