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. ]
Really? Shit. Well, then I'll definitely keep that in mind. For better or worse.
[ How is it that he can wade into battle without a care, but the prospect of having to don that good behaviour again and pretend to be a good influence and impress someone's father makes a nervous flutter tremor through his chest? Thankfully, at least they're not quite there yet. All he has to worry about today is finishing his coffee before it gets cold.
Well, and those broken ribs, but. That's old hat. ]
Does anybody else get a flying car, or is it a perk of being a former director?
[ It really is a strange situation they've found themselves in. So far as she knows, Coulson's never had occasion to give someone the Shovel Talk on her behalf before, since things had been... unique with Lincoln. But now, with Bucky, she has no doubt that her father figure won't hesitate to slip some good old-fashioned threats into the conversation, right between showing off his fancy car and fanboying over Bucky's wartime achievements. Hell, even May might get in on the intimidation act, though there will probably be more menacing stares than actual threats. Daisy knows she should be annoyed by it, that seems to be the typical daughter's response if pop culture is to be believed, but really she'll be touched if it does happen. To know people care that much about her is everything. ]
He had the car long before he became director. I think it's a perk of being with the agency for a couple of decades, but being close with Fury probably didn't hurt.
[ She pops the last bite of sandwich into her mouth, wiping off her hands again while she chews, and then she gestures to his chest. ]
How are you feeling?
[ There's concern in her eyes even though she can tell that he's doing better just from the way he's been moving this morning. ]
[ How is he feeling? Bucky rolls his shoulder into a shrug as he finishes off the last of his own sandwich, and then runs his fingers tentatively against his chest to check on the injury — there's still a twinge of pain at the pressure, flashing across his face, and so he shakes his head. ]
Still hurts like a bitch. But I don't think I need the pod again. [ Not to mention, he's not exactly raring to be crammed back into that horrible transparent coffin. His injuries would need to be grievous again in order for Bucky to willingly put himself back in there, even with Daisy nearby to keep him company. ]
[ The pain that flickers across his expression makes her frown, her heart aching in sympathy for him. She wishes he hadn't woken up so soon and had been able to spend more time in the healing chamber, even if it would have meant prolonging her own anxiety over his condition. Seeing the people she cares about in pain, be it physical or emotional, is one of the things she hates most in the world. ]
"Hurts like a bitch" is an understatement for me. Especially this one. [ She lifts her left arm slightly in indication, which should come as no real surprise. It's the one she's been favoring all morning, wrapped in a heavy bandage and with the darkest bruises. ] It's not unusual for some bruising to happen after a fight, even with my gauntlets; it's part of why I wear long sleeves a lot. We just try to minimize the fractures as much as possible.
[ She reaches for her coffee, taking another sip before strolling down an unpleasant memory lane, though no one would know it from her casual tone. ] When I first got my powers, no one knew how they worked. I was struggling to figure out how to control them, stopping the quakes before they could start... But it turned out I was just internalizing the vibrations. I had over 70 hairline fractures in both arms before we realized what was happening.
[ And then she shrugs with a small smile that doesn't reach her eyes. ] It's just part of being me.
[ His own gaze sits heavy on that left arm as Daisy gestures toward it. It still looks like hell, and the situation she's describing sounds even worse. The actual cost of a power isn't something he's accustomed to. There hadn't been any intolerable side-effects like this from the serum — the downside of being an expensive drunk sounded like an absolute cakewalk in comparison. Did he even have any complaints about this particular part of it? Boo hoo, my eyesight's too good and I barely age? And then here she was, her abilities at war with themselves.
In some ways, he's lucky.
There's a small pall cast over Daisy's mood, as much as she tries to put a gloss on it. Bucky leans over to the floor, fishes around in the hoodie pile until he comes up with her painkillers. Twists open the cap for her, and holds out the bottle. ]
In terms of the terrigenesis lottery, your powers sound incredibly cool and also really difficult to deal with. I'm sorry.
[ The way he looks at her... It's been so long since someone looked at her like that. Sousa had when he'd found out about all this, but that was different. This, with Bucky... It's different. The possibilities of this make it different. It's scary and wonderful and—
And then he's fishing out her meds and saying those things and she suddenly wishes she wasn't so terrified of rushing into things and scaring him off because she would really like to kiss him right now. Is this what it's like to have someone else take care of her? Someone who isn't family. ]
Thanks. [ She takes the bottle, shaking out the proper dosage into her messed up left hand before handing it back to him with a genuine smile. ] It's not so bad, really. I mean, at least I stayed pretty. The other woman who changed with me came out looking like Sonic the Hedgehog, all blue and covered with sharp spikes.
[ The pills are washed down with a mouthful of coffee before she does her own fishing in the hoodie pile for the other bottle of pills for her bones. ]
I'd like you even if you were blue and covered in sharp spikes.
[ It's an impulsive admission, blurted out on the spur of the moment, because god knows Bucky's mouth is always writing checks that he's left having to cash afterwards — but after the words are set loose, he finds that he doesn't mind them being out there, either. He doesn't look startled or abashed, just quietly fond and at ease. He takes another sip of his coffee. ]
[ Is that kind of charm something they used to teach guys back in the 1940s? She'll have to ask Sousa next time he's in town. ]
You know, if you keep saying things like that, a girl might start to think you actually really do like her.
[ There's just a hint of teasing in her tone, her smile turning almost shy as she pops the top on the second bottle and shakes out even more pills. It's weird feeling shy like this, it's definitely not the norm for her, but she embraces it, basking in this early glow of a potential relationship. Sure, the likelihood of her royally fucking things up is astronomically high given her history, but she can still enjoy this part of things. Right? ]
[ It really is a strange feeling, being plunged back into those adolescent nerves squirming in his stomach, that nervous flutter, that sensation of being right back where he started and no smarter for it. Some trends had been the same back then as it was today, and so do you like me like me? had been a thing in his era, too, and it feels just as ridiculous now: that hopeful anticipation, the butterflies welling up.
He'd been nervous with Leah, but with the lurking doomed knowledge that it probably wouldn't have worked anyway. Sarah had been easier — a playful lark, a way of messing with Sam, not something he expected to go anywhere — and so he'd been able to coast along with that aimless flirtation without overthinking it.
[ And boy, is it terrifying to admit. But also... freeing. She trusts Bucky enough to say those words that would normally be impossible even after hearing his own admission, and it feels good to say them. Pushing past that fear is thrilling in a way she can't even begin to describe.
She takes another sip of her coffee before saying something she's been mulling over for weeks now. ]
And before you even think about being self-conscious about the arm, I'd like to point out that Coulson had a robot arm for years before he had a robot everything, so it really doesn't bother me.
[ The corner of Bucky's mouth twists ruefully and he raises his left arm, fingers splayed, hand upward. He curls his fingers, the black-and-gold clenching into his palm. The movements are smooth and frictionless, the interlocking plates sliding seamlessly as he moves. It's not like the HYDRA arm, which had ached on cold mornings and its joints had occasionally gotten stuck. It's beautiful— and yet. ]
[ With a shake of her head, she reaches out to set her right hand gently on his knee, just resting it there for the physical connection. That sort of thing is important when you're trying to make someone understand something as big as this. ]
You've learned how to hide it well. But Coulson was nervous about it in the early days. He even used humor to cope with it. [ She gives Bucky a very pointed look at that. ]
[ Bucky looks a little sheepish, shoulder tipping once more in a half-shrug at being so easily called out. At least her pseudo-dad gets it. It's already more relatability than Bucky's accustomed to getting — he doesn't personally know anyone else with a cybernetic limb, although he knows they're out there, scattered across the globe. ]
It's not just how people look at it. It's not just the arm by itself. [ His voice is slow, hesitant, not certain if he wants to open this particular can of worms. It's the darker underbelly he usually traipses right by. But she's brought it up and he's already plumbed so deep into her own damage, so... ]
It's the fact that I know exactly how many ounces of pressure it takes to crush a human skull. How much to snap a neck or a spine. It's so much easier with my left hand. On the occasions I had to snap a neck with my right arm, I really have to get good leverage and I have to pull. But with the left— people come apart like tissue paper. When they first installed it, I didn't know how to regulate that strength. I broke everything I touched.
[ Far from looking shattered, his face is just neutral. Still and motionless, like a waxen image. ]
I can crack an egg now, without spilling the yolk. I've practiced. I'm more careful. The fine-motor control is better on the vibranium arm. But I don't forget what it can do, when I want it to. And so it just feels weird to use it in everyday contexts, I guess. Shaking hands. [ A beat. ] Touching someone. I mean, talk about bringing a gun to a knife fight.
[ It's the way he says it that first clues her into this being big. Bucky's revealed so little about this part of his life while she's done more than one deep dive into her well of trauma, but she's never been bothered by it. He's been abused by the world and it takes a lot to come back from that enough to trust people and open up again. The fact that's he doing it now with her—
She listens like her life depends on it, cradling every word in her mind like the precious gift it is even as her heart aches with each one. He has no idea how much they truly have in common, even after all she's shared. Daisy's never been sure if fate really exists but she's seriously starting to wonder if the universe is having a good laugh at how they've been thrown together.
Taking a deep breath, she shifts on the mattress, moving just a little closer so she can reach up to carefully touch his face, pressing her hand to his cheek if he'll let her, the rough stubble prickling her skin. ]
And that's why I trust you, why I'm not the least bit worried about you hurting me with your strength or that incredible arm. [ A vulnerability fills her expression as she steps up to the edge of the precipice. ] Are you worried about me quaking your bones apart? Because I could. In the same time it would take you to snap someone's neck, I could do the same thing just as easily. Crush their skull, break every bone in their body...
I know what it is to have to work for control. To be ashamed of what you've done. To be afraid of doing it again. It takes a lot to get through that and carry it with you everyday.
[ As always, that unexpected understanding splinters something open inside him: a hollow ache beneath his ribcage which isn't just the broken bones, but more the realisation that once again, she gets it.
And he's not. Afraid of her powers, that is. Call it hubris or arrogance or a dumb blind faith in his own survivability, but it hadn't even crossed his mind. Bucky swallows, hard, and there's that perpetual balancing act between earnestness or being serious as a heart attack versus that defensive humour. When he finally finds the words, they're lighter than before: ]
Depends. Do you only lose control of your powers when in a fight, or— other times?
[ It's not that the wall is back up, but it's more like the humour is a reflex. A tic. He almost can't help it, that mischievous wink mingled with genuine curiosity, a half-salacious nod to all the different ways he'd like to distract her someday, actually. But a second later, he sobers. ]
Thank you.
[ Not for the first time, he considers how easy it would be to bridge the rest of that gap: knit his fingers in the neck of her shirt and haul her closer, cross that canyon of the couple feet between them in this bed, draw her mouth to his.
It would be easy, and the hardest thing. So instead he just reaches up, rests his right hand over hers over his cheek. ]
[ Look at him with that wink and that face. She knows exactly what he's doing, can see it coming a mile away, but it's okay. If he needs to toss some humor into the mix in order to weather this storm they've stumbled into, then that's what he has to do. She's not going to be someone who takes away his coping mechanism for when things get hard.
But things shift again and she smiles at those two simple words that have an ocean of meaning behind them. Even if he doesn't spell it out, she understands that meaning, just like she understands so many things about him. And it really would be so incredibly easy to lean in and capture his lips with hers so she could learn the taste and feel of him, satisfy the yearning in her very soul to be as close to this man as she possibly can be. He's not ready for that yet, though, and she's not sure she is either. ]
You're welcome. [ A beat, and then a hint of mischievous intent enters her voice. ] And I do, in fact, sometimes lose control at other times when I'm... distracted or emotional.
[ He doesn't even know if he might do the same in bed — he hasn't been with anyone since the arm was installed — and he can, too mortifyingly, picture a scene where he gets too distracted and grabs too hard, forgets his own strength, hurts the person he's with. More than enough to get anxious about. That's a bridge for the far future, though, and not something he has to worry about just yet.
So Bucky keeps it light, and makes himself relax. Exhales a long breath, tips his cheek into Daisy's hand — and then turns his head, brushes his lips against the line of her wrist in a glancing almost-kiss against her skin, before he withdraws. ]
I'm not afraid of you hurting me. For the record. Maybe because I'm an idiot who can survive having a building dropped on him, but the point stands.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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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[ How is it that he can wade into battle without a care, but the prospect of having to don that good behaviour again and pretend to be a good influence and impress someone's father makes a nervous flutter tremor through his chest? Thankfully, at least they're not quite there yet. All he has to worry about today is finishing his coffee before it gets cold.
Well, and those broken ribs, but. That's old hat. ]
Does anybody else get a flying car, or is it a perk of being a former director?
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He had the car long before he became director. I think it's a perk of being with the agency for a couple of decades, but being close with Fury probably didn't hurt.
[ She pops the last bite of sandwich into her mouth, wiping off her hands again while she chews, and then she gestures to his chest. ]
How are you feeling?
[ There's concern in her eyes even though she can tell that he's doing better just from the way he's been moving this morning. ]
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Still hurts like a bitch. But I don't think I need the pod again. [ Not to mention, he's not exactly raring to be crammed back into that horrible transparent coffin. His injuries would need to be grievous again in order for Bucky to willingly put himself back in there, even with Daisy nearby to keep him company. ]
How about you?
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"Hurts like a bitch" is an understatement for me. Especially this one. [ She lifts her left arm slightly in indication, which should come as no real surprise. It's the one she's been favoring all morning, wrapped in a heavy bandage and with the darkest bruises. ] It's not unusual for some bruising to happen after a fight, even with my gauntlets; it's part of why I wear long sleeves a lot. We just try to minimize the fractures as much as possible.
[ She reaches for her coffee, taking another sip before strolling down an unpleasant memory lane, though no one would know it from her casual tone. ] When I first got my powers, no one knew how they worked. I was struggling to figure out how to control them, stopping the quakes before they could start... But it turned out I was just internalizing the vibrations. I had over 70 hairline fractures in both arms before we realized what was happening.
[ And then she shrugs with a small smile that doesn't reach her eyes. ] It's just part of being me.
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In some ways, he's lucky.
There's a small pall cast over Daisy's mood, as much as she tries to put a gloss on it. Bucky leans over to the floor, fishes around in the hoodie pile until he comes up with her painkillers. Twists open the cap for her, and holds out the bottle. ]
In terms of the terrigenesis lottery, your powers sound incredibly cool and also really difficult to deal with. I'm sorry.
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And then he's fishing out her meds and saying those things and she suddenly wishes she wasn't so terrified of rushing into things and scaring him off because she would really like to kiss him right now. Is this what it's like to have someone else take care of her? Someone who isn't family. ]
Thanks. [ She takes the bottle, shaking out the proper dosage into her messed up left hand before handing it back to him with a genuine smile. ] It's not so bad, really. I mean, at least I stayed pretty. The other woman who changed with me came out looking like Sonic the Hedgehog, all blue and covered with sharp spikes.
[ The pills are washed down with a mouthful of coffee before she does her own fishing in the hoodie pile for the other bottle of pills for her bones. ]
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[ It's an impulsive admission, blurted out on the spur of the moment, because god knows Bucky's mouth is always writing checks that he's left having to cash afterwards — but after the words are set loose, he finds that he doesn't mind them being out there, either. He doesn't look startled or abashed, just quietly fond and at ease. He takes another sip of his coffee. ]
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You know, if you keep saying things like that, a girl might start to think you actually really do like her.
[ There's just a hint of teasing in her tone, her smile turning almost shy as she pops the top on the second bottle and shakes out even more pills. It's weird feeling shy like this, it's definitely not the norm for her, but she embraces it, basking in this early glow of a potential relationship. Sure, the likelihood of her royally fucking things up is astronomically high given her history, but she can still enjoy this part of things. Right? ]
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[ It really is a strange feeling, being plunged back into those adolescent nerves squirming in his stomach, that nervous flutter, that sensation of being right back where he started and no smarter for it. Some trends had been the same back then as it was today, and so do you like me like me? had been a thing in his era, too, and it feels just as ridiculous now: that hopeful anticipation, the butterflies welling up.
He'd been nervous with Leah, but with the lurking doomed knowledge that it probably wouldn't have worked anyway. Sarah had been easier — a playful lark, a way of messing with Sam, not something he expected to go anywhere — and so he'd been able to coast along with that aimless flirtation without overthinking it.
Daisy, though, is something different. ]
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[ And boy, is it terrifying to admit. But also... freeing. She trusts Bucky enough to say those words that would normally be impossible even after hearing his own admission, and it feels good to say them. Pushing past that fear is thrilling in a way she can't even begin to describe.
She takes another sip of her coffee before saying something she's been mulling over for weeks now. ]
And before you even think about being self-conscious about the arm, I'd like to point out that Coulson had a robot arm for years before he had a robot everything, so it really doesn't bother me.
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Was I that obvious?
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[ With a shake of her head, she reaches out to set her right hand gently on his knee, just resting it there for the physical connection. That sort of thing is important when you're trying to make someone understand something as big as this. ]
You've learned how to hide it well. But Coulson was nervous about it in the early days. He even used humor to cope with it. [ She gives Bucky a very pointed look at that. ]
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It's not just how people look at it. It's not just the arm by itself. [ His voice is slow, hesitant, not certain if he wants to open this particular can of worms. It's the darker underbelly he usually traipses right by. But she's brought it up and he's already plumbed so deep into her own damage, so... ]
It's the fact that I know exactly how many ounces of pressure it takes to crush a human skull. How much to snap a neck or a spine. It's so much easier with my left hand. On the occasions I had to snap a neck with my right arm, I really have to get good leverage and I have to pull. But with the left— people come apart like tissue paper. When they first installed it, I didn't know how to regulate that strength. I broke everything I touched.
[ Far from looking shattered, his face is just neutral. Still and motionless, like a waxen image. ]
I can crack an egg now, without spilling the yolk. I've practiced. I'm more careful. The fine-motor control is better on the vibranium arm. But I don't forget what it can do, when I want it to. And so it just feels weird to use it in everyday contexts, I guess. Shaking hands. [ A beat. ] Touching someone. I mean, talk about bringing a gun to a knife fight.
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She listens like her life depends on it, cradling every word in her mind like the precious gift it is even as her heart aches with each one. He has no idea how much they truly have in common, even after all she's shared. Daisy's never been sure if fate really exists but she's seriously starting to wonder if the universe is having a good laugh at how they've been thrown together.
Taking a deep breath, she shifts on the mattress, moving just a little closer so she can reach up to carefully touch his face, pressing her hand to his cheek if he'll let her, the rough stubble prickling her skin. ]
And that's why I trust you, why I'm not the least bit worried about you hurting me with your strength or that incredible arm. [ A vulnerability fills her expression as she steps up to the edge of the precipice. ] Are you worried about me quaking your bones apart? Because I could. In the same time it would take you to snap someone's neck, I could do the same thing just as easily. Crush their skull, break every bone in their body...
I know what it is to have to work for control. To be ashamed of what you've done. To be afraid of doing it again. It takes a lot to get through that and carry it with you everyday.
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And he's not. Afraid of her powers, that is. Call it hubris or arrogance or a dumb blind faith in his own survivability, but it hadn't even crossed his mind. Bucky swallows, hard, and there's that perpetual balancing act between earnestness or being serious as a heart attack versus that defensive humour. When he finally finds the words, they're lighter than before: ]
Depends. Do you only lose control of your powers when in a fight, or— other times?
[ It's not that the wall is back up, but it's more like the humour is a reflex. A tic. He almost can't help it, that mischievous wink mingled with genuine curiosity, a half-salacious nod to all the different ways he'd like to distract her someday, actually. But a second later, he sobers. ]
Thank you.
[ Not for the first time, he considers how easy it would be to bridge the rest of that gap: knit his fingers in the neck of her shirt and haul her closer, cross that canyon of the couple feet between them in this bed, draw her mouth to his.
It would be easy, and the hardest thing. So instead he just reaches up, rests his right hand over hers over his cheek. ]
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But things shift again and she smiles at those two simple words that have an ocean of meaning behind them. Even if he doesn't spell it out, she understands that meaning, just like she understands so many things about him. And it really would be so incredibly easy to lean in and capture his lips with hers so she could learn the taste and feel of him, satisfy the yearning in her very soul to be as close to this man as she possibly can be. He's not ready for that yet, though, and she's not sure she is either. ]
You're welcome. [ A beat, and then a hint of mischievous intent enters her voice. ] And I do, in fact, sometimes lose control at other times when I'm... distracted or emotional.
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[ He doesn't even know if he might do the same in bed — he hasn't been with anyone since the arm was installed — and he can, too mortifyingly, picture a scene where he gets too distracted and grabs too hard, forgets his own strength, hurts the person he's with. More than enough to get anxious about. That's a bridge for the far future, though, and not something he has to worry about just yet.
So Bucky keeps it light, and makes himself relax. Exhales a long breath, tips his cheek into Daisy's hand — and then turns his head, brushes his lips against the line of her wrist in a glancing almost-kiss against her skin, before he withdraws. ]
I'm not afraid of you hurting me. For the record. Maybe because I'm an idiot who can survive having a building dropped on him, but the point stands.
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yrs to wrap?
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