[ A wan smile flickers across his face as he looks down at her. As she drifts off, he settles down even lower against the pillows and turns the volume lower on the TV: not fully silent, but enough that the music and voices drown into a low soporific hum. He usually falls asleep with it on, anyway.
His metabolism's still strong enough that it takes a while before the side-effects finally kick in. It comes on slowly: he's half-paying attention to the movie, still awake but drowsing, but that sleepiness keeps gnawing at the edges of his focus, nipping and dragging him down. In the end, it's a relief to just close his eyes and let go.
Normally Bucky is a terrible sleeper. He's only relatively recently gotten used to the softness of an actual mattress again, and he's usually awake and sweating in the middle of the night, tangled in his sheets. This time, though, the meds and the pain and the exhaustion just knocks him right out. At some point, the radiators come on with a noisy clang and he does wake up then — but just enough to blink blearily across the room, realise the woman beside him is still asleep, breathing deeply, and he reaches for the throw blanket from the bottom of the bed and drapes it over her. They've both just fallen asleep on top of the sheets, but his body runs hot enough that he's a human radiator himself, blazing with warmth.
And then that exhaustion comes in like a boulder and Bucky rolls over, buries his face in the pillow, and passes out again.
By morning — dawn light starting to spill through the windows, he doesn't even have curtains — they've somehow managed to burrow into the bed enough that he's wedged up against her, a leg entangled with hers, Daisy's head against the crook of his bare shoulder, close to the slow rise-and-fall of his breathing. ]
[ Daisy never sleeps well. A light sleeper, she's either constantly woken by some noise or another, jolting awake and ready to defend herself in an instant, or she's gasping from one of the wide assortment of nightmares that rotate through. Failing to save the world, loved ones dying, being tortured... It's always a great start to the day.
But not this day. As sunlight tumbles through the curtainless window, she takes the slow route to wakefulness — one she hasn't taken in a long time. For the first time in who knows how long, she feels warm and safe and rested, though her mind is still more than a little fuzzy from the pain meds. Maybe that's why she doesn't notice at first, her aches still cushioned by the pills and that feeling of safety wrapping her up like a blanket.
Speaking of: when did she get a blanket?
Giving a quiet almost groaning sigh, she shifts slightly, moving just a little closer to the warm body she's been using as a pillow. And then she goes still, wondering if he's awake yet and if he's noticed... this. She can feel it now, his heartbeat and breathing, the closeness of his warmth sinking into her tired, broken bones. And their legs. How exactly had that managed that one?
Slowly rising further into wakefulness, she stays quiet with her eyes still closed, not ready to let go of his warmth and closeness just yet. This moment won't last forever and she wants to savor it for as long as she can. And when she senses him waking, quietly, still drifting in the half-awake moment, she offers: ]
[ He wakes up after Daisy, but just barely: it was that shift, the unaccustomed sensation of someone else in his bed, her squirming closer. And he remembers just enough of tucking her in that he doesn't jolt at the presence, doesn't immediately try to untangle himself and then panickedly yeet himself out of the bed. He cracks open an eye instead and squints at her in the morning light. ]
Yeah, uh, no problem.
[ This should probably feel more awkward than it does, right? This is the first time anyone is waking up in Bucky Barnes' bed in... jesus, some eighty years. It's an inconceivable stretch of time. But somehow it doesn't feel strange or uncomfortable: he's just drowsy, and maybe thinking about how he needs to catapult himself into the bathroom to spare her the morning breath, but just— having her here is nice. Having the company is nice.
Not having the nightmares for once. Is nice. ]
I didn't really want to kick you out into the cold at 2am.
[ He shifts slightly — his right arm is half-asleep under Daisy's weight, so he readjusts, moves it a little higher so it's more slung over the pillows and her shoulders rather than trapped beneath her. Absolutely nothing happened between them, but he's hopelessly aware of how close she is now, and how normally waking up with someone else means an entirely different context than just dozing off on painkillers.
[ It's weird to be so calm about waking up like this. Or rather, it's weird that she doesn't feel weird about it at all. Because that is weird, right? Usually, people spring apart in situations like this, mumbling awkwardly and refusing to look at each other. But nothing about this feels worthy of that sort of reaction.
Maybe it's that she already feels so close with Bucky, like they're soldiers who have actually been in the trenches together rather than near-strangers who are still just getting to know each other. And really, that's what this sort of life does to a person. Whoever you were before, you instantly become connected to the people who have been through similar experiences, even if you never talk about them.
Those are the thoughts that tumble through Daisy's mind as she finally emerges that last little bit through the clinging haze of sleep. It's rare that she gets to wake up like this: slowly, without the panic of a nightmare or rush of a sudden mission. It's nice. She wishes she could wake up like this more often. ]
Surprisingly, yeah.
[ Shifting back just enough so she's not laying quite so much on as him next to him, she blinks at him with still sleepy eyes. She can still feel the warmth radiating off of him, and their legs are still tucked together like puzzle pieces, but she can't bring herself to feel anything but comfortable and content. ]
[ Maybe he shouldn't have let that admission slip out, but— they both know that they both suffer nightmares and that they don't sleep well. They've already talked about it. It's not especially a surprise.
His dog tags are strangling him a little with the angle he's wedged against the pillows, so Bucky fishes them out, tugs them loose so they're back to their customary spot on his chest rather than wound tight around his neck. And then he lets his head fall back against the pillows, looking up at the ceiling so he's not staring right at Daisy's face from a few inches away, looming too-close. They're going about this all backwards, but in a way — he ponders — maybe falling asleep together doesn't have to be a big deal. It's just that human companionship, that soothing presence. Like a comfort blanket or a stuffed animal.
Buck, do not tell the cute girl that she's like a stuffed animal.
Instead, he takes a stab at trying to explain it, which backfires almost immediately but then he desperately tries to course-correct a second later. ]
I think I've missed sleeping with— I mean, not like that— I've missed falling asleep with someone else in the room. The army, or a full house when I was a kid. Hasn't been like that in a while.
[ Her eyes follow his hand as he moves the dog tags, her gaze lingering on those raised letters as he settles again. The question lingers on her tongue, begging to be asked, but she's not sure it's the right time. Besides, she can guess well enough at the answer, so does she really need to hear him say it?
There's no stopping the amused grin as he stumbles over his own words, and the smile stays firmly in place as she responds. ]
I know what you mean. It's been weird living on my own. I used to live on the Zephyr with my team, and before that, I was on base. I could recognize the way everyone felt and it was... It's different now that I'm in a building full of strangers, even if they are all SHIELD agents.
[ The only time she feels anything close to the level of comfort she's had over the last few hours with Bucky has been when her sister or Coulson has stayed with her, and those visits are always far too short. ]
A building full of SHIELD agents? [ He shoots her a sidelong look, sneaking a glance. For a moment he's not sure if she's talking about her home or her workplace; but granted, those lines are pretty blurred anyway. ] So, wait, is that a setup like— company housing or something? SHIELD owns the whole building and rents it out to its employees?
Yeah, that's it exactly. With housing being so ridiculously expensive in this city and so many agents constantly out of town on missions, it made more sense to have a building owned by the agency. Rent is low, we have our own security, and furniture is provided if needed.
[ She tugs the blanket a bit higher on her shoulders, not the slightest bit eager to leave the warm cocoon of his bed. Which, speaking of: ]
I'd be doing the mattress on the floor move myself if it weren't for that. Like I said last night, most of my life can fit in a duffel bag.
[ God. He'd worked himself into such self-conscious knots over this dreary studio apartment — which was more like a placeholder than an actual home — worrying about what people might think. The kind of expression which might've flickered across Daisy's face when she first saw it: disbelief, concern, pity.
But none of it had come to pass. It really, truly turns out that Bucky needn't have worried. ]
Yeah, [ he says. There's a bit of a pause, Bucky chewing it over and literally gnawing on his lip as he tries to decide whether to dip into this corner of it, but— in the end, it's just so horrendously easy to talk to Daisy. ]
After leaving HYDRA, I stayed on the move the whole time. Lived out of a single backpack. Buying furniture wasn't really a thing when you're moving countries every couple months. Heck, I didn't even have my own place while I was in the army, I just stayed with my family when I was on leave. So I'm not really used to... this.
[ He waves his vibranium hand, gesturing vaguely to the apartment around them. ]
[ Every time they find something new that they can each relate to, it catches Daisy off-guard. How can they have so much in common? With anyone else, she'd question whether it was real or if some part of all this had been fabricated to get closer to her. But this is Bucky, and despite the dozens of (ridiculous) reasons other people might cite for why he shouldn't be trusted, she does trust him. Implicitly and without question. ]
It's weird, isn't it? We've been out saving the world, running from bad guys, dealing with really awful shit... And somehow we missed that quintessential "adult" step.
Seriously. Tell you something: I still don't understand credit cards. Like, at all. Completely lost on me. I'm over a century old and I need a goddamn class in adulting.
[ They keep seesawing like this, touching on serious subjects before sliding over to another easy joke and then back to another serious subject. It's a way of keeping the mood balanced; whenever things start getting too somber, then one or the other of them likely starts getting restless, itching to tip the scales again.
Lying there, Bucky feels a twinge in his ribs and then suddenly remembers— oh, right, they'd been in a fight yesterday. He'd almost forgotten. After a full night's sleep, his black eye is almost gone, already hyper-accelerated to the fading yellowed skin rather than the livid purple it had been when they'd first fished him out of the debris. His stitches are healing up nicely. (Say this for HYDRA's fucked-up experiments and their attempts to imitate Erskine's formula, but at least their serum worked.)
Daisy, however, probably wasn't quite so lucky. So his human hand reaches for her arm where she's clutching at the blanket; his fingertips graze inquisitively against her wrist, the narrow band of bare skin below her sleeve, tracing the edge of her forearm. ]
[ She's about to point out that most people don't actually understand credit cards when he shifts to subject to her injuries. He's looking so much better this morning whereas she... Well, her bruises are in full bloom now, shades of black and purple in mottled patches following the veins in her arms up to her shoulders. It hurts to move them, even just holding on to the blanket makes her fingers ache, but she's so used to it that she hardly even thinks about it until his question calls her attention.
Sighing, she lifts her right arm and tucks the blanket under it so she can tug at the sleeve with her bandaged left hand, exposing some of those bruises that look exceptionally angry. Luckily, the left is a lot worse but hidden under those bandages. ]
Despite how it looks, it's not that bad. Could have been a lot worse.
[ More deflection. She just doesn't know how to deal with someone being worried about her. ]
[ Bucky winces at the sight, his blue gaze following her movements as they check in on the progress of those bruises. The way they map her veins is uncanny and eerie-looking. Like her body got in a fight with itself. ] If this one's 'not that bad', I don't wanna guess what 'worse' looks like.
[ Their position here, entangled with each other in this bed, is becoming increasingly perilous in how warm and comfortable and close it is. His brain's starting to tick along and he's starting to get ideas, ideas which had been pretty contentedly suppressed for the past near-decade, and so — in tried-and-true form — he decides to distract himself from it. ]
What's your schedule look like today, apart from eventually getting back to that healing— pod— thing? 'Cause my fridge is predictably empty but I'm thinking, I could swing outside and grab a breakfast sammy for each of us so you can pop some more painkillers. I got a street cart guy on the corner.
[ The vendor served cheap coffee and greasy bacon-egg-and-cheeses, as both God and NYC intended. Bucky had struck up an amiable sort of morning acquaintanceship with him. (The thing was, for having such a terrifying reputation and being intimidatingly, gloweringly silent sometimes— he could be friendly and gregarious, too, as long as someone didn't know who the hell he was. It was a little easier, than, to slip back into the skin of James Barnes and remember how to do that. How to be chatty to the street cart guy, and charming to the local bartender.) ]
[ Her body did get in a fight with itself. The gift that regularly wreaks havoc on her body is genetic, coded into her DNA her entire life and just waiting to be activated. There always seems to be some sort of drawback to Inhuman gifts; she considers herself lucky that hers isn't something worse.
As his proposal sinks in, her heart skips a bit, her pulse picking up enough speed that she's grateful he can't feel it. At the back of her mind, she'd been dreading having to leave, and suddenly here he is just offering her the chance to stay. She doesn't hide the relief that creeps into her expression as she teases him just a little. ]
You've got a street cart guy on the corner. Look who's back to being a local. [ But she's happy for him, that he can have those little pieces of normalcy to help get him through the rest of his abnormal life. ] My schedule is wide open today, so if you don't mind me invading your space a while longer... That sounds pretty great.
[ She can't think of a better way to spend her day. ]
[ The moment she agrees, there's that answering flutter of nervous happiness turning over in his stomach; it's like he'd stepped out into open air, taking a gamble, and he's only just now caught his footing again and landed on solid ground.
Bucky doesn't want to leave the bed, this nest, but if he stays too long then those insidious ideas are going to take root, and he genuinely just doesn't know how to handle that part anymore. (Another, bigger leap into open air, and a greater gamble.) So he disentangles himself a little reluctantly, rolling out from his side of the mattress and back to his feet — immediately missing that warmth of Daisy's presence the moment he does. ]
How d'you take your coffee? [ he asks, while he grabs last night's hoodie and zips up, and scrounges around until he finds a pair of socks buried in the armchair cushions. He's just going to pop outside in his sweatpants, because who gives a shit. Bucky cleans up well when he wants to, but he's also not particularly vain about his appearance; he's always a little rumpled these days, that five o'clock shadow omnipresent on his face. ]
[ When he leaves the bed, it feels like he takes part of her with him. How crazy is that? She's pretty sure any therapist worth their salt would say this is unhealthy, there's no way she should be this attached to someone this quickly, but... She is and she's so tired of feeling empty and alone. Both of those horrible sensations are lessened when she's with Bucky, his presence filling up the gaps in her life and reminding her what happiness feels like.
Because this is happiness, isn't it? ]
If it's normal subpar street cart quality, then preferably with milk and sugar, otherwise I just take it black.
[ She'd spent too many years subsisting off of crummy diner coffee to be overly picky about her order. Yawning, she doesn't bother to cover her mouth this time, instead choosing to add to the effect by properly covering up with the blanket again. No way if she moving from this bed until she has to, especially when she has a view like this. (She'd love to see Bucky properly cleaned up, of course, but she really enjoys his rumpled look too.)
He's getting teased about the armchair socks later, though. She has to get it in now while he has no idea how much of a slob she is in her own home. ]
[ Boots on and laced up, Bucky flashes her a smile and finally darts out.
Ironically, leaving Daisy alone in his apartment isn't quite as probing or trusting or intimate as it could be, precisely because of its emptiness. It's not like he has any souvenirs or trinkets or drawers full of deep, dark, personal secrets for her to plumb into: the place is a blank slate, and she's honestly the most interesting thing in the studio right now. The most revealing possession is likely just the go-bag at the back of the closet (fake passport, cash, gun, ammunition), and a second gun stashed in the toilet tank. Old habits died hard. So did the paranoia.
Bucky makes it quick: just hightails it down to the corner, says good morning, orders two breakfast sandwiches and two coffees. One black, the other with milk and sugar. The middle-aged Middle Eastern man at the cart arches an eyebrow, immediately ready to tease his regular. Two orders today, buddy? Yes, two.
It's about ten minutes before he's back, toeing the door open with his boot and finding Daisy exactly where he left her.
But the place isn't empty, for once. There's something — someone — at home which makes him excited to come back, for once. ]
[ With her Bucky-shaped human radiator gone, the apartment feels as empty as it is. She can't help but think how lonely it must be for him here in this emptiness, which immediately starts prompting ideas of how she can help fix that particular problem. But first, she extricates herself from the blanket cocoon for a quick stop in the bathroom.
Wow, he really saw her hair like this? Borrowing his comb and washing her face, she feels a little more human when she crawls back under the blanket and fishes her phone out of the hoodie pile next to the bed. A few texts are sent to inquiring loved ones, including one to her sister that has her scrolling through options when Bucky returns.
Grinning, she clicks off her phone and reaches over to slide it back onto the hoodie pile. She's in a good mood, the pain crinkling the edges of her expression not even enough to dampen her spirits. ]
Wow, Bucky. A badass fighter and a good provider. Careful, you might make a girl swoon. [ As if he hasn't already. ]
If by 'providing', you mean 'bringing us Ibrahim's cooking'. They're the best bacon-egg-and-cheese in the neighbourhood.
[ Kicking off his boots again, Bucky crosses the room and plants himself on the edge of the mattress on Daisy's side, seated sideways with his long legs sprawled out across the bare floorboards. He tosses a handful of napkins onto the covers and passes her a brown paper bag, with her paper-wrapped sandwich inside. The coffee in the paper cup goes to the floor beside his, while he works on unwrapping his own sandwich. ]
It's not like I've got a dining table, so don't worry about crumbs on the covers. I have to go to the laundromat later anyway.
[ His nose crinkles. ]
You're witnessing me in all my slobby glory. Not exactly the supposedly glamorous life of a superhero.
[ Daisy sits up properly to accept the bagged sandwich, her mouth already watering from the faint smells emanating through the paper. Had she eaten at all yesterday? Between the fighting bad guys and worrying over Bucky, she can't remember having anything more than half a cup of cold coffee while she waited for him to wait up. It's no wonder she's suddenly starving.
Extricating the sandwich from the bag, she still folds the bag to create a crumb catcher before unwrapping the greasy delicacy. He might not care about crumbs but she certainly doesn't want to sit in them. ]
Please, I was a slob before I became a superhero and I haven't changed my ways since. [ She takes a bite of the sandwich, only just managing not to make some obscene noise at how good it tastes, and talks around the bite in a very unladylike fashion while she chews. ] My sister hates it.
Really? [ He quirks an eyebrow at her, half-grins before he wolfs down another couple bites of his sandwich. Much like her, he is, suddenly, ravenous. That metabolism just chewing up all that energy to piece his body back together. It'll be good to have some food in their bellies to go with the next dose of the meds, too, so it's not just painkillers on a hollow stomach. ]
Nice learning we're all human here. You do a good job of looking like you've got your shit together, at least.
Mmm, I've had years to practice faking it. My performance is practically award-winning by now.
[ Which probably isn't a good thing. With her job, she definitely has her shit together, but when it comes to her personal life... That's a big fat nope. She is the very definition of a mess. Somehow, she's managed to surround her people who look past that particular character flaw. ]
Well, then next time it'll be your turn to show off what a slob you are. Turnabout's fair play.
[ 'Next time'. Another little promise that they'll do this again. They keep accidentally tripping into spending time with each other in ways they hadn't planned, improvising hangouts on the fly — but really, would these two have done it any other way? ]
Anyway, it's good SHIELD's got apartments for all of you. Medical benefits better be top-notch, considering the... hazards in this line of work. [ A significant glance at her bruises. Bucky's face and ribs are fucked-up too, but at least he's not quite as breakable as a regular — albeit Inhuman — person. ]
[ Each and every promise of 'next time' gives her hope that it will actually happen. The two of them will finally meet up for something not work-related and they'll... just hang out. Daisy meant what she said before, it doesn't need to be any sort of big production. Sure, she enjoys a fun adventure now and then, but she enjoys a chill night in just as much, if not more. ]
SHIELD covers pretty much everything. [ She lowers her sandwich to the paper bag and addresses the topic as seriously as it deserves. ] Coulson made sure of that when he restructured everything. Most things are handled in-house, and if someone needs to go beyond our resources, we have funds to help. Medical specialists, therapists... We take care of our own.
[ Bucky's gone for his coffee cup and he's surveying her over the brim. His voice doesn't sound judgmental or critical; just lightly curious. The way Daisy talks about it, it's the kind of tried-and-true loyalty which he's been missing for— well. A while. It's a rare and precious thing to carve out that kind of found family from something which could so easily just be a job, a paycheck, clocking in and clocking out. He'd seen the first seeds of it with the SSR, but it's fascinating seeing what the organisation became so many decades later. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no regrets
His metabolism's still strong enough that it takes a while before the side-effects finally kick in. It comes on slowly: he's half-paying attention to the movie, still awake but drowsing, but that sleepiness keeps gnawing at the edges of his focus, nipping and dragging him down. In the end, it's a relief to just close his eyes and let go.
Normally Bucky is a terrible sleeper. He's only relatively recently gotten used to the softness of an actual mattress again, and he's usually awake and sweating in the middle of the night, tangled in his sheets. This time, though, the meds and the pain and the exhaustion just knocks him right out. At some point, the radiators come on with a noisy clang and he does wake up then — but just enough to blink blearily across the room, realise the woman beside him is still asleep, breathing deeply, and he reaches for the throw blanket from the bottom of the bed and drapes it over her. They've both just fallen asleep on top of the sheets, but his body runs hot enough that he's a human radiator himself, blazing with warmth.
And then that exhaustion comes in like a boulder and Bucky rolls over, buries his face in the pillow, and passes out again.
By morning — dawn light starting to spill through the windows, he doesn't even have curtains — they've somehow managed to burrow into the bed enough that he's wedged up against her, a leg entangled with hers, Daisy's head against the crook of his bare shoulder, close to the slow rise-and-fall of his breathing. ]
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But not this day. As sunlight tumbles through the curtainless window, she takes the slow route to wakefulness — one she hasn't taken in a long time. For the first time in who knows how long, she feels warm and safe and rested, though her mind is still more than a little fuzzy from the pain meds. Maybe that's why she doesn't notice at first, her aches still cushioned by the pills and that feeling of safety wrapping her up like a blanket.
Speaking of: when did she get a blanket?
Giving a quiet almost groaning sigh, she shifts slightly, moving just a little closer to the warm body she's been using as a pillow. And then she goes still, wondering if he's awake yet and if he's noticed... this. She can feel it now, his heartbeat and breathing, the closeness of his warmth sinking into her tired, broken bones. And their legs. How exactly had that managed that one?
Slowly rising further into wakefulness, she stays quiet with her eyes still closed, not ready to let go of his warmth and closeness just yet. This moment won't last forever and she wants to savor it for as long as she can. And when she senses him waking, quietly, still drifting in the half-awake moment, she offers: ]
Thanks for the blanket.
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Yeah, uh, no problem.
[ This should probably feel more awkward than it does, right? This is the first time anyone is waking up in Bucky Barnes' bed in... jesus, some eighty years. It's an inconceivable stretch of time. But somehow it doesn't feel strange or uncomfortable: he's just drowsy, and maybe thinking about how he needs to catapult himself into the bathroom to spare her the morning breath, but just— having her here is nice. Having the company is nice.
Not having the nightmares for once. Is nice. ]
I didn't really want to kick you out into the cold at 2am.
[ He shifts slightly — his right arm is half-asleep under Daisy's weight, so he readjusts, moves it a little higher so it's more slung over the pillows and her shoulders rather than trapped beneath her. Absolutely nothing happened between them, but he's hopelessly aware of how close she is now, and how normally waking up with someone else means an entirely different context than just dozing off on painkillers.
And yet. It still doesn't feel strange. ]
You sleep okay?
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Maybe it's that she already feels so close with Bucky, like they're soldiers who have actually been in the trenches together rather than near-strangers who are still just getting to know each other. And really, that's what this sort of life does to a person. Whoever you were before, you instantly become connected to the people who have been through similar experiences, even if you never talk about them.
Those are the thoughts that tumble through Daisy's mind as she finally emerges that last little bit through the clinging haze of sleep. It's rare that she gets to wake up like this: slowly, without the panic of a nightmare or rush of a sudden mission. It's nice. She wishes she could wake up like this more often. ]
Surprisingly, yeah.
[ Shifting back just enough so she's not laying quite so much on as him next to him, she blinks at him with still sleepy eyes. She can still feel the warmth radiating off of him, and their legs are still tucked together like puzzle pieces, but she can't bring herself to feel anything but comfortable and content. ]
What about you?
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[ Maybe he shouldn't have let that admission slip out, but— they both know that they both suffer nightmares and that they don't sleep well. They've already talked about it. It's not especially a surprise.
His dog tags are strangling him a little with the angle he's wedged against the pillows, so Bucky fishes them out, tugs them loose so they're back to their customary spot on his chest rather than wound tight around his neck. And then he lets his head fall back against the pillows, looking up at the ceiling so he's not staring right at Daisy's face from a few inches away, looming too-close. They're going about this all backwards, but in a way — he ponders — maybe falling asleep together doesn't have to be a big deal. It's just that human companionship, that soothing presence. Like a comfort blanket or a stuffed animal.
Buck, do not tell the cute girl that she's like a stuffed animal.
Instead, he takes a stab at trying to explain it, which backfires almost immediately but then he desperately tries to course-correct a second later. ]
I think I've missed sleeping with— I mean, not like that— I've missed falling asleep with someone else in the room. The army, or a full house when I was a kid. Hasn't been like that in a while.
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There's no stopping the amused grin as he stumbles over his own words, and the smile stays firmly in place as she responds. ]
I know what you mean. It's been weird living on my own. I used to live on the Zephyr with my team, and before that, I was on base. I could recognize the way everyone felt and it was... It's different now that I'm in a building full of strangers, even if they are all SHIELD agents.
[ The only time she feels anything close to the level of comfort she's had over the last few hours with Bucky has been when her sister or Coulson has stayed with her, and those visits are always far too short. ]
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[ She tugs the blanket a bit higher on her shoulders, not the slightest bit eager to leave the warm cocoon of his bed. Which, speaking of: ]
I'd be doing the mattress on the floor move myself if it weren't for that. Like I said last night, most of my life can fit in a duffel bag.
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But none of it had come to pass. It really, truly turns out that Bucky needn't have worried. ]
Yeah, [ he says. There's a bit of a pause, Bucky chewing it over and literally gnawing on his lip as he tries to decide whether to dip into this corner of it, but— in the end, it's just so horrendously easy to talk to Daisy. ]
After leaving HYDRA, I stayed on the move the whole time. Lived out of a single backpack. Buying furniture wasn't really a thing when you're moving countries every couple months. Heck, I didn't even have my own place while I was in the army, I just stayed with my family when I was on leave. So I'm not really used to... this.
[ He waves his vibranium hand, gesturing vaguely to the apartment around them. ]
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It's weird, isn't it? We've been out saving the world, running from bad guys, dealing with really awful shit... And somehow we missed that quintessential "adult" step.
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[ They keep seesawing like this, touching on serious subjects before sliding over to another easy joke and then back to another serious subject. It's a way of keeping the mood balanced; whenever things start getting too somber, then one or the other of them likely starts getting restless, itching to tip the scales again.
Lying there, Bucky feels a twinge in his ribs and then suddenly remembers— oh, right, they'd been in a fight yesterday. He'd almost forgotten. After a full night's sleep, his black eye is almost gone, already hyper-accelerated to the fading yellowed skin rather than the livid purple it had been when they'd first fished him out of the debris. His stitches are healing up nicely. (Say this for HYDRA's fucked-up experiments and their attempts to imitate Erskine's formula, but at least their serum worked.)
Daisy, however, probably wasn't quite so lucky. So his human hand reaches for her arm where she's clutching at the blanket; his fingertips graze inquisitively against her wrist, the narrow band of bare skin below her sleeve, tracing the edge of her forearm. ]
Your injuries. How're they holding up?
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Sighing, she lifts her right arm and tucks the blanket under it so she can tug at the sleeve with her bandaged left hand, exposing some of those bruises that look exceptionally angry. Luckily, the left is a lot worse but hidden under those bandages. ]
Despite how it looks, it's not that bad. Could have been a lot worse.
[ More deflection. She just doesn't know how to deal with someone being worried about her. ]
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[ Their position here, entangled with each other in this bed, is becoming increasingly perilous in how warm and comfortable and close it is. His brain's starting to tick along and he's starting to get ideas, ideas which had been pretty contentedly suppressed for the past near-decade, and so — in tried-and-true form — he decides to distract himself from it. ]
What's your schedule look like today, apart from eventually getting back to that healing— pod— thing? 'Cause my fridge is predictably empty but I'm thinking, I could swing outside and grab a breakfast sammy for each of us so you can pop some more painkillers. I got a street cart guy on the corner.
[ The vendor served cheap coffee and greasy bacon-egg-and-cheeses, as both God and NYC intended. Bucky had struck up an amiable sort of morning acquaintanceship with him. (The thing was, for having such a terrifying reputation and being intimidatingly, gloweringly silent sometimes— he could be friendly and gregarious, too, as long as someone didn't know who the hell he was. It was a little easier, than, to slip back into the skin of James Barnes and remember how to do that. How to be chatty to the street cart guy, and charming to the local bartender.) ]
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As his proposal sinks in, her heart skips a bit, her pulse picking up enough speed that she's grateful he can't feel it. At the back of her mind, she'd been dreading having to leave, and suddenly here he is just offering her the chance to stay. She doesn't hide the relief that creeps into her expression as she teases him just a little. ]
You've got a street cart guy on the corner. Look who's back to being a local. [ But she's happy for him, that he can have those little pieces of normalcy to help get him through the rest of his abnormal life. ] My schedule is wide open today, so if you don't mind me invading your space a while longer... That sounds pretty great.
[ She can't think of a better way to spend her day. ]
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[ The moment she agrees, there's that answering flutter of nervous happiness turning over in his stomach; it's like he'd stepped out into open air, taking a gamble, and he's only just now caught his footing again and landed on solid ground.
Bucky doesn't want to leave the bed, this nest, but if he stays too long then those insidious ideas are going to take root, and he genuinely just doesn't know how to handle that part anymore. (Another, bigger leap into open air, and a greater gamble.) So he disentangles himself a little reluctantly, rolling out from his side of the mattress and back to his feet — immediately missing that warmth of Daisy's presence the moment he does. ]
How d'you take your coffee? [ he asks, while he grabs last night's hoodie and zips up, and scrounges around until he finds a pair of socks buried in the armchair cushions. He's just going to pop outside in his sweatpants, because who gives a shit. Bucky cleans up well when he wants to, but he's also not particularly vain about his appearance; he's always a little rumpled these days, that five o'clock shadow omnipresent on his face. ]
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Because this is happiness, isn't it? ]
If it's normal subpar street cart quality, then preferably with milk and sugar, otherwise I just take it black.
[ She'd spent too many years subsisting off of crummy diner coffee to be overly picky about her order. Yawning, she doesn't bother to cover her mouth this time, instead choosing to add to the effect by properly covering up with the blanket again. No way if she moving from this bed until she has to, especially when she has a view like this. (She'd love to see Bucky properly cleaned up, of course, but she really enjoys his rumpled look too.)
He's getting teased about the armchair socks later, though. She has to get it in now while he has no idea how much of a slob she is in her own home. ]
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[ Boots on and laced up, Bucky flashes her a smile and finally darts out.
Ironically, leaving Daisy alone in his apartment isn't quite as probing or trusting or intimate as it could be, precisely because of its emptiness. It's not like he has any souvenirs or trinkets or drawers full of deep, dark, personal secrets for her to plumb into: the place is a blank slate, and she's honestly the most interesting thing in the studio right now. The most revealing possession is likely just the go-bag at the back of the closet (fake passport, cash, gun, ammunition), and a second gun stashed in the toilet tank. Old habits died hard. So did the paranoia.
Bucky makes it quick: just hightails it down to the corner, says good morning, orders two breakfast sandwiches and two coffees. One black, the other with milk and sugar. The middle-aged Middle Eastern man at the cart arches an eyebrow, immediately ready to tease his regular. Two orders today, buddy? Yes, two.
It's about ten minutes before he's back, toeing the door open with his boot and finding Daisy exactly where he left her.
But the place isn't empty, for once. There's something — someone — at home which makes him excited to come back, for once. ]
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Wow, he really saw her hair like this? Borrowing his comb and washing her face, she feels a little more human when she crawls back under the blanket and fishes her phone out of the hoodie pile next to the bed. A few texts are sent to inquiring loved ones, including one to her sister that has her scrolling through options when Bucky returns.
Grinning, she clicks off her phone and reaches over to slide it back onto the hoodie pile. She's in a good mood, the pain crinkling the edges of her expression not even enough to dampen her spirits. ]
Wow, Bucky. A badass fighter and a good provider. Careful, you might make a girl swoon. [ As if he hasn't already. ]
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[ Kicking off his boots again, Bucky crosses the room and plants himself on the edge of the mattress on Daisy's side, seated sideways with his long legs sprawled out across the bare floorboards. He tosses a handful of napkins onto the covers and passes her a brown paper bag, with her paper-wrapped sandwich inside. The coffee in the paper cup goes to the floor beside his, while he works on unwrapping his own sandwich. ]
It's not like I've got a dining table, so don't worry about crumbs on the covers. I have to go to the laundromat later anyway.
[ His nose crinkles. ]
You're witnessing me in all my slobby glory. Not exactly the supposedly glamorous life of a superhero.
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Extricating the sandwich from the bag, she still folds the bag to create a crumb catcher before unwrapping the greasy delicacy. He might not care about crumbs but she certainly doesn't want to sit in them. ]
Please, I was a slob before I became a superhero and I haven't changed my ways since. [ She takes a bite of the sandwich, only just managing not to make some obscene noise at how good it tastes, and talks around the bite in a very unladylike fashion while she chews. ] My sister hates it.
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Nice learning we're all human here. You do a good job of looking like you've got your shit together, at least.
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[ Which probably isn't a good thing. With her job, she definitely has her shit together, but when it comes to her personal life... That's a big fat nope. She is the very definition of a mess. Somehow, she's managed to surround her people who look past that particular character flaw. ]
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[ 'Next time'. Another little promise that they'll do this again. They keep accidentally tripping into spending time with each other in ways they hadn't planned, improvising hangouts on the fly — but really, would these two have done it any other way? ]
Anyway, it's good SHIELD's got apartments for all of you. Medical benefits better be top-notch, considering the... hazards in this line of work. [ A significant glance at her bruises. Bucky's face and ribs are fucked-up too, but at least he's not quite as breakable as a regular — albeit Inhuman — person. ]
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SHIELD covers pretty much everything. [ She lowers her sandwich to the paper bag and addresses the topic as seriously as it deserves. ] Coulson made sure of that when he restructured everything. Most things are handled in-house, and if someone needs to go beyond our resources, we have funds to help. Medical specialists, therapists... We take care of our own.
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[ Bucky's gone for his coffee cup and he's surveying her over the brim. His voice doesn't sound judgmental or critical; just lightly curious. The way Daisy talks about it, it's the kind of tried-and-true loyalty which he's been missing for— well. A while. It's a rare and precious thing to carve out that kind of found family from something which could so easily just be a job, a paycheck, clocking in and clocking out. He'd seen the first seeds of it with the SSR, but it's fascinating seeing what the organisation became so many decades later. ]
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yrs to wrap?
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