It's just the truth. Not trying to make it a line. And I mean, strictly speaking, if we're going by the old days, then I should've met Coulson first and asked for permission to take you out now and then to get to know you better. We skipped a few steps.
This, too, [ Bucky gestures at their surroundings, her sitting in his bed, ] would be, like, wildly inappropriate. People would gossip if you stayed late, let alone spent the night. People found ways around it, sure, but it looks like things are a little easier these days.
[ It's somewhat safer to discuss antiquated dating in the abstract — like a miniature history lesson, talking about people and society as a whole, rather than enduring those seismic nerves which sink in when he thinks about dating in the specific, and one woman in specific. ]
[ Smiling in quiet amusement, Daisy captures that hand he gestures with, wrapping both of hers around it. Whether it's flesh or metal doesn't matter to her — it's Bucky all the same. ]
Well, I've never been one for following social convention, so I guess it's a good thing we're doing this now instead of back then. No one will really judge us for doing things our way.
[ Sorry, Bucky. She's taken things from abstract and historical to very much in the present about them. If he shies away from it, she won't push or chase after him. He's still setting the pace for this thing between them, Daisy's just never been that great at letting someone else completely take the lead. ]
[ Us, our. Those small words are a comfort, an unexpected fire to warm his bones by. It's nice to hear after he's been out in the cold so long, and when the two main people in his corner both came with a vibranium shield. Maybe they don't have to be the only ones— ]
I can't promise I'm any good at it.
[ He hadn't meant to say that. But as ever, Daisy has a way of sparking bare honesty out of him: right now, it has something to do with the feeling of both her hands around his, that slight weight and pressure, the companionable sensation. ]
It goes without saying that I'm beyond rusty, on top of things having changed over the decades. So, I dunno, I'm just... [ Bucky squeezes her fingers once. ] Just mentioning it, for when I inevitably fuck up.
[ It's almost comical at this point how alike they are. With a few contextual adjustments, that statement could have easily come from Daisy herself and been no less true than his own. He squeezes her fingers and she smiles softly in adoration of this broken hero beside her. ]
Betcha $5 I fuck up first.
[ She should be running, not making jokes. Bailing at the very idea of messing up this beautiful thing they might have going for them. But she wants this and somehow that has to be stronger than her fear of ruining it. ]
[ Bucky's voice is warm, bemused. They really are too similar, even if they don't know where all the edges align yet, and they're still excavating the details. Part of him still wants to panic and flee and jettison himself off the balcony, but he makes himself focus on this moment, on staying anchored in his body, on the enjoyment of Daisy holding his hand even if it's at war with his innate restlessness, his fidgeting unease as the idea of a relationship becomes more and more specific. The more real it becomes.
He picks up his coffee again with his free hand, metal fingers curling around the paper cup, unheeding of the heat as he balances it against his knee. ]
You know five bucks in the 1940s would be like a hundred bucks now?
And now you're lucky if five bucks buys you a cup of coffee.
[ With an amused grin, she disentangles one of her hands from his, still holding on to his warm fingers as she reaches for her own cup of caffeinated gold. It's still delightfully warm and soothes her soul like a metaphorical blanket as she takes a long sip. ]
Have you thought of getting a coffee maker for here? It's cheaper. Not that that stops anyone from buying a cup while they're out...
[ She's certainly guilty of that, but she's also guilty of sometimes (frequently) having far more coffee than she probably should in a day, so she's really not a shining example in any case. ]
I've thought of getting a lot of things, but never really committed.
[ No coffee maker, barely any cooking supplies, no couch, no dining table, no bed. He doesn't even know where to start. ]
So I know you live barebones too, but what would be on your housewarming list? Any recommendations? I mean— [ Bucky gestures with his metal hand to the mattress they're sitting on. ] Okay, I know a bedframe is probably top of the list, but. What do people get for their apartments, apart from coffee makers?
[ Committing can be a hard thing. To put down roots makes something real, and that can be a truly terrifying idea. Or depressing, depending on the circumstances.
Daisy glances around the apartment, pointedly noting the few things he does have. ] Well, you've got a TV, so that's a good start. And a chair. So... probably a table? So you can have somewhere to eat that's not sitting on your mattress or in the single chair? It doesn't have to be a big one, that wouldn't fit in here, but big enough for two seems good.
Yeah, you're like, my second friend. Big enough for two is enough. Don't think I'll be hosting any huge dinner parties anytime soon.
But okay, yeah, that's a good idea. It'll save me some of the crumbs on the mattress. [ A beat, and then a quote from Archer, because somehow that show had helped kill some of the late-night hours he'd been awake and couldn't sleep: ] That's how you get ants.
You're not wrong. [ She says it with a laugh in her voice and a grin on her lips, feeling lighter and happier than she has in days. Sure, she still physically feels like shit run over, but that doesn't seem to matter as much when the rest of her feels really damn good.
His hand is still warm in hers and she gives his fingers a gentle squeeze, not quite ready to let go just yet. ] So, a table. And chairs to go with it, I'm guessing. Do you want help with that?
[ The corner of his mouth quirks into a smile. Half-teasing: ]
Haven't even had our first real date yet, and we're already talking about meeting your dad and picking out furniture together. Something tells me this really isn't how this sort of thing normally goes, huh?
[ Nudging his hip playfully with her knee, she can't help the laugh that bubbles out at that teasing. Is this really happening? It feels so strange to be this happy. ]
We're superheroes who help save the world on a weekly basis. You seriously expect our dating lives to be normal?
You're part-Inhuman and a SHIELD agent, I'm 107 years old and a former fugitive — I guess it wouldn't ever be normal. Not like I'd want that, anyway.
[ Maybe you'd think that after so long, he'd want a calm, peaceful, banal civilian life — but the truth is that Bucky just doesn't know what he'd do with it. After so many decades, he's been hardwired for a higher pace. It would probably take decades yet to teach him how to settle in and get accustomed to peace instead.
And in the meantime, he likes being around people who understand. Who get it. Who know that frantic pace and adrenaline and danger, and all the baggage that comes with it. ]
[ Though she doesn't mind the occasional vacation in the land of normalcy. A night out without any disasters interrupting or derailing the evening? That would be great. A boring 9-to-5 job pushing papers at a desk? There's no way she'd survive it. ]
And, by the way, you're not the only former fugitive in the room, so don't go thinking you're something special for it.
[ Bucky finally disentangles his flesh-and-blood hand from Daisy's palm, but it's in favour of shoving at her knee, mock-aggrieved. (And then, just for good measure, he leaves his hand on her knee, just because he can. Warm palm splayed against the fabric of her SHIELD-branded sweatpants.) ]
Jesus, you just gotta one-up me at every turn. I thought I at least had the fugitive thing on lock.
[ Her grin is bright enough to light up a room at his banter and that little shove. This is nice; she hopes they always have this, no matter what else happens. And while she immediately misses the feel of his hand in hers, the weight of it on her knee is more comforting than she ever could have imagined. ]
Nope. I've been a fugitive twice with SHIELD [ she holds up two fingers to be sure he heard her right ] at least, where we had to be on the run — and once on my own during my vigilante phase. I didn't try very hard at hiding that time, though, I'd just quake my way out every time the cops or military got too close.
[ Bucky counts off on his left hand to playfully mirror her, two vibranium fingers raised. ] Once from HYDRA, then I was on the run from them and the Avengers and a heap of international governments. But so I guess technically you've got one more on me.
[ He hesitates. Considers the instances Daisy had cited, and the stories that must be sitting behind each of them. He's curious. He's realising that he's always curious about her stories; she's got the most batshit, fascinating history he's ever encountered in anyone outside Steve's crew and the Avengers. ]
The two times with SHIELD. Was that when the HYDRA shit got blown open?
[ That hesitation has her itching to hold his hand again, part of her yearning to soothe and chase away whatever might be bothering him. It's only when he asks the question that she finally rests her hand on his on her knee, rubbing her thumb lightly over the back of his hand. ]
The first time was. The second involved a robot version of me shooting a high-profile general in the head on the orders of a homicidal AI who tried to trap us in a virtual reality. We didn't get out of that mess until after I stopped the world from ending almost a year later.
[ Most days, she doesn't even realize how completely insane her life is anymore. She's just so used to it all that it's not until someone like Bucky comes along and reminds her that it just hits her. Because, yeah, her life really is just a string of batshit stories, one after another. ]
[ His hand flexes beneath hers, his thumb curving against her knee just as hers runs over his knuckles. Bucky sounds vaguely incredulous, but he's been through enough of this with Daisy now that he's not as flabbergasted as he was the very first time; instead, it's a kind of bemused acceptance once he sees her expression. ]
Okay— you're still not shitting me. Jesus. I don't know how to follow that.
[ That happiness that had been buoying her mood dims at the memories of the darkness she'd been drowning in back then. Clawing her way out of the grief and guilt over Lincoln's death, followed by the utter terror that she might have caused the end of the world, and then the real cherry on top with losing Coulson. Her hand stills on Bucky's but stays there, the warmth of his skin reminding her that she's moved past those dark times. ]
[ Both of their pasts were such minefields: the slightest wrong misstep and they could tread all over something sensitive, something raw and vulnerable, something painful. Bucky hates these moments when he walks right into it, accidentally presses the button which makes Daisy's expression fall, that radiant smile of hers dimming. He wants — needs — to be able to do something, anything, to fix that.
So he shifts position. Scoots back to the head of the bed and swings one sleeved arm around her shoulder, swapping the handhold for a sideways hug instead. Someday he'll be able to fold her into his arms entirely, but for now he's sitting side-by-side with Daisy, arm wrapped around her, shoulder against hers. ]
[ Every time she loses his hand, it feels like a piece of herself is pulled away. A few years ago, that feeling would have terrified her and sent her running for the hills in five seconds flat, abandoning any hope of seeing where this thing might go. Now, though, she rides the emotion like a wave, letting it swell and then level out as Bucky moves back beside her and puts an arm around her shoulder.
Okay, this is better. A lot better. ]
It's okay. Really. [ Leaning into his side, she looks over at him with a smile, small but real. ] There's always gonna be things for us. Dark moments, bad memories... We can figure out how to get through them together. Right?
[ She hopes he sees it that way too. That he's not overwhelmed by the idea of learning each other's rough patches and weathering the storms that come with each one. ]
[ Part of him is still frightened by the prospect; skittish and wary, and convinced that no one who ever gets to know the real him will stick around or should stick around. His hands too bloody, his guilt too heavy. Convinced that the last hope of real friendship and acceptance — his anchor, his lodestone, the man who inspired him to be better — had left.
But Sam's turned out to be a more than worthy replacement, and as much as Bucky bristled against his therapist, she'd been having an effect over time regardless. It might be a fucking cliche, Barnes, but it's true: no man is an island, she'd said, and those words kept running in a loop in his head at inopportune moments.
So maybe it wasn't the end. Maybe he could work through it with more people. New friends. New... whatever-Daisy-was. Whatever she could eventually be to him, maybe, even if he didn't deserve it. ]
Right, [ he says, simply. ] As long as that's— something you're okay with. Sharing that part of you.
[ Being alone is one of the worst things in the world. Daisy's experienced far too much of it in her life, that feeling of being adrift in the middle of the ocean, so close to drowning in loneliness, desperate for any kind of real connection. She wouldn't wish that feeling on anyone, especially not someone as undeserving of it as Bucky Barnes.
Her expression is open and maybe a little bit nervous as she looks at him, taking in what he's said before finally nodding with certainty. ]
I am. If you're okay with seeing it. It's not always my prettiest side... [ She starts to say something else, stops, then tries again after a moment, hesitation laced through the words. ]
Up until now, I haven't pushed for you to share things about yourself and I'm not going to start. But if you want to, you can. Always, anytime. No topic is too heavy — I will always listen and I won't judge you. I'll only ever run because of my own bullshit, never yours. I promise. You're stuck with me, Barnes, for better or worse.
[ Those words twinge something in him. To the end of the line, he thinks. Except the line ended a while ago. And he's been— functioning, mostly but barely— since then. Bucky Barnes is affable and friendly enough these days, but he's also bristling with cheerfully defensive edges, constantly deflecting. He's been more honest with Daisy because it's absurdly, surprisingly easy with her, but those last hurdles are going to be trouble. He wonders what'll finally kick him over the edge. ]
Thanks. The same goes for you.
[ Is all he can manage for now, as he eases back against the pillows with an exhaustion partially from yesterday's parking lot collapse, partially from— this. These conversations. The delicate, stubborn work of prising open that shield over his heart.
But he looks back over at her: that hesitant, nervous look from her, those dark waiting eyes, and with a quirk at the corner of his mouth, he just says it because he can't resist. She practically tee'd it up for him. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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It's just the truth. Not trying to make it a line. And I mean, strictly speaking, if we're going by the old days, then I should've met Coulson first and asked for permission to take you out now and then to get to know you better. We skipped a few steps.
This, too, [ Bucky gestures at their surroundings, her sitting in his bed, ] would be, like, wildly inappropriate. People would gossip if you stayed late, let alone spent the night. People found ways around it, sure, but it looks like things are a little easier these days.
[ It's somewhat safer to discuss antiquated dating in the abstract — like a miniature history lesson, talking about people and society as a whole, rather than enduring those seismic nerves which sink in when he thinks about dating in the specific, and one woman in specific. ]
no subject
Well, I've never been one for following social convention, so I guess it's a good thing we're doing this now instead of back then. No one will really judge us for doing things our way.
[ Sorry, Bucky. She's taken things from abstract and historical to very much in the present about them. If he shies away from it, she won't push or chase after him. He's still setting the pace for this thing between them, Daisy's just never been that great at letting someone else completely take the lead. ]
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I can't promise I'm any good at it.
[ He hadn't meant to say that. But as ever, Daisy has a way of sparking bare honesty out of him: right now, it has something to do with the feeling of both her hands around his, that slight weight and pressure, the companionable sensation. ]
It goes without saying that I'm beyond rusty, on top of things having changed over the decades. So, I dunno, I'm just... [ Bucky squeezes her fingers once. ] Just mentioning it, for when I inevitably fuck up.
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Betcha $5 I fuck up first.
[ She should be running, not making jokes. Bailing at the very idea of messing up this beautiful thing they might have going for them. But she wants this and somehow that has to be stronger than her fear of ruining it. ]
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[ Bucky's voice is warm, bemused. They really are too similar, even if they don't know where all the edges align yet, and they're still excavating the details. Part of him still wants to panic and flee and jettison himself off the balcony, but he makes himself focus on this moment, on staying anchored in his body, on the enjoyment of Daisy holding his hand even if it's at war with his innate restlessness, his fidgeting unease as the idea of a relationship becomes more and more specific. The more real it becomes.
He picks up his coffee again with his free hand, metal fingers curling around the paper cup, unheeding of the heat as he balances it against his knee. ]
You know five bucks in the 1940s would be like a hundred bucks now?
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[ With an amused grin, she disentangles one of her hands from his, still holding on to his warm fingers as she reaches for her own cup of caffeinated gold. It's still delightfully warm and soothes her soul like a metaphorical blanket as she takes a long sip. ]
Have you thought of getting a coffee maker for here? It's cheaper. Not that that stops anyone from buying a cup while they're out...
[ She's certainly guilty of that, but she's also guilty of sometimes (frequently) having far more coffee than she probably should in a day, so she's really not a shining example in any case. ]
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[ No coffee maker, barely any cooking supplies, no couch, no dining table, no bed. He doesn't even know where to start. ]
So I know you live barebones too, but what would be on your housewarming list? Any recommendations? I mean— [ Bucky gestures with his metal hand to the mattress they're sitting on. ] Okay, I know a bedframe is probably top of the list, but. What do people get for their apartments, apart from coffee makers?
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Daisy glances around the apartment, pointedly noting the few things he does have. ] Well, you've got a TV, so that's a good start. And a chair. So... probably a table? So you can have somewhere to eat that's not sitting on your mattress or in the single chair? It doesn't have to be a big one, that wouldn't fit in here, but big enough for two seems good.
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But okay, yeah, that's a good idea. It'll save me some of the crumbs on the mattress. [ A beat, and then a quote from Archer, because somehow that show had helped kill some of the late-night hours he'd been awake and couldn't sleep: ] That's how you get ants.
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His hand is still warm in hers and she gives his fingers a gentle squeeze, not quite ready to let go just yet. ] So, a table. And chairs to go with it, I'm guessing. Do you want help with that?
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Haven't even had our first real date yet, and we're already talking about meeting your dad and picking out furniture together. Something tells me this really isn't how this sort of thing normally goes, huh?
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We're superheroes who help save the world on a weekly basis. You seriously expect our dating lives to be normal?
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[ Maybe you'd think that after so long, he'd want a calm, peaceful, banal civilian life — but the truth is that Bucky just doesn't know what he'd do with it. After so many decades, he's been hardwired for a higher pace. It would probably take decades yet to teach him how to settle in and get accustomed to peace instead.
And in the meantime, he likes being around people who understand. Who get it. Who know that frantic pace and adrenaline and danger, and all the baggage that comes with it. ]
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[ Though she doesn't mind the occasional vacation in the land of normalcy. A night out without any disasters interrupting or derailing the evening? That would be great. A boring 9-to-5 job pushing papers at a desk? There's no way she'd survive it. ]
And, by the way, you're not the only former fugitive in the room, so don't go thinking you're something special for it.
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[ Bucky finally disentangles his flesh-and-blood hand from Daisy's palm, but it's in favour of shoving at her knee, mock-aggrieved. (And then, just for good measure, he leaves his hand on her knee, just because he can. Warm palm splayed against the fabric of her SHIELD-branded sweatpants.) ]
Jesus, you just gotta one-up me at every turn. I thought I at least had the fugitive thing on lock.
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Nope. I've been a fugitive twice with SHIELD [ she holds up two fingers to be sure he heard her right ] at least, where we had to be on the run — and once on my own during my vigilante phase. I didn't try very hard at hiding that time, though, I'd just quake my way out every time the cops or military got too close.
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[ He hesitates. Considers the instances Daisy had cited, and the stories that must be sitting behind each of them. He's curious. He's realising that he's always curious about her stories; she's got the most batshit, fascinating history he's ever encountered in anyone outside Steve's crew and the Avengers. ]
The two times with SHIELD. Was that when the HYDRA shit got blown open?
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The first time was. The second involved a robot version of me shooting a high-profile general in the head on the orders of a homicidal AI who tried to trap us in a virtual reality. We didn't get out of that mess until after I stopped the world from ending almost a year later.
[ Most days, she doesn't even realize how completely insane her life is anymore. She's just so used to it all that it's not until someone like Bucky comes along and reminds her that it just hits her. Because, yeah, her life really is just a string of batshit stories, one after another. ]
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[ His hand flexes beneath hers, his thumb curving against her knee just as hers runs over his knuckles. Bucky sounds vaguely incredulous, but he's been through enough of this with Daisy now that he's not as flabbergasted as he was the very first time; instead, it's a kind of bemused acceptance once he sees her expression. ]
Okay— you're still not shitting me. Jesus. I don't know how to follow that.
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[ That happiness that had been buoying her mood dims at the memories of the darkness she'd been drowning in back then. Clawing her way out of the grief and guilt over Lincoln's death, followed by the utter terror that she might have caused the end of the world, and then the real cherry on top with losing Coulson. Her hand stills on Bucky's but stays there, the warmth of his skin reminding her that she's moved past those dark times. ]
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So he shifts position. Scoots back to the head of the bed and swings one sleeved arm around her shoulder, swapping the handhold for a sideways hug instead. Someday he'll be able to fold her into his arms entirely, but for now he's sitting side-by-side with Daisy, arm wrapped around her, shoulder against hers. ]
Sorry. I shouldn't've brought this one up.
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Okay, this is better. A lot better. ]
It's okay. Really. [ Leaning into his side, she looks over at him with a smile, small but real. ] There's always gonna be things for us. Dark moments, bad memories... We can figure out how to get through them together. Right?
[ She hopes he sees it that way too. That he's not overwhelmed by the idea of learning each other's rough patches and weathering the storms that come with each one. ]
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But Sam's turned out to be a more than worthy replacement, and as much as Bucky bristled against his therapist, she'd been having an effect over time regardless. It might be a fucking cliche, Barnes, but it's true: no man is an island, she'd said, and those words kept running in a loop in his head at inopportune moments.
So maybe it wasn't the end. Maybe he could work through it with more people. New friends. New... whatever-Daisy-was. Whatever she could eventually be to him, maybe, even if he didn't deserve it. ]
Right, [ he says, simply. ] As long as that's— something you're okay with. Sharing that part of you.
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Her expression is open and maybe a little bit nervous as she looks at him, taking in what he's said before finally nodding with certainty. ]
I am. If you're okay with seeing it. It's not always my prettiest side... [ She starts to say something else, stops, then tries again after a moment, hesitation laced through the words. ]
Up until now, I haven't pushed for you to share things about yourself and I'm not going to start. But if you want to, you can. Always, anytime. No topic is too heavy — I will always listen and I won't judge you. I'll only ever run because of my own bullshit, never yours. I promise. You're stuck with me, Barnes, for better or worse.
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Thanks. The same goes for you.
[ Is all he can manage for now, as he eases back against the pillows with an exhaustion partially from yesterday's parking lot collapse, partially from— this. These conversations. The delicate, stubborn work of prising open that shield over his heart.
But he looks back over at her: that hesitant, nervous look from her, those dark waiting eyes, and with a quirk at the corner of his mouth, he just says it because he can't resist. She practically tee'd it up for him. ]
Also, I dunno, I think you're always pretty.
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yrs to wrap?
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