chuju | fighting for something

[ Daisy veers the topic away so quickly that he can't follow up on the broke every bone in my body thing, and Bucky shoots her a Look™, but he gamely follows her distraction. His combat jacket's not in the room, but he figures it might've gotten ruined, and he can deal with that later — he'll be back at this building eventually anyway. Maybe SHIELD has a tailoring department. ]

Aw, goodies. Which I guess means candy which I guess means painkillers.

[ He moves more slowly than he's used to, not accustomed to all those aches and twinges and throbbing pain. Recuperation's gonna be a bitch. As she accompanies him out of the SHIELD building, they don't bother with the subway, and just flag down a cab instead. It's a sign of how tired he is that he doesn't just stubbornly insist on doing it alone. He doesn't clamour against having an escort home, just tips his head back against the seat and almost dozes off again as the car gets stuck in inevitable Manhattan traffic, the humming of the engine practically hypnotic.

He doesn't complain when she hops out of the cab when they arrive, either, like he's some vulnerable invalid who needs to be seen safely all the way to his door. But standing on the front step of his run-down lower east side apartment building, he pauses while fumbling for his keys, and looks back at Daisy instead. Fuck it. He's not just going to take that plastic bag from her and shove her back in the cab on this cold winter night. ]

So, about that movie night...

[ Look, if she breezes right past an uncomfortable topic, then she won't have to deal with it. There won't be the memories of days of pain and exhaustion, of nightmares every time she was in the pod. They don't have to talk about those things; neither of them needs that in their lives right now.

On the ride to his apartment, she contemplates just dropping him off and heading back to her own apartment, but... she's not ready. It might be pushing in where she's not welcome but she wants to make sure he gets to his place safely, and she's not ready to be alone just yet. Not when she knows what awaits her. So here she is, following after him with their bags full of a rainbow of pills, looking around the hallway with moderate interest.

Except then he pauses, keys in hand, and something clicks. Oh. ]

Well, it definitely doesn't have to be tonight. [ She smiles reassuringly and holds up one of the bags, a sticker with Barnes pasted in the corner. ] I just wanted to make sure you got to your door okay. And here you are. Mission accomplished.

[ There's no reason for her to linger. She can just... go home and not acknowledge how distressed she is about it. ]

I mean, it doesn't have to be. And I'll probably fall asleep partway through. [ A tip of his head to the pills, which won't be as soporific on him as someone without a serum-enhanced body, but they'll still nip at the edges, drag him down even deeper into that exhaustion. ]

But if you wanna come in. I could probably— do with the company. Even if, fair warning, my place is a piece of shit.

[ The admission comes slow and halting. He's not good at admitting when he wants help, even when that help is something as simple as a little human company. If she weren't here, it would probably be an endless series of text messages bugging Sam, walking circles around the actual subject at hand, until the other man realised what was up and he would just up and come over without Bucky having to ask.

But Daisy, meantime, is already right here. And he's been wanting to see more of her anyway. ]

[ A tension releases in Daisy like a rope being cut, her sore muscles noticeably relaxing as he invites her to stay. He could be living in a dirty rat-infested shithole and she'd still stay. ]

I could do with the company too.

[ Since he admitted it first, it's easy for her to echo the words with her own, showing a bit of her own vulnerability in exchange for his. And maybe she lets a little desperation creep into her expression — or maybe it's just the exhaustion he'll see. Because she is completely exhausted, the stress and physical exertion of the day combining with her injuries to utterly wear her out. Honestly, she'd love to just curl up and sleep for a week, but she knows rest won't come easy. ]

[ He looks at her — that fragile, wrung-out, vulnerable expression on her face — and he feels something twist and lurch in his chest.

Before he can let himself examine that too closely, Bucky just nods, turns around, and then turns the key in the lock. Shoves the door open (it has a habit of sticking) and then leads them further out of the cold and into the apartment building, then up the stairs to his actual door. The realisation that, oh shit, of course this means Daisy's going to have to see his actual apartment, comes just a hair too late for him to do anything about it. He's never had anyone over and he's been avoiding having anyone realise how dreary this place is, but the cat's gonna be out of the bag either way. So he doesn't hesitate, just unlocks that last door too and lets her in.

And it's not even that it's messy. It's just that it's... empty. There's nothing there, barely any hint of personality in the studio. There's a kitchenette right by the entrance, a bathroom to the side, and the rest of the room only consists of an endtable, an armchair in front of a TV, and a mattress on the floor in the corner, by the door out to the balcony. There's no decorations, no personal touches, no real sign that it's an actual home.

The mattress is, at least, an upgrade compared to him sleeping on the bare hardwood; not that she knows it. It's made up military-style, sheets and blankets neatly tucked in at the corners despite the lack of a frame. He winces while he toes out of his boots and tosses his keys onto the kitchen counter. ]

Home sweet home. It's... yeah. Sorry.

It's not that bad.

[ Her smile and words are both genuine. It really isn't bad, and it's certainly not what she'd expected from his apparent reluctance at her seeing it. She'd expected... not this. It's bare-bones, to be sure, but it's clean, and it's his. ]

I used to be able to pack all of my belongings into a duffel bag, ready to move at a moment's notice. I still pretty much can. [ Leaning over with a wince, her good hand loosens the laces of her boots so she can step out of them as well before moving further into the small apartment. A mattress on the floor is a choice a lot of people make, and the lack of personal items is pretty damn understandable given his everything. ]

We'll get you a pillow for the chair. It'll brighten the place up. [ Yes, she's teasing him. Gently, of course. The only reason she has any decoration at all in her place is that Kora had taken over and Daisy'd had to stake her own claim to the space. ]

Think it might need a little more than just a pillow. I've come across those home improvement shows. I know what's up.

[ He was often up late at odd hours, which meant channel-surfing, which meant coming across HGTV. So sue him.

But a part of him seems to relax a little, too, exhaling, as he sees that she's not horrified or — even worse — pitying. Bucky heads straight for the kitchen first and pours them two glasses of ice-cold tap water, playing at being a good host since they'll need it for their painkillers anyway. He hands her one glass while he scrutinises his studio, taking it in from the perspective of a new set of eyes. And... the other shoe drops, as he realises the second half of the logistical problem here. ]

I, uh, don't have a couch, though. So we'll have to sit on the mattress to watch anything. If you're okay with that.

[ If this actually goes anywhere for any real length of time, she'll be half tempted to unleash her sister on poor unsuspecting Bucky and this apartment. She'd have the place decorated in no time, likely in some homage to the 1980s that would be the exact opposite of anything he'll have seen on those home improvement shows.

Something to think about. ]

I don't mind. [ Carefully maneuvering with water glass and bags of pills, she makes her way over to the mattress, eyeballing it for a moment before choosing a side. She sets her water glass down on the floor before dropping the bags in the middle and lowering herself to sit on the edge. Not even five seconds later, she's letting out a heavy sigh. ]

It feels good to sit. [ The cab hadn't counted. Out there was different than in here with him. Here, she feels... safe. ]

Tell me about it. Once I sit down, I'm not getting back up again. —Gimme a sec.

[ While he'd been unconscious, she'd evidently had time to change clothes back at HQ, but Bucky's shirt and pants still smell like gunpowder and debris. He digs around in the one closet and then meanders off into the bathroom. He normally sleeps in nothing more than a pair of boxers, but best not to go that far when he's got company.

When he slowly, carefully peels off his shirt, he hisses an indrawn breath in the mirror at the sight of the mottled bruises all over his body. The nicks and cuts are already scabbing over, but he's not used to the physical impacts leaving a mark like this. It feels like he got pummeled everywhere; tenderized. He hobbles into sweatpants, a sleeveless white undershirt, and then hesitates over a rumpled long-sleeved hoodie. They're not in public anymore. He's at home. If he can decide that he doesn't give a fuck about his arm being exposed around the Wilsons and around Helmut Zemo, then surely Daisy's okay too. (She won't stare. Probably?)

So Bucky leaves the hoodie behind and saunters back out: the vibranium arm fully visible, as are some of the injuries, although his flesh-and-blood arm isn't anywhere near the state of Daisy's — his ribs, black eye, and stitched-up cut on his face are his main problems. He grabs his water along with the remote and the chair's back cushion, and then eases himself onto the other side of the mattress. Stacks the cushion and the pillows behind them in some vague semblance of a headboard. It's like some college kid's cheap bedroom, if he knew what that was like. He exhales his own sigh of relief at being off his feet again. ]

Okay. Yeah. Sitting: good. We like sitting.

[ He kicks himself a moment later. Oh god, he hasn't even taken the pills yet and he is already an embarrassment. ]

[ If he's an embarrassment, then she is too, exhausting chipping away at her ability to form full coherent sentences. ]

Sitting very good.

[ Daisy would have offered Bucky some SHIELD-issue clothes if they'd stayed at HQ for another round in the chamber. They have a giant closet full of training gear and extra clothes for the inevitable mission that ends in textile destruction or the unexpected long stay in the building. (Getting stuck in quarantine sucks enough without having to do it in field gear or a suit.) But they'd come here and so she's glad to see that he's getting comfortable — including letting her see his arm this way. She doesn't stare but she doesn't avoid looking at it either, which might be equally as bad. She looks, notes the change, and then smirks tiredly at him. ]

Hey, think you and that fancy arm could help me out of this?

[ A zip-up hoodie had been added to her outfit before they left the building, a good enough effort against the cold city, but she's kind of over it now, the material rubbing against her sensitive skin the wrong way. She shrugs the hoodie off her shoulders but without the use of her left hand, she can't quite get the cuffed sleeve past her hand. (Not without looking like an idiot, anyway.) ]

Edited 2022-03-23 05:31 (UTC)

[ Bucky shifts on the mattress and obligingly takes hold of the edge of her hoodie, and gingerly works it down the line of her back, then tugs at the sleeves, around the bend of her elbow and then over her bandaged arms. He's the most careful when getting the hoodie off her forearms: trying not to bump those fractures or bruises, trying not to apply any pressure, trying to pull the hoodie loose with it barely touching her skin. At one point, when his hands curl against the fabric of the sweatshirt, his fingers — both the metal and the human — brush against her skin instead.

So he's slowly undressing Daisy Johnson in his bed. This is fine. Everything is fine. Jesus christ.

He tamps down on that entire train of thought, smothers it like a fire without any oxygen to feed itself any longer, and in the end he drops a crumpled hoodie in her lap. His eyes are riveted to her arms, now that he can get a better look at them. When he speaks up, his voice is low, worried. ]

You should've taken a turn in the pod.

[ The way he removes the article of clothing from her body, the extreme level of care he puts into each and every touch... it takes her breath away. He's treating her like glass, not because he sees her as breakable but because he's trying not to break her further. It's a fine distinction in her mind but it changes everything. There's nothing sensual about what's happening and yet this is the most intimate she's felt with anyone in a very long time. ]

I was more worried about you. [ She admits it quietly but without shame or regret. Because that's who she is: Daisy Johnson puts everyone else before herself, she always has and she always will. ] You needed to get out of there and I needed to make sure you were okay.

[ He tilts his head. Looks at her askance. They haven't known each other very long, all things considered, but he's already picking up on some things. Her perpetual concern for him, even when they were complete strangers. Always redirecting away from herself, and wheeling the attention back onto the other person instead. Daisy has this large found family in SHIELD, and yet he wonders— ]

You're always looking after other people. Do others look after you?

[ Daisy goes very still, feeling like a deer in headlights. Something in her wants to cry, to rage that no, no one ever takes care of her. She's Quake, she's the strong one, the heavy hitter, the best fighter SHIELD has. She wants to tell him that she can count the number of people who have ever taken care of her on one hand and still have fingers left over. But there's a part of her that's terrified of saying any of that aloud. What if it's too much for him to deal with? What if she doesn't deserve that? What if this is her role in life and she's not meant to have anything more?

So, after a long moment of watching Bucky with a conflicted mix of fear and longing, she lets it all fall away, pulling up her mask of being Okay because it's the only armor she has right now. There's even a bit of humor in her voice when she answers him, trying to make a joke out of something that's so important. ]

Come on, Barnes. Everyone knows the superhero's supposed to take care of herself.

[ Nevermind that she does a shitty job of it. Just look at the state of her. Which is a perfect way to deflect the conversation and move it past this very uncomfortable subject. Grabbing his bag, she moves it closer to him, the bottles rattling with the motion, and then picks up her own. ]

We should take these.

[ She dumps the bag's content on top of the hoodie in her lap, the three bottles clinking dully against each other. A white bottle with a complicated name she's never been able to pronounce and two prescription bottles: one with a pain killer suited to her injuries and the other with the equivalent of extra strength tylenol. It's the white one she goes for first, twisting off the cap and tipping a few out of the bottle directly into her mouth. She doesn't even go for the water yet. ]

[ And there she goes again, bricking up those walls. Bucky's a king of skittish avoidance himself — he hasn't even been telling his therapist the whole truth — and so he knows. He knows. He gets it. Probably more than he should.

And yet, even he knew that it was a back-and-forth. He'd looked out for Steve in all their youth, and then Steve had repaid the favour later, refusing to leave Bucky's side even when the whole world turned against them, even when Bucky himself didn't remember the man. How did that saying go— when you can't run, you crawl, and when you can't crawl, you find someone to carry you?

He fishes around in his plastic bag, although unlike Daisy, he does go for the glass at the same time. He takes a deep swig of the water and a mouthful of the pills (the dosage neatly typed up on the side of the bottle, carefully-measured and tripled against his metabolism, SHIELD doctors evidently on the ball). He tips his head back and swallows, letting the moment sink and settle between them before he eventually loops back. Quietly poking holes in her logic. It both was and wasn't a joke, and he could tell. ]

Y'know, being a superhero doesn't mean doing it alone. I mean, that was one of the very first things I learned. When Steve was Cap, he had me and the Howling Commandos with him. Then there were the Avengers later. When he went rogue — to help me out — others stuck by his side.

[ It's probably too serious. She probably wants to escape this particular topic — god knows he would — but he couldn't let it sit without saying something. ]

So, I mean, I'm just saying. People gotta help each other out, have each others' backs in the trenches. [ A flicker at the corner of his mouth. ] Annnnd now you're off the hook and I'm letting this drop.

[ A team. That's what Steve had. It's something Daisy hasn't had in a few years now, not a steady ride-or-die one like she had before. Ever since they'd gone their separate ways after the fight with the Chronicoms, she's bounced around from group to group, helping out on mission adhoc and then going back to doing her solo thing. The talk of Bucky joining her sometimes was the first time she'd really considered what it would be like to have a partner again, something she hasn't had since Mack took over as Director. Someone to have her back, to know her strengths and limits, to be there...

She can't be alone for long. Things go badly when she's alone, her mind twisting around all her insecurities and fears and digging her deep into a hole she has trouble climbing out of. Depression is the simple word for it, though she's not sure any therapist could even begin to tackle her mountain of issues.

A few moments of silence pass as she fiddles with the bottles, then she glances over at him in unmasked gratitude. ]

Thanks. For all of it. [ More fiddling, now specifically with the full-strength painkiller. When she speaks, it's hesitant and quiet, like she's afraid to even ask. But after what he'd just said... ] Could I stay for a while? I don't really want to be alone when I take this.

[ His blue eyes drift down to the bottle, the label, realising the strength of the meds and that they'll probably either knock her out or make her loopy. Side-effects he really hasn't had to worry about in a long, long time himself — you practically need horse tranquiliser to put a super-soldier down.

All of which means Daisy's probably going to be stuck here at his place for a while tonight, but. When Bucky tests that idea in his thoughts, like probing a loose tooth with his tongue, he realises that he doesn't mind. He hadn't wanted to be alone while he licked his wounds either, and it's good to have someone keeping an eye on her if she's going to be so dosed up.

So, case in point. The whole not having to do it alone thing. ]

Please. And I figured you would. You promised me a movie, remember?

[ It's a small lifeline, a ghost of humour. ]

[ If he'd said no or that he wasn't comfortable having her around when he might fall asleep, she'd have understood. It would have been back to her original plan of saving the heavy hitting meds for tomorrow when she took a turn in the healing chamber, even if it meant being uncomfortable in the meantime. But he says yes and she's so grateful she could cry. ]

This wasn't exactly how I pictured our first movie night, but I'll take it. [ She smiles easily. Next time, they'll do it right. Snacks and drinks and not being in horrible pain. ] What should we watch?

[ They'd talked about options before but she's not sure what he has available. Considering they'll both be exhausted, possibly loopy messes, anything requiring paying too much attention should probably be out.

She twists off the cap of the bottle and tips out a few pills (of a much lower dosage than his), popping them in her mouth before finally reaching for the glass of water to wash them down. And then it's done, an act of trust Bucky probably doesn't even fully comprehend. ]

[ Bucky eases himself back on the bed until he's flopped back against the cushions; he tries not to do the tired old-man grunt as he settles in, but he winds up doing it anyway, sagging into the pillows like a marionette with its strings cut. And then he casts his mind through the list of movies scribbled in his notebook in both his cribbed handwriting and Steve's tidier one, and considers one which feels like it might be even vaguely relevant to Daisy. ]

Sam told me to watch Men in Black. They're kind of like SWORD, right?

Kind of, yeah. Just with uniforms and ridiculous codenames.

[ She drops the bottles back into her bag before setting it aside next to the glass of water, choosing not to tease him about sounding like an old man just then. The injuries are a good excuse, but if he does it again when he's back to full strength, all bets are off.

Adjusting her position, she leans back against the cushions beside him, letting out a much more dignified sigh as she relaxes into them and tries to find a good way to prop up her left arm. Oh yeah, she's not moving for a long time. ]

It's a good one, though. I think you'll like it.

[ He turns the TV on with the remote and then starts to fuss with the apps, trying to figure out how to pull up the relevant streaming service. God, he'd been around when TVs were first invented, and now look at them. Right when it seems like Daisy might have to step in and intervene, he figures it out and manages to pull up the movie. ]

I will point out, [ Bucky adds with a flicker of mischievous innocence, as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, ] that you've got a codename and I heard Coulson always wore a suit.

[ She watches him struggle but refrains from offering help. He'll get it eventually, she has full faith — and she's actually proud of him when he does. Is that weird?

Her arms hurt too much and he's too injured to reach over and give him a good playful smack to the chest, so instead she moves her leg to nudge her foot against his. ]

Coulson's fashion choices are his own, thank you very much. You'll never catch me in a suit like that unless I'm trying to break someone out of jail. [ Yep, she's done that. ] And my codename is a lot cooler than theirs. You'll see.

Jailbreak experience. Does this mean you should be my one phonecall if I ever wind up in lockup again?

[ Amused and warmed by that playful nudge, he glances over at her; for the moment, still a bit too entertained and absorbed by Daisy to kick off the movie just yet. ]

Although in the interests of full disclosure, I guess I gotta say that I have jailbreak experience, too.

I guess that means you'll be my one phonecall then, too.

[ She gives him a bright smile, amused and so glad for the way their conversations always seem to get back to even ground where they can both relax and enjoy themselves. Being with him is comfortable and comforting, two things she could stand to have a lot more of in her life, and she's pretty sure he could too. ]

[ It really has been the most pleasant, unexpected surprise: how easy it is to settle into this groove with her. The back-and-forth, the teasing patter and the jokes and the serious confessions and the careful peeling-back more details about each other. Getting to know each other better. It's a constant excavation, and Bucky's always startled at how much he isn't getting tired of it. There's always more and more to learn about her.

Right now, though, his energy's humming along at a low ebb, and so it's all he's got in him to press play and then become one with his pillows. The start of the movie is immediately engaging and despite his tiredness, he finds himself following along. After the alien crash-landing in upstate New York, he remarks aloud, ] Movies like this must've felt weird after the Chitauri.

[ No matter how enthralling it is, though, Bucky's already accepted the fact that they're definitely not going to get through the whole movie, so he doesn't mind talking throughout. Behind a yawn, he adds, ]

And I'm gonna need your official additions to my pop culture watchlist, by the way. Sometime.

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