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SHIELD still has him. But they seem to be treating him well - no signs of distress. He's actually got a drink in front of him. Well, soda, anyway. At the moment, he's playing solitaire lazily in a corner of the room that serves as this base's canteen, rather than lurking in the room that's allotted as his quarters. It's after dinner, and most of the local agents have cleared out for home. There's only one bored agent as his minder, idly working on paperwork, and the staff that pass through.
This is the most that Sharon has been back to SHIELD since she worked for them a decade ago. It's a bit uncomfortable and not subtle at all, but the woman has ceased caring about subtle. And, after half sobering up from the ridiculous amount of day drinking she did, she got up the courage to visit again. She's changed and showered since the scotch festival, but she still slightly smells like it. She had a lot. She's in a pair of daisy dukes and a loose teeshirt, maximum Sunday casual, though the pair of combat boots on her legs are a nod to the fact that she's still paranoid enough to run if she needs. And fight. THough, her weapon has been checked with the front desk.
She has, again, a paper bag. This one smells of something sweet and fried. A small nod is given to the observing agent and she wordlessly guestures in Bucky's direction before being waved through. She's still getting a bit of a glare, but they don't stop her. Silently, she approaches.
IT's the scent of it that precedes her, and has him looking up from his one-man game of cards. There's a little smile of recognition for her, as he gathers up the spread pack in one motion, and sets it to the side. The outfit…..goodness. He's from an older era, and that's damn near scandalous. He himself is only in t-shirt and jeans, hair gathered back at his nape. "Still trying to fatten me for the slaughter?" he teases, in lieu of a greeting.
Sharon is not walking in any way that says she planned to cause scandal or even seduction. These are day off, incredibly comfy clothes, and that's about it. They also show off the toned length of her legs and the few scars that are there — one of which he gave her. She hands over the bag and then pulls out a pack of Lucky Strikes from her back pocket, offering those as well. "Not fattening you up. I just know what shit the food is in here and I'm trying to make certain you don't starve to death. Steve woudl be pissed."
Inside the bag are zeppolis… about a half dozen, still luke warm, so she must have gotten them from a street vendor on the way here. And enough powdered sugar to kill a horse.
His eyes widen - Buck's such a painfully transparent soul, when it isn't Winter behind the wheel. "Damn," he says, with no particular thought as to how profanity might go over, before he colors a little. "I mean, uh, wow," he adds, hastily. "I haven't had those in years." It's the sugar he goes for first. Nicotine as an addiction has mostly waned, but….sweets, apparently. Only belatedly does he notice the Lucckies. "Thanks," he adds. "I haven't even finished the first pack. Not allowed to smoke too much."
"What? Why the hell not? Ramirez used to chain smoke at his desk. Screw it." Sharon sets the pack down next to him and reaches into her own back pocket, pulling out a mostly fresh pack of Lucky's herself. It's only crumpled from being sat on once or twice. She taps one free, but is only slightly able to hide the grin that comes as she watches him attack that powdered sugar. "…A sweets boy? I'd have never guessed. Have to remember for the future. I mean…for when I do finally plan to plump you up for consumption." Sharon winks at him over the edge of her cigarette.
"I haven't had a lot of American junk food," he says, after a moment to consider it. "I guess that's why," Bucky adds, after a beat. The Russians never looked at food as anything other than fuel for a weapon. God only knows what he's been eating. He devours a couple of them, before setting the pack aside for now. "Though I think I always had a sweet tooth."
"You're a boy from Brooklyn, of course you did. You grew up on this shit." Sharon nods, though still grinning. She then pulls out her lighter and strikes twice getting the cherry going on her cigarette, before she finally comes the rest of the way around and settles to lounge in the chair beside him at the table. She turns it slightly side ways, easier to face him and cross long legs to be comfortable.
He holds up his own cigarette, in mute appeal. Of course SHIELD isn't foolish enough to let him have one of his own. God only knows what Winter would do with it, if he were to take control. "Yeah," he says, after a moment consulting his memories.
Having already half put away her lighter, Sharon instead leans a bit closer and presses the tip of her cigarette's cherry to his, dragging in a few deep breaths to encourage him to get it going, and to get the cherry on her's to flare. In a few seconds ,she does manage to get it lit, and then she's sprawling back in the chair next to him instead. But, in those moments, the scent of the cigarette mingle with her faintly coconut skin lotion (or shampoo?) and a touch of scotch. She crosses her long legs, stretching out a bit more. "…So…any word on when you get sprung?"
That has his expression sealing over a little. "No," he says, softly. "Coulson hasn't said anything. But….I haven't had any outbreaks, let's say. Haven't had to be sedated or confined. I imagine it's just filtering through to the upper levels. I'm sure Peggy's having to pull some strings to keep me from being handed off to the FBI. Knowing her, she may end up in a fistfight with Hoover."
"…wouldn't be the first time." Sharon deadpans. But, then, she doesn't actually seem to be joking, "And over less worthwhile things." She cracks a smile to him, trying to be reassuring about it. "I'm sure it'll happen soon. She's not someone to let you sit and… go crazy. She's not like that. And… I can promise you the CIA is turning a blind eye to it all, so no worries there." Did she pull some strings, make some files go missing? Very possible.
Of course - another group that would love his head on a pike. He swallows hard, once, and takes a drink from his water cup. "Good," he says, snagging an ashtray with a metal fingertip, and taking a deep drag off the cigarette. Sugar and nicotine - he's so spoiled.
"It won't be an issue." Sharon's voice is cold, flat, and utterly certain in that moment. A flash of the spy she used to be — the spy she still is. How dangerous she could be to actually manage to live through someone like the Winter Soldier's attacks — she is that good, and still that dangerous. But then she allows her smile to return and does her best to look a bit more casual, even if she's not actually all that good at relaxing. "…anything else you want? Seriously? Books… comics… nudie mags?"
The mention of books makes him brighten again. "Books," he says. The SHIELD agent who's still wading through paperwork specifies, without missing a beat, "Paperbacks only." Bucky shrugs. "What he said," he affirms. "Classics, if you can. Or mystery stuff."
"Paperbacks. Got it. Classics. Maybe not war and peace but… I can probably find some old stuff. And maybe some mystery pulps. Those are easy to find and light reading. You ever read that guy Chandler? He's damn good. Almost wrote one I didn't solve before the end." Sharon is only half teasing, but her smile comes a bit easier and less awkward now that they are on a subject that isn't work and is something she can relate to.
"War and Peace might do," he says, drily. "The longer the better. Dumas, him, too," Then he nods. "I love Chandler," he says, simply. "What I read of him. So…..yeah."
"…You read Playback? It really should be in paperback by now. I'll pick up as many as I can. Shit… You disappeared during the war. Hell, you missed so much of his later stuff." Sharon, for once, looks like a kid in a candy shop. She clearly loves this writer and is just now realizing that Bucky missed so much of his releases. It's always a joy to share a new-to-them thing with someone. "We'll start with Chandler. Maybe even some old Hammitt, but he's not as good. Fuck Dumas."
"I agree," Buck's nodding along. "I like Hammett okay, but Chandler's better." Then he pauses a beat, brow knotting. "…..Chandler died, didn't he?" He sounds almost forlorn, at the thought. One more thing he missed.
A slight wince, "Yeah… back in '59. About halfway through a book called Poodle Springs that they haven't released yet. I don't know if they will, but… I have hope." And strings she can maybe pull. The slight forlorn tone in his voice is just enough for Sharon to reach her free hand over to his knee and rest it there gently. Her attempt to reassure, to give a little moment of letting him know he's not alone. And, perhaps, just remember what human contact is like again.
He pulls this wry face, at her. Doesn't pull away from the contact, but doesn't really react to it, either. "Well, at least there are ones I haven't read," he says, more softly, before flicking ash into the ashtray.
Since he doesn't pull away, Sharon keeps it there, trying to figure out just how she feels about it. Ever so idly, the pad of her thumb traces a slow line back and forth over his skin. Otherwise, she acts as if she's not doing it, that there is nothing htere. "There are, you lucky bastard. I'm almost jealous. I mean… all that other shit you went through was crap, but… to get a fresh Chandler novel? Maybe worth it." She teases him, clearly, tossing in a wink after.
It's lingering…and he's still ignoring it. "There's a lot I've missed," he says, quietly. "Lotta movies. Books. Things like that. Steve and I used to go to the pictures all the time, when we could afford it. Or Coney Island."
"Yeah, well… Aunt Peggy'll get you out of here, then you can start the catch up. We'll catch a flick… you and Steve can go to the really old timey show house for all the grandpas around and enjoy your old movies. I can bring you books, meantime… Means you just got a lot to enjoy ahead of you, right?" THat is probably the most postive, pep talky thing Sharon has said in a long time, but damned if she's not trying.
Bucky rolls his eyes at that. "You make me feel old. It's….it's strange. The guys I went to war with - they came back, got married, had families. Settled down, went to college. Here I am, still looking like I'm twenty five."
Her hand slips off of his leg and gives a gentle little slug to his shoulder, "You *ARE* old. Doesn't meant you're not also incredibly handsome and… well… Never mind. You're old. I don't take it back." Sharon wrinkles her nose at him, the words clearly meant to be teasing, on the edge of flirting, but she stopped herself before getting in to deep on that.
Okay, that round landed somewhere closer to the target. A moment's puzzlement, and then he's laughing softly. "Yeah. And I'm wealthy and highly educated, too," he teases. Better to take it asa joke.
"Lies. No one from Brooklyn is highly educated." Sharon teases back, happy to keep up the joking, even if it means she might get in some sort of slugging match with him later. She just goes back to ashing her almost forgotten cigarette, smoking it all the way down to burning her fingertips since there's no filter on these things.
Bucky gives her the finger gun with the right hand. The left is still holding the cigarette….he takes another drag off it, and sighs, blowing smoke away from them.
"…what did you miss the most, you think? Or what do you miss now? I mean, you don't have to talk about it, I can sit here trying to flirt with you through insults like I'm some fucking ten year old, but… I'd be curious to know." Sharon admits, just enough scotch left in the back of her head to allow her lips to be looser than they might normally be, but the self depricating teasing is also still there. She knows Peggy would kick her ass for dancing around like this.
He goes still, mulling that over - only absent-mindedly grinding out the Lucky before it can burn down to those alloy fingers. "Warmth," he says, finally. "I was so cold. I've been so cold. And it was never in my control. Now, at least, I can….I could lie in the sun, and sleep outside when I want to."
That was not the answer Sharon expected, nor the reaction, especially as it makes something ache in her with far too much understanding. She just stares at him a moment, something short circuiting in her brain, wanting to say entirely not appropriate things, but it's not the time. And this goes deeper than that. After the first flush of thoughts have cleared, a fainly bitter sweet smile crosses her thin mouth. "…yeah. I… get it. Kinda. I mean, the jungle was hot, but… Russia wasn't. Russia was awful. And… you're so alone. Not a single touch of anyone for… weeks. Sometimes months. And then it was just to fuck them to get some information. It… it gets damn cold. Maybe not in the same way but… yeah. I get it." She whispers quieter.
"There's a book you can get for me," he says, brightening a little. "The Spy Who Came In From the Cold. Heard a lot about it, and it….just the metaphor in the title, this guy gets it," Buck says, with a nod. "But….the arm makes it hard for me to hold heat." He traces a line across his chest from the shoulder with its red star. "It doesn't end there - they've got supports and reinforcement all through my upper body. I'm resistant to cold, very much so….but that doesn't mean it doesn't make me ache. And they had me stored in cryo between missions…..then even when I was awake in the base, they kept it cold."
"…that's… awful. Fuck." Sharon murmurs, her expression actually aching for him, and a little bit mad. She looks like she might be considering murdering Russians again, if she ever stopped in the first place. "…I'll get that book. Bring it the next time I come. I promise." Clearly, she has plans to come back. Then she falls quiet, looking him over slowly. There is something hovering on the edge of her lips, but she's not quite able to let it out. She just doesn't breathe for a moment or two, watching him.
His gaze is opaque, behind the curiosity. His brows go up, but….he doesn't prompt her. Not beyond a "I'd appreciate that," Then Bucky spreads his hands. "It is what it is. And I'll never go back." That clearly reminds him of something.
"…what are you thinking of?" Sharon asks, quieter than before, seeing that strange, distant reminder in his eyes. Her head tilts, trying to make certain she catches his gaze, not let him completely fade out to hellish memories. While she hasn't said anything, her hand has now returned to his upper arm. Slowly rubbing, like she might be warming him up after he was coming in out of the cold. SHe's not natural at touching someone, but she's trying to remember it.
Bucky cocks an eye at her. "If I work for SHIELD, I'm gonna need a cyanide capsule," he says, simply. Utterly matter of fact. "Or an equivalent. I think I might be able to survive the usual dose."
That slow, warming rub of her fingertips across the back of his shoulders never stops. Just an idle back and forth, like she could give him warmth on some touch alone. Which might technically be true. "…Yeah. I got one. It… I guess it's just a way of life. Better than the other shit. You probably should take a double dose. As fucked up as that sounds. You *aren't* going back. I don't blame you. That's why they invented the things."
"I don't think I can keep it in my teeth," he muses. The line of his back is tense, for all his apparent relaxation. "Maybe a pendant, or a watch or something. Something small enough to stand up to the kind of hits I tend to take."
"…They take all that off of you, you know? If you go down and they take you in…they strip everything. That's why it's in the teeth. Shit, they dig up in your cracks and everything." Sharon mutters, no teasing in her voice now. This is stuff she knows through and through, lectures and training she's sat through.
"I guess it'd have to be alloy," Buck's voice is still soft. Then he brightens. "I've already got a steel tooth - one of my molars. So they could just replace that…."
As she realizes just how tight his shoulders are, instinctively her strong fingertips dig in a bit deeper. Thumb finding a knot and rubbing gentle but increasingly deep circles around it in some effort to give relief. She's doing it without even thinking now, especially as they discuss cyanide. "That should be an easy fix… just let the doctor know when it's all official. Maybe they can fit a double dose in one that way. Better safe than sorry."
It's as if her hands have finally registered. She can feel him go still, attentive….then he's edging just out from under it. No touchie, it seems. Just a subtle movement of discomfort.
The moment he's edging out, Sharon can read body language, her fingertips drop. Just casually draping on the back of his chair, as if she wasn't touching him at all. No word about it, just that release. "So…the Spy Who Came IN From the Cold, a newer Chandler novel… and more sweets. I think I can manage that the next time I come."
"Yeah," he says, with that shy, sidelong smile again. "I'd be real grateful. I mean, they're treating me real well, but…." Bucky shrugs, and there's that almost inaudible slither of plates.
"In a day or two. I promise." Sharon offers, her voice a bit softer than before. It's a promise than she means. She then unfolds from the chair, looking him over for a longer heartbeat or two before gazing to the exit, "I… should probably get, before the rumor mill goes entirely crazy. Thanks for the company. I… I'm glad you're holding up."
He doesn't try to argue her out of departing. She's got a life beyond her agency, after all. "Thanks for being so generous," he says, lifting a hand. "You're helping a lot."
"I… I enjoy it too. I might actually like your company, Bucky. Maybe one of these days you'll get that through your stubborn Brooklyn head of yours." Sharon tosses him one more wink and then turns on the ball of her foot, heading across the room and towards the door out. She gives the guard one last wave, but is keeping her resolve for tonight.
"Might wanna get yourself checked out, then," he calls back, teasingly. But she's clearly left him at a loss.