Okay. Good. [ it's an awkward, stilted pause — neither of them are good at gratitude. and the widows occupy a strange in-between space. they're her baggage to sort out, and in an intellectual way, bucky's aware it's probably stupid to feel so responsible for the winter soldier tech, but it still feels like there's a loose end he neglected to fully wrap up somewhere. the heel that had been on her throat had been honed and crafted at his neck first, with the red room iterating on technology from HYDRA. people kept fucking innovating in the wrong place.
as if remembering that he actually lives here and he should get comfortable too, bucky unbuckles and unzips his jacket — it's the combat one he wears when he's out on mission, because like hell is he letting the comfortable leather jacket risk bullets — and tosses it over the back of his dining chair. he tilts his head toward where the apron is still hanging. ]
no subject
as if remembering that he actually lives here and he should get comfortable too, bucky unbuckles and unzips his jacket — it's the combat one he wears when he's out on mission, because like hell is he letting the comfortable leather jacket risk bullets — and tosses it over the back of his dining chair. he tilts his head toward where the apron is still hanging. ]
You didn't take it.