Chapter 145
Tomorrow night, I’m taking you out to dinner. 6pm. Wear a nice dress.
That was what had been handwritten, in beautiful cursive lettering, on the neatly folded note that had been waiting for me on my pillow yesterday. I basically hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since.
Freshly showered and dried, I stepped back into the bedroom of Natasha’s apartment, closing the door behind me. My dress and underwear were laid out on the bed already, waiting for me. Nat had helped me pick out the fit—a 1950s-inspired cocktail dress with long sleeves, a much darker red than I usually wore, closer to wine than scarlet. The underwear was… well, ‘lingerie’ was probably a more accurate descriptor.
I undid my towel, tossing it carelessly next to the clothes, and slipped on the pair of lacy black underthings, eyeing off the matching bra. I was tossing up whether to actually wear it or just go out headlights blaring when my thought process was interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the hallway.
“Wandaaaaa,” Pietro’s slightly-muffled voice whined from the other side of the bedroom door. “Help.”
“I’m getting dressed,” I called back, a little bit of annoyance leaking into my tone. “What is it?”
“You wrote ‘two cups of onions’,” he said plaintively.
I sighed, stopping what I was doing to just… stand there for a moment. I loved Pietro, but sometimes I really wanted to strangle him.
“Wanda?”
“Hang on!” I grabbed the bra and put it on, taking a few seconds to make sure the girls were tucked away properly, then opened the door a couple of inches so I could see outside, trying not to sound too irritated. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
My brother was standing gormlessly in the hallway. Clutched in each of his hands was a full, unpeeled brown onion. “Onions don’t come in cups. They come in onions.” He hefted the onions demonstratively. “How do you want me to measure this? What am I supposed to…?”
I sighed again, letting my forehead thunk against the frame of the door. Somehow, I’d managed to vastly underestimate how much Pietro had relied on me for cooking. The bar was in the basement, truly. “You have to peel the outside bit off and dice them, first,” I told him, trying to keep my tone patient. “Then you can use a measuring cup.”
“Oh. Okay.” He glanced down at the onions, eyes narrowing slightly, before looking back up at me. “Is two onions going to be enough for two cups?”
I looked at them. One was a little bigger than the other. “There’ll probably be a bit extra. Just put all of it in. It doesn’t have to be exact—it’s a really simple recipe and you’re not going to ruin it if the measurements aren’t precise.”
It was Pietro’s turn to sigh. “Why did I say I was going to do this?”
“Because you were too busy trying to be cute and impress a girl rather than thinking through the consequences of your actions.”
With me guaranteed to be out of the apartment for the evening, Pietro had taken the opportunity to promise Yelena a home cooked dinner date, for some mystifying reason. Of course, he had no idea how to cook, so I’d written out some short instructions for him to follow. I’d left off a bit of detail, I guess, but still. He’d literally watched me cook this specific thing at least a dozen times before. If this was the level of handholding he needed…
“Like you can talk,” he retorted petulantly, then hesitated a moment. “Are you sure you can’t just…?”
“I’m not doing it for you, Pietro,” I told him firmly. “Bucky’s going to be here soon and I have to get ready.”
“But what if I ruin it?”
“You won’t. And even if it doesn’t turn out perfect, Yelena will appreciate the effort. She’ll be able to tell if I do it for you and it won’t be as sweet. Now go away and let me finish getting ready, please,” I said, shooing him away and closing the door before he could respond.
Okay. No more distractions, gotta finish getting ready.
I’d already done my makeup in the bathroom mirror. Nothing too complicated—just clear, defined eyes and a little bit of a deeper lip than I’d normally go for. It meant I had to move carefully while putting on the dress, making sure to avoid smudging my face.
The red material clung nicely to my figure through the waist, before flaring out just enough that the skirt shifted as I moved. I gave a bit of a twirl in front of the mirror, testing it. The hem lifted a little with the motion, a brief flare before dropping back in line, sitting just above my knees. Long sleeves weren’t my usual style even before I’d gotten cool Celestial markings down both my arms. Still, it was definitely cute, even if it wasn’t what I’d normally wear.
Using my fingers to add a little product to my hair, I tried coaxing it into something that seemed deliberate instead of just… short. I wanted to make it look like I’d at least tried a little. It just sort of settled where it wanted to, soft at the edges, a little uneven. I didn’t hate it—I had to grudgingly admit that it did still look good—but I really could not wait to grow it out again properly.
A pair of low, black heels completed the look.
I found myself just staring at myself in the mirror for a few minutes, anxiety twisting in my gut. Surrounded as I was by the Hollywood hot extended group of Avengers and associates, I sometimes forgot that that ‘Hollywood hot’ included me, as well. I hadn’t even done that much, really, and I still looked amazing.
Oh. Perfume. I’d almost forgotten. I retrieved the crystal bottle from the dresser and sprayed a little on my wrist. The scent was warm. Faintly sweet, with an underlying smokiness. I’d really liked it earlier—it was another thing that Nat had helped me pick out—but now the smell just added to the nausea rising in my stomach. I grimaced, rubbing my wrists together, and didn’t add any more.
Of course, as nice as it was, this fucking dress had no pockets. And at the barest minimum, I needed to carry: (1) my phone, in case there was an emergency, and (2) my sling ring, which wasn’t comfortable or practical to just wear all the time. So I’d borrowed a little black clutch from Nat. It felt weird to carry. I was not a clutch or purse girl.
Checking my phone for the time—five fifty, Bucky would be here any minute, probably—I saw a text message from Nat that I hadn’t heard: Have fun xx. It must have come in while I was in the shower. I flicked her a heart emoji in response.
I was as ready as I was going to be. Leaving the bedroom, I headed out to where Pietro was poking uncertainly at a pan on the stove with a wooden spoon. The smell of cooking onions and garlic—something that I’d normally enjoy—turned my stomach. Too rich, too sharp. Combined with my existing nausea, it felt a little like I was going to be sick. Was I really that nervous?
My brother glanced at me, then did a little bit of a double take. “Wow.”
“You like it?”
“You look really good.”
“Thanks. Phew,” I exhaled sharply, tugging at the edge of my sleeve awkwardly.
“You okay?”
“I’m good. It’s just been a long time since I’ve been on, like, a date date. I mean, Nat and I have gone out a few times, but that’s always been a lot more… I dunno. Casual.”
“Honestly,” Pietro said with a small shrug, “I’m just surprised that more than one person would willingly choose to put up with your sense of humour.”
I snorted. “Right? I mean, my ass is amazing, but it’s not that good.”
The intercom chimed and I practically flew over to it. My hand hovered indecisively for a moment, then I hit the button to buzz Bucky straight in. No need for an awkward ‘hi, hello, come up’. When I’d originally read his note, part of me had thought about messaging him to ask if he wanted me to pick him up with a portal, but I also hadn’t wanted to spoil or interfere with whatever he’d been planning.
Pietro shot me an encouraging grin from the kitchen as I hovered awkwardly by the door of the apartment, but said nothing.
I heard Bucky’s footsteps approach and, before he could knock, opened the door. Was that too eager? Should I be playing this cooler? Keep your composure, Wanda.
Bucky was dressed in dark trousers, a crisp white button-up with the collar open, and a stylish jacket. It was a simple outfit, but it looked really nice. Fitted. A black glove concealed the metal of his left hand.
“Hey,” I said, trying and failing to sound nonchalant.
“Hey.” Bucky smiled faintly, his eyes flickered downward for a beat, giving me a once-over. “You look beautiful,” he said simply.
I felt myself flush, face reddening all the way to the tips of my ears. So much for playing things cool.
He’d driven in, and when we got to the car, he held the door open like it was the most natural thing in the world, waiting until I’d settled before closing it with a quiet, careful click. The city slid past in warm streaks of light, neither of us saying much to start with.
The restaurant was quieter than I expected—dim without being dark, all warm amber light, dark wood and white tablecloths. A piano threaded through it from somewhere off to the side, soft enough to blur into the background.
Bucky ordered a ribeye steak, medium-rare. I initially eyed off the tagliolini al tartufo, but my unsettled stomach rebelled at the thought of the creamy sauce, so I opted for the chicken breast instead. We got wine, too—a light-bodied pinot noir—but, when I had my first sip, I immediately knew it had been the wrong choice. Just… not what I wanted, right now. I barely touched it throughout the meal. Bucky noticed, I was pretty sure. He didn’t comment, just slowed his own pace, like he was matching mine without thinking about it.
We talked. Not the kind of careful, surface-level conversation people use to fill space. It felt more intimate than that. Bucky asked questions and actually paid attention to the answers. Casually brought up things I’d mentioned weeks or even months ago, like he’d been taking notes. I caught myself watching him at one point instead of eating, fork hovering somewhere between plate and air, like I’d forgotten what I was doing.
When the waiter came to clear our plates away and ask if we would like anything for dessert, Bucky looked to me. I hesitated for a beat before responding. “Sure.”
We looked over the options. “What do you feel like?” Bucky asked.
I flashed him a shy smile. “Split something with me?” I’m not sure why it felt so childish to suggest, but it was the cute and romantic thing to do, right?
“Sure. What did you want?”
What I wanted was the chocolate torte or the crème brûlée, but my stomach still wasn’t settled to the point where I thought those were entirely safe options. Too sweet, too heavy. There was sorbet, though… “Something light, maybe?” I ventured. “Lemon?”
The conversation stalled out a little bit while we waited for it, though it didn’t feel awkward or uncomfortable at all. We just sat together, enjoying the music and each other’s quiet company. Once the dessert came out, we picked at it together.
“Sorry if I’m a little out of practice, when it comes to first dates,” Bucky said after a couple of minutes, with a bit of a self-deprecating grin. “Plus things are a little different since the last time I took a girl out, you know?”
My eyes twinkled. “How about we make this interesting, then. Truth or dare?”
“Seriously?” Bucky asked, a little incredulously.
“Seriously. There’s still a little wine we can use as a penalty,” I said, gently tapping my glass with the tip of a finger. “If you want to choose the coward’s way out, that is.”
He let out a soft huff of amusement, shaking his head. There was a moment of hesitation before he spoke again. “Truth.”
I didn’t hesitate—my question was already locked and loaded. “What’s your fondest memory?”
Bucky blinked, taken slightly aback. “That’s not the sort of question I was expecting you to ask.”
“Oh, look at Wanda, she’s a useless horny sex pest,” I said, injecting a lightly chastising tone into my voice. “I could make you tell me things that’d turn me on whenever I want to, Mr Barnes. But right now, I want to hear you talk about something that makes you happy.”
“It’s a bit of a vague question,” he said slowly. “My fondest memory?”
“You can drink if you don’t want to answer.”
He shook his head, a small smile quirking the corner of his mouth. “I want to answer. Just hard to choose, you know?”
“How about… telling me how you met Steve?” I offered.
Bucky snorted again. “How do you think? Beating on some bullies.”
I let out a small huff of amusement. “Yeah, that tracks.”
“My family moved to New York when I was twelve. It was about a year after that, I think? There was this group of delinquents who hung out near 37th and 10th—they had this whole little shakedown routine if they saw someone they thought they could get away with picking on. Honestly, it hadn’t even occurred to me to stand up to them before. Not ‘til I saw this scrawny little kid doing it. And if that runt could do it…? So I ran in, made it my business. They turned tail. Steve was still in fight mode—he almost took a swing at me.” Bucky smiled earnestly as he spoke, in a way that I felt like I rarely got to see in everyday life. “After he calmed down, we introduced ourselves. That’s about it.”
“And that was that? Best friends?”
He nodded. “I’d always been kinda popular. Athletic. Good at school. But Steve… he had this fire in him. Tenacity. He never gave up, despite everything life had thrown at him. I don’t think I would’ve done half as well, if I’d been dealt his hand. There was just something about him I found a bit inspiring, I guess.”
“That’s sweet,” I said, smiling. “I think that’s something a lot of people feel about Steve. The inspiring thing. There’s just something about him that makes you want to be better.”
“Yeah…” Bucky trailed off, a touch of wistfulness in his tone. “Okay, your turn. Truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
He ‘hmm’ed, leaning back a little bit in his chair. “What do you want out of life?”
“Pfft. Now who’s asking the vague, hard questions?” I gave him a little shrug. “I’m a simple gal, Bucky. I just want to be happy.”
“And what does that look like?”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I’m still figuring that part out. I just… I want everyone to like me and think I’m hot. But also that I’m edgy and controversial. But never be mad at me!” I grinned, wagging a finger at him for emphasis. “And also, everyone should think I’m funny all of the time, unless I’m being serious or naked.”
He smiled. “So what’s stopping you from getting there?”
“I feel like you’re not respecting the turn order, here,” I scolded him. “And… I don’t know.”
Bucky waited a moment, seeing if I was going to say anything else.
An uncomfortably tight feeling settled in my chest. “I haven’t earned it, maybe. I don’t deserve it.”
“You don’t think you deserve to be happy?” Bucky asked. His tone was soft.
I scooped up a little bit of the remaining semi-melted sorbet, letting the sourness scour my tongue for a moment as my eyes dropped to the tablecloth, vision blurring slightly. God damn it. Don’t cry. Not now. “Of course not,” I said.
“You’re always so hard on yourself,” he countered. “Everyone deserves a chance to be happy, right?”
I bit my lip. “The memories I have… You don’t know everything I did. Everything I am.”
“Everything you were,” Bucky said, gently but firmly. “Why should who you used to be matter more than who you are now?”
I bit back my instinctive response. It absolutely wouldn’t have been a fair thing to say, not when Bucky was still struggling to deal with the things he had done as the Winter Soldier.
“Hey,” he reached his hand across the table. I put mine in his, felt him give me a soft squeeze. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine. I’m sorry for always finding a way to be a Debbie Downer.”
The music shifted. The piano had been playing the whole evening, so far. Easy to ignore, good to fill the gaps in conversation. But now a saxophone slipped in, low and slow, threading through the melody. Bucky glanced over and I followed his gaze toward the small raised platform near the bar where the piano was. As well as the sax, the pianist had been joined by a drummer. He was barely touching the kit, brushes instead of sticks, soft enough that it felt like the sound was drifting rather than being played.
Bucky stood up, still holding my hand. “Dance with me?”
My eyes widened slightly. There was a small stretch of open space near the band. Not a dance floor, exactly. Just… room. I hesitated, but a couple of other people were already gravitating toward the space as well. Taking a deep breath, I stood and let him lead me over.
His other hand settled at my waist. The steps were simple. Slow enough that I didn’t have to think about them after the first few turns, just follow the rhythm, follow him. At some point I stopped paying attention to where my feet were going entirely. We moved unhurried, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him through the thin fabric of my dress, the music doing most of the work for us. He didn’t look anywhere else. Didn’t seem interested in anything else. Just me. It made me feel… feelings.
By the time we were ready to leave, my mood had lifted considerably. We went for a walk afterwards, though we weren’t headed anywhere in particular—Nat’s apartment was off-limits tonight, after all, which meant that we didn’t really have anywhere to go. But still, we weren’t quite ready to go back to the car and end the evening, so we spent a little while just strolling casually, talking and laughing. I slipped my hand into his and our fingers intertwined comfortably.
Eventually, I stopped walking, tugging on his hand so he’d turn to face me. “In case I forget, later, I just want to say… Thank you. For tonight. It’s been… really nice.”
“It has,” he agreed with a small smile.
God, look at him, standing there, all cute. How dare he? I gave his hand a bit more of an insistent tug and he obligingly stepped in. Our lips touched for a moment—just a very light, chaste kiss—and then I pulled him in close, hugging him tightly and burying my face in his neck. He put his arms around me and we stood like that for a moment. I could almost hear the blood rushing through his veins as his heartbeat picked up slightly. His scent filled my nose, a mingling of clean fabric, a trace of something like leather, and something warmer underneath that was just… him. Every part of him just felt so… overwhelming, for a moment.
So I bit him.
Bucky flinched, shrinking away from me slightly with a laugh. “Hey!”
I leaned in harder, a little grunting noise escaping my mouth as I bit him again, attacking his neck with my teeth maybe a little harder than was strictly necessary.
“Hey! No biting,” he scolded, still chuckling slightly. His hands went to my shoulders so he could pry me off him, moving me just far away from his vulnerable neck that I couldn’t lean in to bite him again without fighting back. He gave me a stern look. “No biting,” he repeated. “You want me to bite you?”
“Uh, yes?”
“No.” Bucky snorted, then paused and considered me appraisingly. “Maybe later.”
“Oh,” I perked up a little, eyes still fixed on his neck. “Sorry, I accidentally left some lipstick on there. Let me just kiss it off?” My tone was innocent.
“You’re going to bite me again.”
“I promise I won’t.”
“…Fine.” Bucky let go of me and I stepped back into him, tucking my face into the crook of his neck again to plant a series of feather-light kisses across the reddened skin I’d attacked a moment ago. When I pulled back, his breathing had quickened slightly, colour rising in his cheeks.
“Oh! Oops, I left more. Here, hold on.” I ducked back in to kiss his neck some more and he laughed again. I’d barely withdrawn when I immediately went to go back in. “Oh no! I left even more! Hold on—”
“Wanda, we’re in the middle of the sidewalk.”
I pulled back and nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. I think I’m done with walking.” My fingers toyed with the material of his shirt, tracing patterns around the buttons. “Did you want me to, uh, portal the car back to the compound so we can have a nightcap?”
--
“—and then he took off his shirt and I gasped. Like, my body had a physical reaction.”
“I don’t need to know that,” Yelena said with a sniff. “You keep that to yourself.”
“I mean, it just never gets old. The super soldier body? It’s like he’s photoshopped.”
“Yeah, yeah…”
“And then, well. You know.”
“Uh huh.”
“It was good. Really good. It always is, but like… I’m not sure how thin the walls are in the Avengers’ compound, but we should probably not do that there again. I mean, I was loud.”
“You’re always loud.”
“Heh, sorry.”
“No, you aren’t.”
“No, I’m not,” I admitted, shooting her a cheeky grin.
I wasn’t particularly ashamed that I’d been blessed with partners with the capabilities of Natasha and Bucky. I mean, sucks to be Yelena, sleeping on the couch a room over, but it’d been months—if she wanted to move out, she was more than capable of finding somewhere else to sleep.
“…I do have some constructive feedback, though,” Yelena added.
“Oh yeah?” This oughta be good.
She straightened a little, twisting on the couch so she could face me properly. “Okay, so, yelling ‘fuck’ during sex is kind of the same thing as yelling ‘parkour’ while you’re doing parkour.”
I screwed up my face in momentary confusion. “What? No, it’s—”
I cut myself off with a sharp intake of breath, suddenly staring at her wide-eyed. No, that wasn’t… Oh god. Now every time I… I was going to think about…
“What have you done?” I asked, my voice a horrified whisper.