[ Because he’s got a limit on how many emotions he can successfully and elegantly wrangle in a day, and he’s already gotten overwhelmed and choked up enough over the effort she’s put into the birthday. So Bucky disengages — a little reluctantly — and then moves over to the bed. Picks up the box and sits down in its place, making sure to leave room for Daisy beside him on the mattress as he goes about carefully ripping the present open. ]
[ Before she settles on the bed beside him, Daisy shrugs off her jacket, folding and laying it on the floor beside the bed like she does every time she visits. (Maybe she should have gotten him a coat rack too.) She faces him so she can watch the way he opens the package, every rip of the paper revealing the rigid white gift box. Suddenly, she's nervous again, hoping he likes it, hoping it doesn't make him feel old or out of touch.
Nestled inside is a little photo printer no bigger than his hand, unbranded but clearly well-made. A large green fabric pouch is tucked beside it, holding packages of small Polaroid film, a few wrapped-up cords, and a single roll of grey washi tape.
And it occurs to her as he takes in her gift that he might not actually recognize what it is since it's not being presented with a lot of visual clues. Shit. Straightening her spine, she hurries to explain, the words coming out in a rush. ]
It's a photo printer that'll work with your phone. With any phone, actually, since I programmed it myself. Proprietary software can be a pain in the ass to deal with, so I... [ Not the important part, Johnson. ] My sister has one of these and really loves it, and since you missed when Polaroids were popular, I thought maybe you—
[ The nerves are hitting Daisy and he can tell that they’re hitting her, words rambling and getting away from her in a flood, and so Bucky reaches out with his closest hand (the left, coincidentally) and sets his metal fingers gently against her knee. Just the smallest pressure, a touch, to stop her and stem that flow before she’s carried away with it. ]
It’s a great idea. You’re gonna have to show me how to use this thing, but it’s fantastic. I can’t believe you remembered— I mean, me, I’m shit at this sort of thing. Thoughtful presents.
[ Bucky had fallen out of practice. Even before going on ice, he’d always been relatively poor, and the war had meant tightened pursestrings and even fewer luxury goods. He might gather wildflowers from abandoned lots or buy a drink or try to win a girl a teddy bear at the fair, but he’d never really gotten into the habit of remembering specific things to buy.
But maybe he’s just gonna have to try to get better at it. So he flashes her a smile: ]
So I have until July to figure out something for you, right?
[ That touch to her knee is exactly what she needs, especially with his left hand. The vibranium feels different than everything else around them, absorbing the vibrations she feels in her very bones. By the time he's offering her that adorable smile, she's infinitely calmer, her nerves soothed by his words and that unique metal.
Reaching out to rest her hand on his, she offers him a smile of her own. ]
Yeah, July 2nd. But you know, you don't have to. If we're still... I mean, if we've managed to still make this work by then, you don't have to get me anything. It's not some cryptic girlfriend psychology thing when I say that just being with someone that day would be enough.
[ Nevermind that she jumped straight in on describing herself as his girlfriend, her self-consciousness is entirely focused on her admission that: ]
I've never had that before.
[ A 35-year-old woman who's never shared a birthday with a significant other. Hell, she's barely shared a birthday with anyone, period. The team had done little things to acknowledge the date, cupcakes or a pancake breakfast, the odd present from Coulson or Simmons, but inevitably a mission would come up that scrapped any bigger plans. And, really, she was always okay with that, because even the smallest celebration of the day she was born was more than she'd ever had growing up.
But with Lincoln, the timing just hadn't worked out. She learned her real birthdate before they were together and he died before the day could actually roll around. And she hasn't been with anyone else since. The priority has always been the job and it's taken a long time to get herself together enough to even try being with someone else.
[ There’s that instinctive urge as always, kicking like a horse — because there’s a joke here and Bucky knows exactly the joke he wants to make — but he winds up filing it away for later, instead setting the printer contraption aside on the bed and scooting so he’s sitting a little closer. Knees against hers, facing her, both hands now against Daisy’s legs. Because addressing this particular statement is more important, at this moment in time. ]
Literally never?
[ A beat, and hey he’s not completely stupid, so he jots some puzzle pieces together: ]
Because you were adopted? You didn’t know your birthday?
[ This isn't the way she intended the conversation to go but she's not going to shy away from his questions. As always, she's prepared to be an open book with him — it only seems fair when she knew so much about him even before they were friends. ]
Birthday, name, ethnicity. I didn't know any of it until I met my parents when I was 26. Everything about myself was one big mystery. [ Her hands rest on his and her tone shifts from easy and open to something slightly more sterile and stilted. ] And I was never adopted. It was orphanage to foster care and back, over and over. I actually found out one time on the fake birthday they'd given me – pack your bags, you don't belong here.
[ Taking a deep breath, she shakes her head, as if she can physically dislodge those dark thoughts. This is a day for celebration, not dwelling on her shitty childhood. ] Anyway, that's part of why I did all this. Celebrating birthdays is important: it means someone is glad you were born. Everyone deserves to know that.
[ Once Daisy explains, then he can feel his heart ache. Literally ache, twinging sharp in his chest with that new knowledge and angle. Funny, how something as simple as some words about someone else’s life can spark that sympathetic pain, can make your chest thrum with it. ]
Sorry, I’d assumed— an orphanage, you always think that’s going to be temporary—
[ Shitty assumption, Bucky. She’d lived it. Apologetic, he laces his fingers into hers. ]
For what it’s worth, so it’s said, I’m glad you were born. I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad we met, even if it was because someone just thought having Sergeant Barnes on a SHIELD op sounded like a good idea. [ The corners of his eyes crinkle; a faint smile, barely touching his mouth although it’s genuine. And then comes the joke, trying to lighten the mood, although it comes with an immediate followup to not send her into a goddamn spiral of terror: ]
[ People always assume the best when it comes to someone's childhood because they don't want to have to deal with what the worst looks like. And Daisy's was only worse, not the worst it could have been — she'd never suffered the kind of abuse that runs rampant in the foster system, she'd just... been unwanted. It's the kind of pain that cuts deep, even when she's known for a decade now that it was just SHIELD trying to protect her. Some part of her will always fear being rejected and abandoned by the people she loves.
I'm glad you were born. Hearing Bucky say those words makes her want to cry with some of the most painful joy she's ever experienced. If he didn't turn to a joke when he did, he would have had a sobbing girlfriend on his hands. Instead, he gets a smiling one. ]
[ And with that confirmed — an irrepressible bubble of warmth in his chest, his heart, rising up through his throat — Bucky leans in again. Their knees and legs are in the way, so it necessitates her leaning in to meet him halfway, but she does, and he manages to catch her lips in another kiss. His hands now sliding a little closer, resting against the lines of her thighs, still just to have something to hang onto.
There’s heat to it, yes, but it’s like a comfortable fireplace at home rather than a blazing forest fire. Touching her merely because he wants to, and they’re both unaccustomed to it, and not because he necessarily needs to rip her clothes off.
It’s simply enough to be here, to be with Daisy, to have her with him on this day, and to be allowed to touch her like this at all. ]
[ It's rare for Daisy to be certain about something in her personal life. When it comes to her work, she's steady and confident, sure of where she stands and what she's capable of. With relationships, it's... harder. Friends, pseudo-parents, significant others, there's almost always some fear and doubt weighing on her in the early months, and sometimes even after years have passed. But with Bucky, for right now, she feels like she's on solid ground. She knows her own emotions and she has a pretty good idea of his. So no, this might not last, but she's at least able to savor this moment of just being with him and knowing she can finally show her affection the way she's been wanting to for months.
It's a nice kiss, not hurried or pushing for too much. She feels like each touch between them is a conversation rather than a demand for more. Leaning in to meet him feels comfortable and without expectation, and being able to reach up and gently frame his face with her hands feels like a gift. When she pulls back to catch her breath, she stays close, stroking her thumbs across the beard he keeps so neatly trimmed. ]
You're a good kisser. Can't read that in the history books. [ She's teasing, of course, her voice warm with affection. ]
Oh, jesus. Could you imagine if it was in the books? Talk about awkward.
[ Bucky ducks his face into her touch; he often seems to react like a cat, skittish about touch but then he leans into it for more once it’s there. After a moment, paring back some of his own vulnerability and honesty, he adds: ]
I’m rusty, so it’s kind of a miracle if I pulled that off. You can probably guess, but like, I haven’t done this in a while. A relationship. Not since, literally, World War II. So if I get anything wrong— because things have changed since the last time I knew how to do this, or because things haven’t changed but it’s been long enough for me— so if I fuck up— I’m just saying, please feel free to tell me. And if I’m… off, it’s not you, it’s… that.
[ A beat, and then one more card on the table: ] I kind of hadn’t really thought I’d ever get to this place again with anyone. So. Bear with me.
[ Every time she touches him, Daisy watches for some sign that Bucky isn't okay with it. For all that she knows of his past, there's so much she doesn't know about how that trauma has affected him; she can only guess at where the minefields lay. It's a relief whenever he allows it, even more so when he encourages it.
She drops her hands to his shoulders as he speaks, then slowly to his chest so she can better feel his heartbeat. Strong. Steady. Comforting. It doesn't take long at all for her to decide where this conversation needs to go. ]
We both have a lot of shit we're dealing with — the cards are kind of stacked against us in that regard. But if we both do the work to just talk to each other... We can maybe have a chance at making this work. So that goes both ways: If I say something, do something, or if I don't when I need to, then you tell me. Deal?
[ It’s surprisingly hard. It’s so fucking hard to verbalise what he wants and needs when he isn’t even certain of it himself; when, starting with the war, he’d already grown used to burying it six feet deep and simply smiling over it; and in all the decades since, he hasn’t been allowed to have an opinion. A preference. To explore what he wants. To even attempt a relationship with another person. He hadn’t existed for anyone except his masters for so long, and now that those strings have been cut, he’s trying to remember what it feels like to try.
So Bucky takes a deep, rattling breath, but then he nods. ]
[ Smiling with genuine happiness, she moves her hands to his against her thighs, loving every damn second of being able to touch him like this. To be close and know that it's okay now. She'll still always look for signs of it being too much, but now there's the hope of there being times when it's not enough. (She's looking forward to the latter.) ]
So, birthday boy. What do you want to do now? It's not that late, we could watch a movie or I could show you how to use your new toy. Or if you're hungry, we could get something that's not just alcohol and sugar — though, we are adults, so that is a perfectly acceptable dinner.
[ Is she still grinning like an idiot? Absolutely. Does she care? Not one bit. This is a feeling she could really get used to. ]
[ All of those options sound wonderful. Bucky considers it, weighing each of them in his mind, but there’s an irrepressible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It’s hard to bite it back whenever he’s around her: the warmth and light and kindness that Daisy just radiates, constantly, all the time, just by her very presence. ]
Can I say “all of the above”? Because, like, how about we order in some takeout, you show me how to use this doo-dad, [ did he really just say the words doo-dad, ] and then we can watch a movie with dinner.
Which kind of sounds like a perfect, chill night. Like, I couldn’t have asked for any better for my birthday. Thank you.
[ Steve, maybe. He misses Steve. But in lieu of that, Daisy’s still managing to help patch up those wounds. ]
[ It's strange to feel this happy. So much of Daisy's life has been full of pain and loss that if she stops to think about this warmth of emotion, it'll feel like some sort of surreal dream. Though, her dreams usually lean toward nightmares, so even that isn't an apt comparison. This is the stuff of pure fantasy, somehow more wildly incomprehensible than even the existence of aliens had been.
But it's real. This is her life. She's falling for a man who says "doo-dad" with a straight face and she wouldn't change that for anything in the world. ]
It does sound perfect, doesn't it? [ Her smile is radiant as she gives his right hand a gentle little squeeze. ] You're welcome.
[ A few moments pass and then she moves her hands to pat his knees, signaling that they need to get on with things or they might just sit there all night staring into each other's eyes or something equally lovestruck ridiculous. Which she wouldn't necessarily mind, but they can save that for another night. Tonight, they have other plans. ]
Okay, you pick where we order from. I'm good with anything except the super sketchy burger place down the block.
[ She might be willing to do just about anything for Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, but even this superhero has her limits. ]
Wait, it’s sketchy? I’ve had some of the burgers and I think they’re fine. Then again, I could probably eat nuclear waste and survive.
[ Lead stomach, another one of the small benefits of that super-serum. But Bucky’s grinning, half-joking, and then slipping out of bed to go check the kitchen. There’s a stack of takeout menus stuck to the fridge with magnets; which still doesn’t bode well for his actual meal skills, he doesn’t do much cooking here, but it does make the place feel more lived-in. And particularly with Daisy’s additions, this sad apartment is starting to look and feel more like an actual home.
It’s good. It’s gonna be good. This time last year, he had nothing — but between Daisy and Sam and his stupid goddamned therapist, his life is slowly starting to settle into the semblance of something he doesn’t actually mind living. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ Because he’s got a limit on how many emotions he can successfully and elegantly wrangle in a day, and he’s already gotten overwhelmed and choked up enough over the effort she’s put into the birthday. So Bucky disengages — a little reluctantly — and then moves over to the bed. Picks up the box and sits down in its place, making sure to leave room for Daisy beside him on the mattress as he goes about carefully ripping the present open. ]
no subject
Nestled inside is a little photo printer no bigger than his hand, unbranded but clearly well-made. A large green fabric pouch is tucked beside it, holding packages of small Polaroid film, a few wrapped-up cords, and a single roll of grey washi tape.
And it occurs to her as he takes in her gift that he might not actually recognize what it is since it's not being presented with a lot of visual clues. Shit. Straightening her spine, she hurries to explain, the words coming out in a rush. ]
It's a photo printer that'll work with your phone. With any phone, actually, since I programmed it myself. Proprietary software can be a pain in the ass to deal with, so I... [ Not the important part, Johnson. ] My sister has one of these and really loves it, and since you missed when Polaroids were popular, I thought maybe you—
no subject
It’s a great idea. You’re gonna have to show me how to use this thing, but it’s fantastic. I can’t believe you remembered— I mean, me, I’m shit at this sort of thing. Thoughtful presents.
[ Bucky had fallen out of practice. Even before going on ice, he’d always been relatively poor, and the war had meant tightened pursestrings and even fewer luxury goods. He might gather wildflowers from abandoned lots or buy a drink or try to win a girl a teddy bear at the fair, but he’d never really gotten into the habit of remembering specific things to buy.
But maybe he’s just gonna have to try to get better at it. So he flashes her a smile: ]
So I have until July to figure out something for you, right?
no subject
Reaching out to rest her hand on his, she offers him a smile of her own. ]
Yeah, July 2nd. But you know, you don't have to. If we're still... I mean, if we've managed to still make this work by then, you don't have to get me anything. It's not some cryptic girlfriend psychology thing when I say that just being with someone that day would be enough.
[ Nevermind that she jumped straight in on describing herself as his girlfriend, her self-consciousness is entirely focused on her admission that: ]
I've never had that before.
[ A 35-year-old woman who's never shared a birthday with a significant other. Hell, she's barely shared a birthday with anyone, period. The team had done little things to acknowledge the date, cupcakes or a pancake breakfast, the odd present from Coulson or Simmons, but inevitably a mission would come up that scrapped any bigger plans. And, really, she was always okay with that, because even the smallest celebration of the day she was born was more than she'd ever had growing up.
But with Lincoln, the timing just hadn't worked out. She learned her real birthdate before they were together and he died before the day could actually roll around. And she hasn't been with anyone else since. The priority has always been the job and it's taken a long time to get herself together enough to even try being with someone else.
And now there's Bucky. ]
no subject
Literally never?
[ A beat, and hey he’s not completely stupid, so he jots some puzzle pieces together: ]
Because you were adopted? You didn’t know your birthday?
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Birthday, name, ethnicity. I didn't know any of it until I met my parents when I was 26. Everything about myself was one big mystery. [ Her hands rest on his and her tone shifts from easy and open to something slightly more sterile and stilted. ] And I was never adopted. It was orphanage to foster care and back, over and over. I actually found out one time on the fake birthday they'd given me – pack your bags, you don't belong here.
[ Taking a deep breath, she shakes her head, as if she can physically dislodge those dark thoughts. This is a day for celebration, not dwelling on her shitty childhood. ] Anyway, that's part of why I did all this. Celebrating birthdays is important: it means someone is glad you were born. Everyone deserves to know that.
no subject
Sorry, I’d assumed— an orphanage, you always think that’s going to be temporary—
[ Shitty assumption, Bucky. She’d lived it. Apologetic, he laces his fingers into hers. ]
For what it’s worth, so it’s said, I’m glad you were born. I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad we met, even if it was because someone just thought having Sergeant Barnes on a SHIELD op sounded like a good idea. [ The corners of his eyes crinkle; a faint smile, barely touching his mouth although it’s genuine. And then comes the joke, trying to lighten the mood, although it comes with an immediate followup to not send her into a goddamn spiral of terror: ]
Girlfriend, huh?
I like the sound of that.
no subject
I'm glad you were born. Hearing Bucky say those words makes her want to cry with some of the most painful joy she's ever experienced. If he didn't turn to a joke when he did, he would have had a sobbing girlfriend on his hands. Instead, he gets a smiling one. ]
Good. I do, too.
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There’s heat to it, yes, but it’s like a comfortable fireplace at home rather than a blazing forest fire. Touching her merely because he wants to, and they’re both unaccustomed to it, and not because he necessarily needs to rip her clothes off.
It’s simply enough to be here, to be with Daisy, to have her with him on this day, and to be allowed to touch her like this at all. ]
no subject
It's a nice kiss, not hurried or pushing for too much. She feels like each touch between them is a conversation rather than a demand for more. Leaning in to meet him feels comfortable and without expectation, and being able to reach up and gently frame his face with her hands feels like a gift. When she pulls back to catch her breath, she stays close, stroking her thumbs across the beard he keeps so neatly trimmed. ]
You're a good kisser. Can't read that in the history books. [ She's teasing, of course, her voice warm with affection. ]
no subject
[ Bucky ducks his face into her touch; he often seems to react like a cat, skittish about touch but then he leans into it for more once it’s there. After a moment, paring back some of his own vulnerability and honesty, he adds: ]
I’m rusty, so it’s kind of a miracle if I pulled that off. You can probably guess, but like, I haven’t done this in a while. A relationship. Not since, literally, World War II. So if I get anything wrong— because things have changed since the last time I knew how to do this, or because things haven’t changed but it’s been long enough for me— so if I fuck up— I’m just saying, please feel free to tell me. And if I’m… off, it’s not you, it’s… that.
[ A beat, and then one more card on the table: ] I kind of hadn’t really thought I’d ever get to this place again with anyone. So. Bear with me.
no subject
She drops her hands to his shoulders as he speaks, then slowly to his chest so she can better feel his heartbeat. Strong. Steady. Comforting. It doesn't take long at all for her to decide where this conversation needs to go. ]
We both have a lot of shit we're dealing with — the cards are kind of stacked against us in that regard. But if we both do the work to just talk to each other... We can maybe have a chance at making this work. So that goes both ways: If I say something, do something, or if I don't when I need to, then you tell me. Deal?
no subject
So Bucky takes a deep, rattling breath, but then he nods. ]
I’m shitty at this but, yeah, I’ll try. Deal.
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[ Smiling with genuine happiness, she moves her hands to his against her thighs, loving every damn second of being able to touch him like this. To be close and know that it's okay now. She'll still always look for signs of it being too much, but now there's the hope of there being times when it's not enough. (She's looking forward to the latter.) ]
So, birthday boy. What do you want to do now? It's not that late, we could watch a movie or I could show you how to use your new toy. Or if you're hungry, we could get something that's not just alcohol and sugar — though, we are adults, so that is a perfectly acceptable dinner.
[ Is she still grinning like an idiot? Absolutely. Does she care? Not one bit. This is a feeling she could really get used to. ]
no subject
Can I say “all of the above”? Because, like, how about we order in some takeout, you show me how to use this doo-dad, [ did he really just say the words doo-dad, ] and then we can watch a movie with dinner.
Which kind of sounds like a perfect, chill night. Like, I couldn’t have asked for any better for my birthday. Thank you.
[ Steve, maybe. He misses Steve. But in lieu of that, Daisy’s still managing to help patch up those wounds. ]
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But it's real. This is her life. She's falling for a man who says "doo-dad" with a straight face and she wouldn't change that for anything in the world. ]
It does sound perfect, doesn't it? [ Her smile is radiant as she gives his right hand a gentle little squeeze. ] You're welcome.
[ A few moments pass and then she moves her hands to pat his knees, signaling that they need to get on with things or they might just sit there all night staring into each other's eyes or something equally lovestruck ridiculous. Which she wouldn't necessarily mind, but they can save that for another night. Tonight, they have other plans. ]
Okay, you pick where we order from. I'm good with anything except the super sketchy burger place down the block.
[ She might be willing to do just about anything for Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, but even this superhero has her limits. ]
thaaaat’s a wrap
[ Lead stomach, another one of the small benefits of that super-serum. But Bucky’s grinning, half-joking, and then slipping out of bed to go check the kitchen. There’s a stack of takeout menus stuck to the fridge with magnets; which still doesn’t bode well for his actual meal skills, he doesn’t do much cooking here, but it does make the place feel more lived-in. And particularly with Daisy’s additions, this sad apartment is starting to look and feel more like an actual home.
It’s good. It’s gonna be good. This time last year, he had nothing — but between Daisy and Sam and his stupid goddamned therapist, his life is slowly starting to settle into the semblance of something he doesn’t actually mind living. ]