that's the million-dollar question, isn't it? but even if it strikes bucky the wrong way, like a knife between his ribs, he keeps his expression still and neutral and doesn't give it away. there's a taut tension in his shoulders, the wariness of a wild animal staring down the lights of an oncoming car, uncertain what it means and ready to bolt. she doesn't seem dangerous, as such, so presumably he wouldn't be at risk if he went with her—?
but he's accustomed to pretty redheads whose exteriors disguise a deadlier capability. she could be a trap. an assassin.
then again, if she'd wanted to kill him, she could've just shot him already.
a muscle works in his jaw, and she can watch him almost literally chewing over the question. her hand's still against his human shoulder (thankfully missing that tell-tale firmness of the metal). and bucky has to admit, the offer is practical. efficient. it's better than anything he could do for himself; he can't go to a hospital and his own apartment on the lower east side is too far away.
finally, his jaw loosens and he asks: )
Why are you sticking your neck out for me?
( the man's voice is rough, questioning, but also a little disbelieving. his time as the winter soldier had been brutal, and even the years since regaining his memories have been strained. so much of it spent on the run, scraping by, where kindnesses are few and hard to come by. the man frayed around the edges, like a wild dog unaccustomed to a gentle hand outstretched. )
no subject
that's the million-dollar question, isn't it? but even if it strikes bucky the wrong way, like a knife between his ribs, he keeps his expression still and neutral and doesn't give it away. there's a taut tension in his shoulders, the wariness of a wild animal staring down the lights of an oncoming car, uncertain what it means and ready to bolt. she doesn't seem dangerous, as such, so presumably he wouldn't be at risk if he went with her—?
but he's accustomed to pretty redheads whose exteriors disguise a deadlier capability. she could be a trap. an assassin.
then again, if she'd wanted to kill him, she could've just shot him already.
a muscle works in his jaw, and she can watch him almost literally chewing over the question. her hand's still against his human shoulder (thankfully missing that tell-tale firmness of the metal). and bucky has to admit, the offer is practical. efficient. it's better than anything he could do for himself; he can't go to a hospital and his own apartment on the lower east side is too far away.
finally, his jaw loosens and he asks: )
Why are you sticking your neck out for me?
( the man's voice is rough, questioning, but also a little disbelieving. his time as the winter soldier had been brutal, and even the years since regaining his memories have been strained. so much of it spent on the run, scraping by, where kindnesses are few and hard to come by. the man frayed around the edges, like a wild dog unaccustomed to a gentle hand outstretched. )