[ 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. ]
[ She'd said those same words almost a decade ago to Hunter when they'd been climbing out of the wake of HYDRA and struggling to rebuild the agency into what it was always meant to be. He'd countered that SHIELD was just a job, but she'd never been able to see it that way. ]
My family. My purpose for existing. If I didn't have SHIELD... I don't know who I would be.
[ More than once, she's tried to imagine a life as anything but an agent, but she just can't. This is who she is, and Daisy Johnson wouldn't exist without SHIELD. ]
[ Something twinges in his chest as he listens to her and takes another sip. It's probably not just the coffee warming its way down his throat. It's some mixture of being happy for her, and an aching yearning to have what she has. Daisy keeps offering that outstretched hand and for SHIELD to take him in, too, but Bucky's not sure if that quite fits either. He's still figuring out where he belongs. ]
How did you wind up joining SHIELD? Everybody knows how I wound up with the Howling Commandos, but I don't think I ever heard your story.
[ She's just taken another bite of her sandwich so it takes her a moment to chew and swallow, time that she uses to figure out how to tell that particular story. As with all of the ones she's shared with him, there are an awful lot of pieces to sort through. ]
Coulson arrested me. [ The smile she wears is a fond one full of humor. ] I was being a pain in SHIELD's ass and he hauled me in. Ended up offering me a job as a consultant — which lined up with my own goal of digging up information on my parents. At first, I was just there for that, but after a few months... I wanted to be an agent. I wanted to be part of Coulson's team for real. So I worked for it.
Arrested you? [ Bucky's amused too, and marveling at that revelation. ] Look, I'm not an expert on 21st century labour, but the handcuffs-to-job-offer pipeline doesn't sound like a normal one. How the hell did you manage that?
[ He's shifted slightly on the mattress now to face her a little better, one knee bent under him, coffee cup balanced against his thigh. This whole setup really isn't the best way to host a guest — he's probably gonna have to get a couch eventually, ugh, fine — but it's also kinda nice, having to sit so close to each other on his actual bed. It's the epitome of casual and informal, and that helps keep him loose and casual too. ]
[ Oh, Bucky. When will he learn that very little of Daisy's life can be described as normal? ]
Well.
[ She puts down the quarter of her sandwich that's left, grabbing one of the napkins to wipe the grease off her fingers. ]
It started with me mocking them while I was in holding. [ A beat for that to sink in before she explains. ] I just helpfully pointed out that they had all of SHIELD's fancy equipment at their disposal and I beat them to information with a laptop I won in a bet. By the end of the mission, he'd offered me a front-row seat to the strangest show on Earth. I was a bit skeptical, but if I hadn't been in it for my own reasons, the ride in his flying car probably would have won me over.
[ Smiling, she picks up her own cup of coffee, cradling it in her hands to let the warmth sink into them. A tentative sip follows, testing to be sure it's not hot enough to burn, and then she savors the taste, closing her eyes and sighing happily. ]
What. Sam and I never got a flying car. How come we never got offered a flying car? That was the one thing everybody promised about the next century, and it never became a thing.
[ He's just shooting the shit, as ever. But Bucky's mouth quirks as he watches her savour that coffee, practically melting into the cup, even if it's a cheap drink. He can relate. ]
Yeah, I love it even when it's the street cart stuff. I still remember it being rationed, so I keep treating myself to it these days. Can't start my day without it.
[ It's not the first time she's heard someone complain about not getting a flying car, but unlike a lot of people, she's pretty sure Bucky was around at the time Howard Stark was actually advertising one, which is a lot more compelling of an argument than Back to the Future promising hoverboards. ]
I'm sure Coulson would be willing to give you a ride in Lola. Hell, he might even let you drive her, which is really rare, but you're a Howling Commando, so...
[ She takes another sip of coffee, contemplating the possibilities. ]
Nothing like continuing to claim credit for something which happened eighty years ago. [ There's something in the undercurrent of his voice, in the corner of his mouth: a mordant self-awareness, a self-deprecating touch. The way she talks about it always feels like a bit of unexpected celebrity, an association he hadn't expected and certainly hadn't expected to last this long. ] It doesn't mean I'm any more responsible. Heck, you should hear about how I'd steal jeeps at HQ for joy-rides.
[ Beat. ]
Although I guess I shouldn't be telling you that, if I ever want your dad to let me drive his flying car.
[ Sometimes, she worries she's overstepping with all of the reminders of his past and the fame he carries with him that has nothing to do with being the Winter Soldier. Every time it seems to bother him, that part of her that's terrified of rejection balks and it takes a whole lot of willpower to shove that fear down so he doesn't see it. With everyone else, she's a pro at hiding those emotions, but with Bucky... She doesn't want to hide from him, which makes it all the harder when she has to. ]
Oh, you won't be driving her without supervision. And if you put so much as a scratch on Lola, he'll hunt you down, Howling Commando or not.
Honestly, y'know what, that's sensible. [ He had, in fact, crashed that jeep, so fully entrusting him with Lola probably wasn't a good idea. Howard Stark had been a delightful but terrible influence.
(Don't think about how that ended. Don't think about it. But this is the usual minefield, and he's well-accustomed to navigating it by now: Bucky lets his memories skip over that reminder, like trying to avoid a scabbed-over wound, and he musters himself back together quickly, only the shortest skip in the record.) ]
So I'm guessing I'd be getting the shovel talk, but over Lola?
[ There's a glint of mischief in his blue eyes, his nonchalant voice. The shovel talk. One of his first gestures since their night out at the bar that maybe they aren't Just Friends hanging out. ]
[ The shovel talk. Smiling with a bit of her own mischief, a thrill runs through her at the way he hints at this thing between them. She'd worried a little that he might have changed his mind in the time that stretched between their meetings, but here's a sign that he hasn't. This might still happen.
So, she nods her head in acknowledgment while picking up her sandwich for another bite. ]
It wouldn't be the first time Coulson's used his car as a metaphor for me.
[ She'll never forget that conversation on the quinjet as they traveled to the Retreat. She'd just gotten her powers and felt like a monster, like no one trusted her anymore because she couldn't control her powers. But then there was Coulson, talking about how he remembered working on a car with his dad, an old junker that became the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Lola, his red '62 Corvette. She'd pointed out that his dad would be impressed that his car could fly now — and Coulson had countered that, at her core, she's still just a '62 Corvette.
It's funny how even just a few words can change your life. ]
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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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[ She'd said those same words almost a decade ago to Hunter when they'd been climbing out of the wake of HYDRA and struggling to rebuild the agency into what it was always meant to be. He'd countered that SHIELD was just a job, but she'd never been able to see it that way. ]
My family. My purpose for existing. If I didn't have SHIELD... I don't know who I would be.
[ More than once, she's tried to imagine a life as anything but an agent, but she just can't. This is who she is, and Daisy Johnson wouldn't exist without SHIELD. ]
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How did you wind up joining SHIELD? Everybody knows how I wound up with the Howling Commandos, but I don't think I ever heard your story.
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Coulson arrested me. [ The smile she wears is a fond one full of humor. ] I was being a pain in SHIELD's ass and he hauled me in. Ended up offering me a job as a consultant — which lined up with my own goal of digging up information on my parents. At first, I was just there for that, but after a few months... I wanted to be an agent. I wanted to be part of Coulson's team for real. So I worked for it.
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[ He's shifted slightly on the mattress now to face her a little better, one knee bent under him, coffee cup balanced against his thigh. This whole setup really isn't the best way to host a guest — he's probably gonna have to get a couch eventually, ugh, fine — but it's also kinda nice, having to sit so close to each other on his actual bed. It's the epitome of casual and informal, and that helps keep him loose and casual too. ]
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Well.
[ She puts down the quarter of her sandwich that's left, grabbing one of the napkins to wipe the grease off her fingers. ]
It started with me mocking them while I was in holding. [ A beat for that to sink in before she explains. ] I just helpfully pointed out that they had all of SHIELD's fancy equipment at their disposal and I beat them to information with a laptop I won in a bet. By the end of the mission, he'd offered me a front-row seat to the strangest show on Earth. I was a bit skeptical, but if I hadn't been in it for my own reasons, the ride in his flying car probably would have won me over.
[ Smiling, she picks up her own cup of coffee, cradling it in her hands to let the warmth sink into them. A tentative sip follows, testing to be sure it's not hot enough to burn, and then she savors the taste, closing her eyes and sighing happily. ]
There's nothing like that first sip of coffee.
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[ He's just shooting the shit, as ever. But Bucky's mouth quirks as he watches her savour that coffee, practically melting into the cup, even if it's a cheap drink. He can relate. ]
Yeah, I love it even when it's the street cart stuff. I still remember it being rationed, so I keep treating myself to it these days. Can't start my day without it.
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I'm sure Coulson would be willing to give you a ride in Lola. Hell, he might even let you drive her, which is really rare, but you're a Howling Commando, so...
[ She takes another sip of coffee, contemplating the possibilities. ]
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[ Beat. ]
Although I guess I shouldn't be telling you that, if I ever want your dad to let me drive his flying car.
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Oh, you won't be driving her without supervision. And if you put so much as a scratch on Lola, he'll hunt you down, Howling Commando or not.
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(Don't think about how that ended.
Don't think about it.
But this is the usual minefield, and he's well-accustomed to navigating it by now: Bucky lets his memories skip over that reminder, like trying to avoid a scabbed-over wound, and he musters himself back together quickly, only the shortest skip in the record.) ]
So I'm guessing I'd be getting the shovel talk, but over Lola?
[ There's a glint of mischief in his blue eyes, his nonchalant voice. The shovel talk. One of his first gestures since their night out at the bar that maybe they aren't Just Friends hanging out. ]
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So, she nods her head in acknowledgment while picking up her sandwich for another bite. ]
It wouldn't be the first time Coulson's used his car as a metaphor for me.
[ She'll never forget that conversation on the quinjet as they traveled to the Retreat. She'd just gotten her powers and felt like a monster, like no one trusted her anymore because she couldn't control her powers. But then there was Coulson, talking about how he remembered working on a car with his dad, an old junker that became the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Lola, his red '62 Corvette. She'd pointed out that his dad would be impressed that his car could fly now — and Coulson had countered that, at her core, she's still just a '62 Corvette.
It's funny how even just a few words can change your life. ]
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yrs to wrap?
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