Work Text:
The stars twinkled from a clear sky. Bucky stared up at them, resting against the metal fire escape. He liked feeling the wind against his face, watching the stars twinkling in the sky, even smelling the exhaust and smoke. It made him feel grounded in a way he couldn’t get in his apartment.
“Excuse me.” A female voice with a slight New York accent caught his attention. “You got power?”
Bucky sat up, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. He glanced at his door. Not only were there no lights on inside, but as he looked at the street, it seemed like the entire street was out of power. He held back a curse. It wouldn’t be polite to swear in front of a lady.
“Sorry, miss. Looks like I don’t. I should have a couple of candles,” he said, frowning.
The woman sighed. “I could bring dinner over. I was making a quiche, and it might be a little undercooked, but I don’t think it’ll kill you.”
“It shouldn’t.” Bucky reached for his door, knowing there was barely any furniture inside. “But I haven’t cleaned in a while—”
“Then you come over to my place.” She spoke so confidently that Bucky had to accept.
Her apartment was cozy and definitely lived-in. There were pictures of family members hanging on the walls. Pale blue plates and knickknacks were neatly displayed in a cabinet. A soft rug covered the floor. A few letters were on the table, and there was a book on the armchair, but Bucky didn’t mind it. The place felt oddly nostalgic. He had never been in an apartment like this, but he felt like he could have.
Angie set the table. The quiche was dotted with little pieces of ham and vegetables. The edge of the pastry had crumbled, but it still looked delectable. Angie was wrong. It was cooked - barely, but still. Between the two of them, they finished the whole thing.
“Angie, this is one of the best meals I’ve had in weeks,” Bucky said, and he meant it.
“Thanks. I forgot how nice it is to eat with other people around. I used to live in this hotel with a dining hall and a continental breakfast. It was an absolute dream. Then, one day these federal agents from the S.S.R. show up because they think my best friend’s a fugitive on the run. My landlady didn’t like men above the first floor, so she kicked me out.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Bucky stated. “Wait, the S.S.R?”
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those fat-head goons.”
“I worked with them during the war. I had no idea they were still around. Don’t worry - I wasn’t in their group, just around some of their experiments.” He flashed what he hoped was a charming smile.
“You ever hear of a gal called Peggy?”
His memory issues made him quick to connect the dots. “Agent Peggy Carter? My best friend was head over heels for her.”
“She’s the one. Who would have guessed that you knew each other? Such a tiny world.”
He laughed. “And a lovely world, if you’re in it.”
A subtle blush crept across Angie’s cheeks. “Somebody’s a flirt.”
A flirt. He’s seen a few biographies in newspaper archives. Girls who knew him before the war had said he was a constant flirt, but since he’d escaped, he hadn’t been interested in doing that. But, god, that smile made it worth it.
“If you want me to be,” Bucky said.
“You wouldn’t be the only one.”
“And what if I wasn’t?”
Angie touched the back of his left hand. “I’d flirt enough for both of us.”
Bucky stared into her eyes. Even in the dark, they were the colour of the sky. He wanted to kiss her, to say he’d be there, but they barely knew each other.
Angie quickly leaned over the table, pressing her lips to his. Her lipstick smudged. He closed his eyes, enjoying the moment. Angie grinned as she pulled away.
Bucky looked down, awed. He touched his mouth with his fingers. “Thanks.”
“I knew it,” Angie said.