And an honour to meet the SHIELD agent he's gushed so much about. [ Sam winks at her as he shakes her hand. Not even trying to hide that warm comfortable air (as if they actually do know each other—), which might be putting it on a little thick, but the man's so amiable that it doesn't stand out as particularly unusual. You could think it's just them liking to give Bucky a hard time in general. ] And he's been talking shit about me? That's unpatriotic, Buck. Downright treacherous.
[ Bucky makes a scoffing noise behind his beer, shaking his head, the tips of his ears a little pink. And then he glances down at the box, head cocking in curiosity. ]
[ Oh, she could get used to this. Playfully giving Bucky a good time, ganging up on him with Sam in the way only the best friends can do — she knows from personal experience how much that can mean. It's normal and it makes you feel normal the way little else can. While everyone else in the world might walk on eggshells or be outright afraid of you, to have even just a few people see you as just another human being...
Yeah, she appreciates Sam Wilson in a whole new light now. He might be Captain America, but he's a hero in her eyes just for being Bucky Barnes' friend. ]
Well, I believe someone requested an ice cream cake. [ She grins as she pulls apart the velcro strap and removes the top half of the box to reveal the oreo cookie cake. ] I even brought candles.
[ Reaching down for the small paper bag she'd dropped beside the table, she pulls out a lighter and three number candles: 0, 1, and 7. The 1 is immediately nestled into the frosting on the top of the cake but she pauses with the next two, making an exaggerated expression of consideration. ]
Is it... 107 or 170?
[ Sam very seriously chimes in with a barely suppressed grin, playing right along and loving every second. ] 70, definitely.
Oh, you are all gonna be the death of me. But I'll forgive you, only because you brought ice cream cake.
[ Bucky's grinning as she places the numbers in the right spots and lights the candles, and he looks down at that number. 107. It ought to spark something in him, maybe: some ancient panic kicking in his chest, some embarrassed self-consciousness at how goddamn old he is, how out-of-touch, how disconnected.
But these two are two of the people he's the most connected to, after everyone else scattered. After he was left alone. And with Daisy and Sam pouring so much effort into this— god, it's appreciated.
Bucky considers what to wish for, looking into the warmth of those flames. Makes up his mind. Then he leans down and blows them out in one sharp huff of breath, while Sam's clapping, saying, ] What'd you wish for?
You're not supposed to hear, asshole, [ Bucky shoots back.
And then they're carving up the cake, moving quickly to shovel pieces onto plates before the whole thing melts. He ducks a glance at Daisy before his first forkful of cake, and mouths: Thanks. ]
[ Daisy's so glad that the gesture seems to hit the way she'd intended. If she'd miscalculated and overstepped with the candles or even the cake itself, she would have been mortified and felt absolutely terrible. Of anyone in this world, Bucky Barnes deserves moments like this to make up for all the ones that had been stolen from him. All the birthdays and dinners and nights spent with the people you loved. He'd missed so much and all she wants is to do what she can to try to make up for it.
That Thanks makes it all worth it. Every second she'd spent arranging this, the hours she'd agonized over what kind of cake to order, the anxiety of reaching out to Sam at all. If this had been a mission, she would have been just fine. Give her a bad guy to beat up, hell, give her twenty, but something personal? That's when things get hard. And scary.
But it's always easier to tackle those scary things when it's for someone you care about. And she cares about Bucky. She'd idolized him from the start but it's so much more than that now. She knows him, as much as he's let her, and she understands the type of horrors he'd survived. To come out the other side of that and still strive to be a good person, to do good? How could she not fall for someone with a heart like that? (It helps that he's funny and cute and an absolute dork.)
The combination of beer and ice cream cake is an interesting one. Not disgusting but certainly an acquired taste. The cake itself is delicious though, and she feels absolutely no shame as she scoops out a second melting slice. She is an adult and she can have as much cake as she wants — and saving the world a time or two has earned her the right to do so without judgment. ]
[ Bucky digs in, wolfing down the dessert and not seeming particularly bothered by the chill outside. March can sometimes bring blizzards and snowstorms depending on the year, but this month has been unseasonably mild so far, so it feels alright even sitting outdoors and eating ice cream cake, the heat lamp above them radiating warmth and light to their grinning faces. Bucky finishes up the introductions, rapidfire: ]
Sam Wilson, Daisy Johnson. Daisy Johnson, Samuel Wilson. Captain America, Quake.
[ Distracted by trying to make sure a melting glob of ice cream doesn't fall down the open neck of his shirt, Bucky misses the subtle look exchanged between the other two, the knowing hello due to the fact they'd already been texting. ]
Having worked a few missions with her, too, I can say we'd be in good hands if we wanted to run a joint op in future. 5 out of 5 stars, two thumbs up, would work together again.
[ "And do more things than work together, I take it," Sam adds slyly, and Bucky flings a small spoonful of cake at him. Yelping, having to wipe off his shirt: "What? I meant that you're friends and y'all hang out and you haven't even invited me until now!" ]
[ Years of training help Daisy keep her startled surprise hidden when Sam makes a particular comment, but she can't quite hide her amusement at Bucky's childish response. What, it's cute. She never gets to see him like this with anyone else and it nearly breaks her heart with how much it means. Still, she can't just let it slide without comment. ]
If you two start a food fight, I am not helping clean up. I'll fight aliens and supervillains with you but I draw the line at mopping up melted cake. [ There's even a pointed finger to show she means business. ] But if you behave yourself, Samuel, we'll invite you to the party next time you're in town.
[ Yep, she pulled out the Samuel card. He'd earned it with that sly comment. ]
[ ”I have two nephews, I have so much experience mopping up melting cake,” Sam says. “But we’ve got a deal.”
Sneaking another bite of his cake, Bucky watches the byplay between Daisy and Sam and finds himself equally charmed by the easiness of it, the ebb-and-flow of this conversation, and how easygoing the other two are. He’d been pretty trepidatious about this first meeting between the people in his life — he was possessive, maybe, of his friends. He had so few of them, so a part of him guarded it jealously, too accustomed to losing them. Too accustomed to not having someone he could call his own, after Steve’s departure.
So. This was nice. Nicer than he expected. ]
Thank you both for this, though, [ Bucky says after a moment. He keeps his voice as light as possible, walking that delicate balance of saying something heartfelt but trying not to sound heartfelt about it. ] I don’t like making a big deal about my birthday, but this is… okay.
[ ”Okay” was the tiniest shred of compliment, but they both knew him well enough that they could tell it meant more. ]
[ He doesn't have to spell it out for Daisy to understand how much this all means to Bucky. She remembers the first time someone on her team wished her happy birthday, once she'd learned the actual date — life had been a mess and she'd been struggling with the grief of losing her parents and training with her powers, so they hadn't made a big deal about it, but the tiny candle in her pile of pancakes that morning had meant everything to her. She'd taken a photo of the plate afterward, the candle laying in a puddle of syrup, and it remains one of her most treasured memories.
That's what she wants for Bucky. Little good things in his life that will build to measure against all the bad. ]
Well, you better enjoy this chill birthday celebration now because next year we're doing karaoke. In space.
[ She may or may not be joking — her expression gives absolutely nothing away. ]
[ The Look he sends her then is partway between aggrieved and suspicious and genuinely hopeful. He squints. ]
Wait. Is that a joke? No. Look. Don’t you dare string me along, Johnson. You cannot promise a guy space and then back out. If you say space, we are going to space next year.
[ Sam is choking on his drink and laughing, but Bucky ploughs on, undeterred. ]
The spider-kid has been to space and I’m over a hundred years old and I worked for the goddamn Soviets during the Space Race but I still haven’t been to space. Do you have any idea how unfair that is? Guys.
[ Oh no. Oh no. There is absolutely no way Daisy Johnson could ever resist that look, and for a fleeting moment, she wonders if Bucky knows it. Not because she thinks he might be playing her, but because he might be able to tell now just how much he means to her. How much his happiness and well-being means to her. They've been dancing around this thing for weeks now and... (He has to know, right?)
Grinning, there's laughter in her voice as she shakes her head at him before holding her hands up in playful defeat. ]
Hey, you agree to karaoke and I'll get you to space. I'll even learn how to fly the Zephyr in case we have to borrow one without permission to get there.
[ Yes, Bucky, she just promised to steal a SHIELD space jet to take you to space for your next birthday. If that's not true friendship... ]
Ah man, clearly you know the key to my heart: vehicular theft.
[ ”I am not hearing any of this,” Sam proclaims grandly, as Bucky downs another deep swig of his drink. “Captain America’s got a reputation to maintain, y’know? I’m not gonna be an accomplice to theft of SHIELD property. They’re supposed to be colleagues.” ]
I got no qualms, [ Bucky says brightly, half-jokingly, but it’s true. He’s done a lot worse in his time than steal a jet.
And so, they pass the evening. Ordering more drinks, devouring as much of the cake as they can before it melts, whiling away the time, getting to know more about each other. Bucky lets the other two talk more than he does; they’ve got more gaps to fill, considering he knows far more about both, but he’s also content to just watch, enjoying the back-and-forth, the joking, the socialisation. It’s the most normal he’s felt in ages. ]
[ During the course of the evening, Daisy takes every opportunity she can to clarify Captain America's sparkling reputation, making very good use of all those history lessons Coulson had forced on them and filling in recent years with what she knows of Steve's more modern exploits, especially those Sam had been involved in. If Captain America has a reputation to maintain, it's one of causing the good kind of trouble, which she's absolutely certain would include "borrowing" a jet to take a friend on a birthday adventure.
It's one of the best nights she's had in a long time. Sam quickly steps into that Old Friend role even though they've only just met, and as they tease each other (and Bucky, of course) and get to know each other better, she feels like they've known each other for years. She learns about his family and what it was like for him to be suddenly pulled into the superhero life, and she tells him about her team and some of the crazier SHIELD missions. (Hopping through time to stop alien robots from taking over the world makes the list; averting a post-apocalyptic future she may have helped cause in some timelines does not.)
Finally, after a few hours have passed and those of them with normal metabolisms are tipsy and coming off a sugar high, she and Sam share a look and he takes his cue to feign exhaustion with an overexaggerated yawn that makes her roll her eyes with a grin. No wonder he and Bucky are friends — they're both utterly incorrigible.
"Think I'm gonna call it a night, I've got an early day of Captaining tomorrow. Kittens to save from alien invasions, that kind of thing," Sam says with an air of ridiculousness, not even trying to hide how obviously planned his exit is.
Daisy groans loudly, covering her eyes with a hand and vowing never to involve Sam Wilson in her secret plans for birthday celebrations ever again. ]
[ Bucky knew Sam intimately by now. He’d practically lived at the Wilson house for a while, after the Flag-Smashers. They were partners. Best friends. And calling it this early is absolutely, one hundred percent, not Sam Wilson’s style. So Bucky squints suspiciously at the other man even as he starts packing up, his eyes narrowing: ]
Did you—
[ “Sorry man, I’m just sooooo tired,” Sam interrupts brightly, but he’s grinning. He zips up his jacket, claps Bucky on the back, and then makes a rapid exit like he’s a bat out of hell, although he does take the time to gather up their old empties and drop them off at the bar on his way out.
There’s a pause, as Bucky shifts his suspicious stare toward Daisy’s facepalm instead. He drains the last of his beer, and then just looks at her, the gears turning and clicking into place as he puts two-and-two together. Admittedly, the other man hadn’t exactly made it hard. ]
[ Even if he is incorrigible and a total menace, Daisy likes Sam, and she's grateful as hell that he's in Bucky's life. Their friendship is the type stories are written about — they've got each other's back through thick and thin. She couldn't wish for a better friend for the man she was falling for.
Dropping her hands into her lap, she gives Bucky a skeptical look complete with raised eyebrows. And because she just can't help it, she has to tease him a little. Maybe a lot. ]
It took you this long to figure that out? Wow, you must really be slipping in your old age. [ A grin takes over her expression; she's not the least bit sheepish about being found out. ] I may have broken into your apartment to decorate while I was "running late" and he kept you busy.
[ There’s a brief uncomfortable flicker for a moment — broken into your apartment, panic-inducing words any other time, Nat would’ve torn him a new one for letting his wariness slip enough that someone could even get in — but it’s there-and-gone quickly enough, his unease settling, paving the way for more bemusement instead. ]
See, this is why I should never have let the two of you meet. You’re ganging up on me. I’m outnumbered. This is unfair.
[ And what in god’s name has she been up to? Bucky considers. ]
[ In the seconds between her admission and Bucky's reply, a spike of panic rises in her chest. What if she'd miscalculated? She has a pretty good feeling that he probably shares her deep discomfort with the idea of someone else in her private space, but she'd been hoping that their friendship-turning-something-more might earn her an exception to that rule. If she'd messed up and ruined things between them...
But no, he soothes her panic in the next second, his response exactly the sort she'd been expecting. She tries not to let her relief show but she might not quite pull it off. It's just what he does to her — he strips away every protective mask she has without even trying. ]
Well, it does if you want your present. And on the way, we can discuss how you really need a security system because not everyone who might want into your place wants to hang up balloons and streamers.
[ Which isn't all she'd done, not by half, but he doesn't need to know that yet. ]
But if I’d set up booby traps and poison darts, then you might not be standing here today.
[ Bucky gathers up his things, sets his last empty on the table. Shrugs back into his jacket and waits for Daisy to get ready, to join him as they leave the patio and head to the streets, to start wandering back to his apartment, comfortably side-by-side. ]
Or, new theory: is this all just a ruse to get yourself back to my place?
[ He’s grinning, teasding. As if she hasn’t already slept over; as if she weren’t often there anyway. ]
[ Booby traps and poison darts? There's a comedic eyeroll in answer to that particular notion, which is completely ridiculous and like something out of a '40s action-adventure movie. Seriously, she needs to teach the man about the modern age of high-tech security alarms and motion sensor video cameras. Because if he insists on continuing to live in that questionable but not quite sketchy apartment building, he needs something more than the shoddy lock she'd picked in 8.5 seconds.
Taking the last swig of her drink, she takes a moment to tidy up their trash before grabbing the little paper bag she'd brought with her. Then they're off, Daisy scoffing dramatically at this theory he's presenting. ]
Please, as if I would ever be that obvious.
[ Except she would be. Absolutely. In a goddamn heartbeat, if given the chance. But that is not the point. ]
You’re welcome anytime, [ he says easily, and it might seem like such a small sentence, but it’s still significant. For a man who’s so guarded about his privacy and who usually hates the mortifying ordeal of being known — he trusts Daisy. With anything and everything. She’s welcome in his personal domestic space, and the idea of having her around doesn’t rankle him the way it might from anyone else.
The journey back is normal enough: getting on the subway, Bucky gamely standing and letting Daisy take a seat on the crowded train, his boot knocking companionably against hers, and him feeling nicely anonymous for once. A lot of things in New York have changed over the past century, but at least there’s still always the subway. When they finally get to his neighbourhood and his building and climb the stairwell to his floor and reach the apartment door, he hesitates. Wondering what he’ll find inside. ]
[ The calm, uneventful trip back to Bucky's is the best kind of boring. For two people whose lives have been anything but normal, moments like these are cherished — by Daisy, at least. She does her best to engrave in her memory the way he'd insisted she take the available seat, the movement of the train that kept them close, and the feeling of being just like everyone else for a little while. It buoys her spirits just as much as Bucky's little You're welcome anytime had. (She knows just how much it means for him to say those words.)
When they reach his door and he asks his very simple yet practical question, she takes a deep breath and tries to shove past the sudden spike of nerves that threatens to take over. ]
Maybe not a warning, exactly. Just a statement that you will not hurt my feelings if you decide you want it all gone immediately. It's your space and I only had good intentions, but it's completely up to you what stays, if anything.
[ Of course, once she starts speaking, it all comes out in a bit of a rushed ramble that betrays said nerves and just serves to make her even more nervous. Which is ridiculous, but then again, brains usually are. Hers certainly seems to delight in frequently torturing her this way. There's nothing to be done for it now, though. They're here, and as soon as he opens that door, he'll find the product of weeks of planning scattered around his personal space.
In the kitchen, there's a shiny new coffee pot in silver and black. It's a fairly simple model without too many bells and whistles, but it mimics a pour over method and makes a damn good cup of coffee. Beside it is an electric grinder and a bag of freshly roasted beans from a cafe a few blocks down the street. And to complete the setup, there's a set of four green coffee mugs, each the same style in a slightly different shade in Daisy's attempt to get close to his favorite hue.
The living room slash bedroom has had a slightly more... drastic change. Well, drastic might be an overstatement, but it is different. The bed now has a frame, one of those models that had a solid slab of wood beneath the mattress, raising it a foot off the ground. She'd considered one that had drawers but figured he would prefer (just as she would) not having something beneath him where something might be able to hide. There's a short headboard attached to the bed now too, so he'll have something to lean against while he sprawls and watches TV — the additional green and grey pillows will help with that too.
The chair is still there, but there's a dark green pillow there now, and a soft grey blanket folded across the back. They match the color scheme on the bed, adding a bit of cohesion to the space without making it feel forced or artificial. Next to the chair is the same end table as before but stacked there now is a set of faux leather-bound copies of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, the four volumes just waiting to be picked up and read. To go with the books, affixed to the wall is a map of Middle-Earth, framed without glass so it looks nice but won't have the same risk of easily breaking if something happens. (If she happens.)
On the wall above the TV is a banner of individual letters reading HAPPY BIRTHDAY, and next to the TV is a handful of colorful balloons with one boldly proclaiming OVER THE HILL. And because all birthdays require a proper wrapped gift, on the end of the bed is a smallish box covered in metallic green paper. ]
Bucky goes motionless in that doorway as he takes it all in, his head on a swivel, turning and catching more and more details the longer he looks. It’s only when Daisy fidgets in his peripheral vision that he takes a few more steps into the apartment as she closes the door behind them, and he’s silently looking at all the little personal touches. The better eye for interior decoration, which he’d never really had. The attention-to-detail for both comfort and coziness. And, more important than anything, the things she’d remembered about him and his tastes: the Tolkien books, his favourite colour.
It’s an actual, genuine housewarming, because now the apartment immediately looks and feels so much more like a home. The bedframe especially has him staring at it, flummoxed.
He blurts out his first words since they’d entered the studio: ]
How the hell did you get all this in here and you were only half an hour late?
[ Bucky doesn’t sound mad. Just— wondering, marvelling, and when he finally turns to meet her eye, she can see the smile blooming on his face. It keeps scattering back-and-forth; wanting to flourish into a grin, but something aches behind it, too, with a terrible and almost painful fondness the longer he looks at her. This is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for him besides, well, Steve hammering through his HYDRA programming. ]
Jesus. Daisy. Thank you. This is… this must’ve cost a fortune. You didn’t have to do this.
[ And yet there’s still more. His eyesight’s keen, and he’s hyper-attuned to anything and everything being out-of-place (a necessary trait when you were an assassin, and a chair being a few inches off could mean someone else had left an unpleasant surprise in your safehouse). He’d noticed the box on the bed. ]
[ Waiting for Bucky's reaction is one of the most anxiety-inducing things Daisy Johnson has experienced in her 35 years of existence. She never would have expected it to be quite this bad, but now every second threatens to crush her both physically and emotionally. All it would take is a single word of disappointment or one look of horror to send her straight through the floor and into the earth itself.
But, of course, she receives neither. That's not who Bucky Barnes is. So with his innocent question and achingly perfect smile, he heals another broken thing inside her — and, as always, he doesn't even know it. ]
It wasn't that much. The really expensive parts were the tips to get the delivery guys here at a very specific time. But don't worry, I'm the only one who actually came inside.
[ There's no way she would have let anyone else into his space without his permission. Everything she'd done today had been with his comfort in mind. She'd even tried her best to keep things as close to their original position as possible while she moved them around to bring in the bedframe, going so far as to set down a bit of tape for things like the bed so he wouldn't have to adjust to too much in his own space. (There's still a piece of beige masking tape still under one corner of the chair that she'd missed in her hurried cleanup.)
Fighting back her own tentative smile because she's still a bundle of nerves (mostly good now), Daisy stuffs her hands into her coat pockets and gives an exaggerated shrug of her shoulders. ]
Birthdays are important, and we have a lot of them to make up for.
[ We because he isn't the only one with a shitty past full of too many missed life events. As with so many things, they have that in common, and she understands just how much something good and happy can also hurt. ]
[ And, honest-to-god, he means to close the loop on that conversation. Follow that breadcrumb trail. Talk to her. Open that last gift box. Probably have his mind blown again over whatever’s inside, due to her conscientiousness, her attention to detail, how much she cares. And he doesn’t even have the excuse of the alcohol to explain the next twenty seconds; he’d barreled his way through more drinks than the other two, but he’s not drunk, not by a long shot.
It’s just the way it feels like his ribcage could crack right open, right here, right now, with how much he loves her in this moment. It’s probably too soon to even be thinking that word, like letting his thoughts drift and touch a hot stove— but this moment. This, just for this moment, there’s no other word that fits.
So Bucky steps closer. Finally throws caution to the wind, jumps off that cliff, prays there’ll be solid ground to catch him. He reaches out with his right hand and snares the edge of Daisy’s coat, pulls her closer to him, ducks his head, and kisses her. ]
[ You know those moments in movies where time just seems to stop? Usually, when that happens in Daisy's life, it's because of something unpleasant, like receiving the news of losing yet another person she cares about; very rarely is it because of something good. But now, as Bucky moves closer and reaches out, everything around them slows and falls away until they're the only things left in the world.
More than once, she's wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Bucky Barnes, the man who understands her better than he knows, the man who deserves every good thing life refuses to give him. She's wanted to kiss him ever since that night they saw half of a ridiculous musical together and bared part of their souls to each other, but she'd been willing to wait for him to be ready, even if that day never came. For it to be happening now, finally—
Leaning up on her toes, she presses her lips more firmly against his, tugging her hands from her pockets to anchor herself against his shoulders. There's bone and muscle under her left and hard metal under her right and she accepts both. She accepts him, all of who he is, has been and will be. He's Bucky, and even though she's too scared to say the words, she loves him. ]
[ And this thought materialises in one crystal-sharp spark of understanding, the moment Daisy kisses him back and they seem to fall into each other: why had he waited so long?
What a stupid waste of time, when they could have been doing this all along — but he had worried, he had wondered if he’d even be able to do this again. Like excavating some long-lost corner of his soul, some part of him that can remember how to use his hands for peace instead of war. For his metal hand to still grip the corner of Daisy’s jacket, while his other hand goes for the bracket of her cheek and jaw, diving into the kiss.
And here’s the thing: it isn’t rushed or hurried or desperate; it feels, in fact, like they should have been here long ago. Like they’ve just finally meandered their way across that next line in the sand.
When he next breaks for a gulp of breath, his lungs burning, he rests his forehead against hers while those words are still burning a hole in his heart too: you deserve this, Bucky. But it’s not really about birthday balloons or throw blankets or pillows. It’s about— ]
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[ Bucky makes a scoffing noise behind his beer, shaking his head, the tips of his ears a little pink. And then he glances down at the box, head cocking in curiosity. ]
What's this?
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Yeah, she appreciates Sam Wilson in a whole new light now. He might be Captain America, but he's a hero in her eyes just for being Bucky Barnes' friend. ]
Well, I believe someone requested an ice cream cake. [ She grins as she pulls apart the velcro strap and removes the top half of the box to reveal the oreo cookie cake. ] I even brought candles.
[ Reaching down for the small paper bag she'd dropped beside the table, she pulls out a lighter and three number candles: 0, 1, and 7. The 1 is immediately nestled into the frosting on the top of the cake but she pauses with the next two, making an exaggerated expression of consideration. ]
Is it... 107 or 170?
[ Sam very seriously chimes in with a barely suppressed grin, playing right along and loving every second. ] 70, definitely.
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[ Bucky's grinning as she places the numbers in the right spots and lights the candles, and he looks down at that number. 107. It ought to spark something in him, maybe: some ancient panic kicking in his chest, some embarrassed self-consciousness at how goddamn old he is, how out-of-touch, how disconnected.
But these two are two of the people he's the most connected to, after everyone else scattered. After he was left alone. And with Daisy and Sam pouring so much effort into this— god, it's appreciated.
Bucky considers what to wish for, looking into the warmth of those flames. Makes up his mind. Then he leans down and blows them out in one sharp huff of breath, while Sam's clapping, saying, ] What'd you wish for?
You're not supposed to hear, asshole, [ Bucky shoots back.
And then they're carving up the cake, moving quickly to shovel pieces onto plates before the whole thing melts. He ducks a glance at Daisy before his first forkful of cake, and mouths: Thanks. ]
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That Thanks makes it all worth it. Every second she'd spent arranging this, the hours she'd agonized over what kind of cake to order, the anxiety of reaching out to Sam at all. If this had been a mission, she would have been just fine. Give her a bad guy to beat up, hell, give her twenty, but something personal? That's when things get hard. And scary.
But it's always easier to tackle those scary things when it's for someone you care about. And she cares about Bucky. She'd idolized him from the start but it's so much more than that now. She knows him, as much as he's let her, and she understands the type of horrors he'd survived. To come out the other side of that and still strive to be a good person, to do good? How could she not fall for someone with a heart like that? (It helps that he's funny and cute and an absolute dork.)
The combination of beer and ice cream cake is an interesting one. Not disgusting but certainly an acquired taste. The cake itself is delicious though, and she feels absolutely no shame as she scoops out a second melting slice. She is an adult and she can have as much cake as she wants — and saving the world a time or two has earned her the right to do so without judgment. ]
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Sam Wilson, Daisy Johnson. Daisy Johnson, Samuel Wilson. Captain America, Quake.
[ Distracted by trying to make sure a melting glob of ice cream doesn't fall down the open neck of his shirt, Bucky misses the subtle look exchanged between the other two, the knowing hello due to the fact they'd already been texting. ]
Having worked a few missions with her, too, I can say we'd be in good hands if we wanted to run a joint op in future. 5 out of 5 stars, two thumbs up, would work together again.
[ "And do more things than work together, I take it," Sam adds slyly, and Bucky flings a small spoonful of cake at him. Yelping, having to wipe off his shirt: "What? I meant that you're friends and y'all hang out and you haven't even invited me until now!" ]
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If you two start a food fight, I am not helping clean up. I'll fight aliens and supervillains with you but I draw the line at mopping up melted cake. [ There's even a pointed finger to show she means business. ] But if you behave yourself, Samuel, we'll invite you to the party next time you're in town.
[ Yep, she pulled out the Samuel card. He'd earned it with that sly comment. ]
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Sneaking another bite of his cake, Bucky watches the byplay between Daisy and Sam and finds himself equally charmed by the easiness of it, the ebb-and-flow of this conversation, and how easygoing the other two are. He’d been pretty trepidatious about this first meeting between the people in his life — he was possessive, maybe, of his friends. He had so few of them, so a part of him guarded it jealously, too accustomed to losing them. Too accustomed to not having someone he could call his own, after Steve’s departure.
So. This was nice. Nicer than he expected. ]
Thank you both for this, though, [ Bucky says after a moment. He keeps his voice as light as possible, walking that delicate balance of saying something heartfelt but trying not to sound heartfelt about it. ] I don’t like making a big deal about my birthday, but this is… okay.
[ ”Okay” was the tiniest shred of compliment, but they both knew him well enough that they could tell it meant more. ]
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That's what she wants for Bucky. Little good things in his life that will build to measure against all the bad. ]
Well, you better enjoy this chill birthday celebration now because next year we're doing karaoke. In space.
[ She may or may not be joking — her expression gives absolutely nothing away. ]
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Wait. Is that a joke? No. Look. Don’t you dare string me along, Johnson. You cannot promise a guy space and then back out. If you say space, we are going to space next year.
[ Sam is choking on his drink and laughing, but Bucky ploughs on, undeterred. ]
The spider-kid has been to space and I’m over a hundred years old and I worked for the goddamn Soviets during the Space Race but I still haven’t been to space. Do you have any idea how unfair that is? Guys.
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Grinning, there's laughter in her voice as she shakes her head at him before holding her hands up in playful defeat. ]
Hey, you agree to karaoke and I'll get you to space. I'll even learn how to fly the Zephyr in case we have to borrow one without permission to get there.
[ Yes, Bucky, she just promised to steal a SHIELD space jet to take you to space for your next birthday. If that's not true friendship... ]
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Ah man, clearly you know the key to my heart: vehicular theft.
[ ”I am not hearing any of this,” Sam proclaims grandly, as Bucky downs another deep swig of his drink. “Captain America’s got a reputation to maintain, y’know? I’m not gonna be an accomplice to theft of SHIELD property. They’re supposed to be colleagues.” ]
I got no qualms, [ Bucky says brightly, half-jokingly, but it’s true. He’s done a lot worse in his time than steal a jet.
And so, they pass the evening. Ordering more drinks, devouring as much of the cake as they can before it melts, whiling away the time, getting to know more about each other. Bucky lets the other two talk more than he does; they’ve got more gaps to fill, considering he knows far more about both, but he’s also content to just watch, enjoying the back-and-forth, the joking, the socialisation. It’s the most normal he’s felt in ages. ]
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It's one of the best nights she's had in a long time. Sam quickly steps into that Old Friend role even though they've only just met, and as they tease each other (and Bucky, of course) and get to know each other better, she feels like they've known each other for years. She learns about his family and what it was like for him to be suddenly pulled into the superhero life, and she tells him about her team and some of the crazier SHIELD missions. (Hopping through time to stop alien robots from taking over the world makes the list; averting a post-apocalyptic future she may have helped cause in some timelines does not.)
Finally, after a few hours have passed and those of them with normal metabolisms are tipsy and coming off a sugar high, she and Sam share a look and he takes his cue to feign exhaustion with an overexaggerated yawn that makes her roll her eyes with a grin. No wonder he and Bucky are friends — they're both utterly incorrigible.
"Think I'm gonna call it a night, I've got an early day of Captaining tomorrow. Kittens to save from alien invasions, that kind of thing," Sam says with an air of ridiculousness, not even trying to hide how obviously planned his exit is.
Daisy groans loudly, covering her eyes with a hand and vowing never to involve Sam Wilson in her secret plans for birthday celebrations ever again. ]
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Did you—
[ “Sorry man, I’m just sooooo tired,” Sam interrupts brightly, but he’s grinning. He zips up his jacket, claps Bucky on the back, and then makes a rapid exit like he’s a bat out of hell, although he does take the time to gather up their old empties and drop them off at the bar on his way out.
There’s a pause, as Bucky shifts his suspicious stare toward Daisy’s facepalm instead. He drains the last of his beer, and then just looks at her, the gears turning and clicking into place as he puts two-and-two together. Admittedly, the other man hadn’t exactly made it hard. ]
Jesus christ. Are you two in cahoots?
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Dropping her hands into her lap, she gives Bucky a skeptical look complete with raised eyebrows. And because she just can't help it, she has to tease him a little. Maybe a lot. ]
It took you this long to figure that out? Wow, you must really be slipping in your old age. [ A grin takes over her expression; she's not the least bit sheepish about being found out. ] I may have broken into your apartment to decorate while I was "running late" and he kept you busy.
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See, this is why I should never have let the two of you meet. You’re ganging up on me. I’m outnumbered. This is unfair.
[ And what in god’s name has she been up to? Bucky considers. ]
Does this mean we need to head back to my place?
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But no, he soothes her panic in the next second, his response exactly the sort she'd been expecting. She tries not to let her relief show but she might not quite pull it off. It's just what he does to her — he strips away every protective mask she has without even trying. ]
Well, it does if you want your present. And on the way, we can discuss how you really need a security system because not everyone who might want into your place wants to hang up balloons and streamers.
[ Which isn't all she'd done, not by half, but he doesn't need to know that yet. ]
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[ Bucky gathers up his things, sets his last empty on the table. Shrugs back into his jacket and waits for Daisy to get ready, to join him as they leave the patio and head to the streets, to start wandering back to his apartment, comfortably side-by-side. ]
Or, new theory: is this all just a ruse to get yourself back to my place?
[ He’s grinning, teasding. As if she hasn’t already slept over; as if she weren’t often there anyway. ]
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Taking the last swig of her drink, she takes a moment to tidy up their trash before grabbing the little paper bag she'd brought with her. Then they're off, Daisy scoffing dramatically at this theory he's presenting. ]
Please, as if I would ever be that obvious.
[ Except she would be. Absolutely. In a goddamn heartbeat, if given the chance. But that is not the point. ]
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The journey back is normal enough: getting on the subway, Bucky gamely standing and letting Daisy take a seat on the crowded train, his boot knocking companionably against hers, and him feeling nicely anonymous for once. A lot of things in New York have changed over the past century, but at least there’s still always the subway. When they finally get to his neighbourhood and his building and climb the stairwell to his floor and reach the apartment door, he hesitates. Wondering what he’ll find inside. ]
Do I need any warnings beforehand?
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When they reach his door and he asks his very simple yet practical question, she takes a deep breath and tries to shove past the sudden spike of nerves that threatens to take over. ]
Maybe not a warning, exactly. Just a statement that you will not hurt my feelings if you decide you want it all gone immediately. It's your space and I only had good intentions, but it's completely up to you what stays, if anything.
[ Of course, once she starts speaking, it all comes out in a bit of a rushed ramble that betrays said nerves and just serves to make her even more nervous. Which is ridiculous, but then again, brains usually are. Hers certainly seems to delight in frequently torturing her this way. There's nothing to be done for it now, though. They're here, and as soon as he opens that door, he'll find the product of weeks of planning scattered around his personal space.
In the kitchen, there's a shiny new coffee pot in silver and black. It's a fairly simple model without too many bells and whistles, but it mimics a pour over method and makes a damn good cup of coffee. Beside it is an electric grinder and a bag of freshly roasted beans from a cafe a few blocks down the street. And to complete the setup, there's a set of four green coffee mugs, each the same style in a slightly different shade in Daisy's attempt to get close to his favorite hue.
The living room slash bedroom has had a slightly more... drastic change. Well, drastic might be an overstatement, but it is different. The bed now has a frame, one of those models that had a solid slab of wood beneath the mattress, raising it a foot off the ground. She'd considered one that had drawers but figured he would prefer (just as she would) not having something beneath him where something might be able to hide. There's a short headboard attached to the bed now too, so he'll have something to lean against while he sprawls and watches TV — the additional green and grey pillows will help with that too.
The chair is still there, but there's a dark green pillow there now, and a soft grey blanket folded across the back. They match the color scheme on the bed, adding a bit of cohesion to the space without making it feel forced or artificial. Next to the chair is the same end table as before but stacked there now is a set of faux leather-bound copies of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, the four volumes just waiting to be picked up and read. To go with the books, affixed to the wall is a map of Middle-Earth, framed without glass so it looks nice but won't have the same risk of easily breaking if something happens. (If she happens.)
On the wall above the TV is a banner of individual letters reading HAPPY BIRTHDAY, and next to the TV is a handful of colorful balloons with one boldly proclaiming OVER THE HILL. And because all birthdays require a proper wrapped gift, on the end of the bed is a smallish box covered in metallic green paper. ]
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Bucky goes motionless in that doorway as he takes it all in, his head on a swivel, turning and catching more and more details the longer he looks. It’s only when Daisy fidgets in his peripheral vision that he takes a few more steps into the apartment as she closes the door behind them, and he’s silently looking at all the little personal touches. The better eye for interior decoration, which he’d never really had. The attention-to-detail for both comfort and coziness. And, more important than anything, the things she’d remembered about him and his tastes: the Tolkien books, his favourite colour.
It’s an actual, genuine housewarming, because now the apartment immediately looks and feels so much more like a home. The bedframe especially has him staring at it, flummoxed.
He blurts out his first words since they’d entered the studio: ]
How the hell did you get all this in here and you were only half an hour late?
[ Bucky doesn’t sound mad. Just— wondering, marvelling, and when he finally turns to meet her eye, she can see the smile blooming on his face. It keeps scattering back-and-forth; wanting to flourish into a grin, but something aches behind it, too, with a terrible and almost painful fondness the longer he looks at her. This is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for him besides, well, Steve hammering through his HYDRA programming. ]
Jesus. Daisy. Thank you. This is… this must’ve cost a fortune. You didn’t have to do this.
[ And yet there’s still more. His eyesight’s keen, and he’s hyper-attuned to anything and everything being out-of-place (a necessary trait when you were an assassin, and a chair being a few inches off could mean someone else had left an unpleasant surprise in your safehouse). He’d noticed the box on the bed. ]
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But, of course, she receives neither. That's not who Bucky Barnes is. So with his innocent question and achingly perfect smile, he heals another broken thing inside her — and, as always, he doesn't even know it. ]
It wasn't that much. The really expensive parts were the tips to get the delivery guys here at a very specific time. But don't worry, I'm the only one who actually came inside.
[ There's no way she would have let anyone else into his space without his permission. Everything she'd done today had been with his comfort in mind. She'd even tried her best to keep things as close to their original position as possible while she moved them around to bring in the bedframe, going so far as to set down a bit of tape for things like the bed so he wouldn't have to adjust to too much in his own space. (There's still a piece of beige masking tape still under one corner of the chair that she'd missed in her hurried cleanup.)
Fighting back her own tentative smile because she's still a bundle of nerves (mostly good now), Daisy stuffs her hands into her coat pockets and gives an exaggerated shrug of her shoulders. ]
Birthdays are important, and we have a lot of them to make up for.
[ We because he isn't the only one with a shitty past full of too many missed life events. As with so many things, they have that in common, and she understands just how much something good and happy can also hurt. ]
You deserve this Bucky.
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It’s just the way it feels like his ribcage could crack right open, right here, right now, with how much he loves her in this moment. It’s probably too soon to even be thinking that word, like letting his thoughts drift and touch a hot stove— but this moment. This, just for this moment, there’s no other word that fits.
So Bucky steps closer. Finally throws caution to the wind, jumps off that cliff, prays there’ll be solid ground to catch him. He reaches out with his right hand and snares the edge of Daisy’s coat, pulls her closer to him, ducks his head, and kisses her. ]
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More than once, she's wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Bucky Barnes, the man who understands her better than he knows, the man who deserves every good thing life refuses to give him. She's wanted to kiss him ever since that night they saw half of a ridiculous musical together and bared part of their souls to each other, but she'd been willing to wait for him to be ready, even if that day never came. For it to be happening now, finally—
Leaning up on her toes, she presses her lips more firmly against his, tugging her hands from her pockets to anchor herself against his shoulders. There's bone and muscle under her left and hard metal under her right and she accepts both. She accepts him, all of who he is, has been and will be. He's Bucky, and even though she's too scared to say the words, she loves him. ]
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What a stupid waste of time, when they could have been doing this all along — but he had worried, he had wondered if he’d even be able to do this again. Like excavating some long-lost corner of his soul, some part of him that can remember how to use his hands for peace instead of war. For his metal hand to still grip the corner of Daisy’s jacket, while his other hand goes for the bracket of her cheek and jaw, diving into the kiss.
And here’s the thing: it isn’t rushed or hurried or desperate; it feels, in fact, like they should have been here long ago. Like they’ve just finally meandered their way across that next line in the sand.
When he next breaks for a gulp of breath, his lungs burning, he rests his forehead against hers while those words are still burning a hole in his heart too: you deserve this, Bucky. But it’s not really about birthday balloons or throw blankets or pillows. It’s about— ]
Y’know, I really don’t deserve you.
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thaaaat’s a wrap