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bucky

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"Why are we here?"

Sylvie doesn't generally go shopping. Not for her clothing. It's easy enough to just cast a spell and change her clothes when she wants to, though she does have some good basics in her clothes. Expensive denim, a good pair of boots, shirts that are both functional and beautiful, as well as some t-shirts, and even one dress she'd purchased out of sheer fury when it was too warm for her to consider trousers. That's enough for her.

The boutique store they're in makes her uncomfortable. Somehow they've ended up here and she doesn't know why or how. Did he drug her to get her in here? Did he distract her somehow? It's his fault, she knows it is, because she wouldn't have come in here on her own.

The clothes are nice enough, she supposes, but that still doesn't tell her why.

"Are you looking for something in particular?" she almost demands of Bucky. Part of what she likes about him so much is that he's as functional and practical as she is. Somehow she can't imagine him in the baby blue sweater that hangs on the rack next to her, no matter how soft it looks.

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Like Sylvie, Bucky isn't really the type to go shopping for fun. He goes shopping when he needs to, mostly, and today sort of falls under that category. Fall is in the air, and while Bucky still has most of his clothes from the previous winter, it won't hurt to get a few new things.

He used to care a lot more about how he looked. Steve would tease him about the amount of time he spent on his hair, for one. He was never really smug about his good looks but he took pride in them, and always liked to dress well when he could. It was to impress girls, mostly. Maybe some old habits are coming back to him. He can't imagine why.

"I'm here because I need sweaters," Bucky says dryly, looking over his shoulder at the very reason. "You're in here because you followed me."

"I didn't follow you, we were walking together," she replies, nose wrinkling as she looks at him, then looks at the sweater, then back at Bucky. It's so blue, like the stereotypical decorations that go inside a baby boy's nursery.

"Hi!"

A voice chirps near Sylvie's ear and she nearly recoils, staring at the young woman who has approached them.

"Do you need help finding something?" she asks, addressing her question to Sylvie for now. "Something for your husband?"

Sylvie considers killing the woman right there.

"Yes, but this is where I was walking to when you caught up with me," Bucky tells her, because it hadn't occurred to him to alter his plan. Sylvie seems entirely bewildered by where she's suddenly found herself, and Bucky has to remind himself that she's even worse at this stuff than he is. There probably wasn't a lot of time to consider your wardrobe while stuck in apocalypses, especially when you can just alter your clothes with magic.

They both jump a little at the sudden exclamation by an overeager salesgirl and Bucky opens his mouth to greet her, only to roll his lips into his mouth to hide his amusement. Sylvie stiffens like an angry cat and Bucky curls his hand around her waist, mostly just in case he needs to try and hold her back.

"If I could be so lucky," he says with a plastered on smile, trying very hard not to laugh. "I'm looking for some sweaters, maybe a few new pairs of pants for fall.

"Oh, we just got in some amazing new pieces for fall!" She says cheerfully, gesturing widely at the baby blue sweater on the mannequin next to them. "This would look stunning on you! With those eyes!"

The woman giggles and looks at Sylvie again, seemingly unaware of just how close she is to being struck down. "Hey, if you're not gonna snatch him up, can I have a shot?"

Bucky's pretty sure she's kidding, especially given the exaggerated wink that she gives Sylvie, but Bucky still grips her hip a little tighter. "So, this sweater?"

The onslaught of sudden cheer makes Sylvie's face do some rather spectacular gymnastics as she tries to figure out what the bloody hell either of them are supposed to say to any of it.

Bucky's arm around her waist is probably a good thing, the hand on her hip tightening in warning. Sylvie is honestly so bewildered she might just blow up the store to escape.

"No, you may not," she answers stiffly, even though that's terribly unfair. She has no claim on Bucky, except maybe she does, a little bit. It's just that this woman is clearly flirting in an attempt to get him to spend money on things that don't suit him.

"Right, well," the saleswoman answers, turning more of her attention to Bucky. "Yes, absolutely this sweater. You should at least try it on and see what I mean about how it'll bring out your eyes."

"It's ugly," Sylvie says, even though no one is asking her.

Sylvie's strong objection makes Bucky duck his head to hide a smile. He knows that it isn't jealousy, but he likes that she cares enough to be a little bit possessive. It's amusing and endearing, and if he's honest, a little sexy.

With his hand still on Sylvie's waist, he looks at the sweater consideringly as the sales girl speaks. He can trust himself to get the basics, jeans and Henleys and boots, leather jackets and t-shirts, but if he ever wants something nicer, he usually just relies on the eager salespeople at whatever store he goes into. It's kind of annoying, and he's well aware that they're upselling him, but sometimes it's easier just to buy what they tell him to.

He's about to say that yeah, he'll try on the sweater even if it isn't quite his usual tastes, because he can see what she means about it bringing out his eyes, but then Sylvie insults it so plainly that Bucky can't help but to sputter out a laugh, reaching up to cover his mouth with his metal hand.

"Maybe not this one," Bucky says when the sales girl looks at them with a pinched expression. "Maybe a darker blue?"

"Well, if the girlfriend doesn't like it," the woman says primly, smiling at Sylvie that squinty-eyed way that women seem to do when they'd really like to be doing something else. "We do have something similar in navy, but it wont make those baby blues pop quite as much."

"However will I go on," Bucky says flatly, almost sarcastically, dragging Sylvie along as they're lead to another display.

"I can make your eyes pop," Sylvie offers, her own voice cheerful for the first time since they've walked into the store and the woman looks at her, trying to determine if she's being sincerely threatened.

She is, but Sylvie smiles in such a sweet, disarming way, that she seems inclined to let it go.

Something about being referred to as the girlfriend sets her even further on edge, the dismissiveness of it irritating her on behalf of all women everywhere. Including the one who has said it in the first place. Something in her life has made her into a person who will call another woman the girlfriend.

Bucky's own social skills have devolved into something that leaves much to be desired over the years, but even he can tell that this isn't going well. Sylvie and this other woman both seem ready to scratch each other's eyes out, and Bucky really doesn't want to get kicked out of this store. He likes this store. It sells the jeans that fit him best.

"I think we're just going to browse for a bit," Bucky tells the woman with a charming smile, and she looks for a moment as if she might protest, then glances at Sylvie and apparently decides to let it go.

"I'll be just over there if you have any questions," she says brightly, and then turns to hurry back towards the sales counter. Bucky watches her go and then turns to Sylvie.

"Do you want to go?" Bucky asks her, brows lifted expectantly. "I can always shop for sweaters later."

"Are you serious?" she asks, brows drawing together. "You clearly can't be trusted to shop on your own, not when there are people willing to say anything to you just to get you to buy the most expensive sweater."

Sylvie doesn't believe it's the flirting that draws Bucky in. She thinks he just doesn't know how to say no, too bloody polite, too much of a gentleman for his own good. And that's fine, she has no desire to change him, she quite likes him the way he is.

It just means she'll have to make sure no one takes advantage of his nature.

Up until this point, Bucky has mostly been faintly amused. It isn’t until now, until Sylvie says you clearly can’t be trusted that he feels any real irritation, and maybe even a pang of hurt. He knows that she doesn’t mean in general, but to have her say that about anything hurts him.

“I can’t be trusted to dress myself?” Bucky asks incredulously, turning to face her with his brows drawn. “After all I’ve done, you think I can’t say no to someone trying to upsell me? Are you serious, Sylvie?”

He huffs out a humorless breath and shakes his head. “You think I’m that weak-minded. Unbelievable.”

"That isn't what I said, don't you put words in my mouth," she snaps at him, then shoves his shoulder to make him look at her. "You're too much of a bloody gentleman. You have too good a nature and people take advantage of that. Of your kindness, you idiot."

If he thinks for a single second that she considers him weak-minded, then he clearly hasn't been paying attention at all. Sylvie knows the weak-minded, they're by far the easiest to enchant, she's been inside countless minds that are easily manipulated.

Bucky isn't one of them. She knows that without even having to try it.

"Ow," he says when she jabs at his shoulder, turning to stare at her with a pinched expression. Her explanation takes him off guard and he lifts his eyebrows when she calls him a gentleman. It's actually kind of sweet, even if he's still vaguely insulted.

"Sylvie, did it ever occur to you that I liked the fucking sweater?" Bucky asks as he gestures at it, chuckling in disbelief. This is ridiculous. "Maybe I want my eyes to pop!"

"Well, now you're just being argumentative for the sake of it," she answers, then turns back and snatches the ugly blue sweater from the rack. "Go on then. Try it on. You'll see."

It's true Sylvie has spent most of her life in Asgardian armour, but she had plenty of years before her world was erased to learn and refine her tastes. Bucky won't look right in that sweater. Clothing is about more than just colour, it's about what feels right, what makes someone feel confident and powerful.

Baby blue is not a powerful colour. Not on this man standing before her.

"Gladly," Bucky hisses back, grabbing the sweater from Sylvie's hand and heading toward the back of the store. He didn't even care about the sweater, doesn't really care about any of this, but now he's just so damn mad.

"Excuse me, can I have a fitting room?" Bucky asks the salesgirl, who turns to look at him with big eyes and a too-wide smile, like she wishes she could run away. She also looks like she wishes that she could say no, or like she doesn't want them both back there, but she glances at Sylvie's face and then nods instead.

"Sure!" She says, knocking on a door to the room near the back and unlocking it for them. "Um, let me know if you need anything. Bye!"

The girl rushes back toward the register and Bucky steps into the little room, already pulling his shirt off before shutting the door.

"Don't make me wait to prove that I'm right," Sylvie calls, leaning against the wall as she waits for him to change. The sweater isn't right. She knows it isn't right, not for Bucky, she feels it in her bones, in her very being.

And she likes being right about things.

While she waits, Sylvie takes a dark burgundy sweater off one rack, then a navy sweater off another. Colours, she knows, will look good on Bucky.

Bucky had assumed that Sylvie would follow him into the dressing room, heedless of manners, but she doesn't. Instead she stomps back out into the main part of the store and Bucky pulls off his t-shirt to put on the sweater, smoothing it down and tugging the bottom over the waistband of his black jeans. It's lighter than something he would usually wear, but Bucky thinks that he looks nice. The sweater really is the same color as his eyes and it's very soft. Maybe that's why Sylvie doesn't like it, because it makes him look soft, like someone who likes to read a good book and snuggle. But that's who Bucky is sometimes.

Does she not like those parts of him, just like she doesn't like this sweater? It's a foolish thought, one borne of insecurity, and he tries to shove it away.

"Look," he says as he leaves the dressing room, stalking out until Sylvie can see him. "Look me in the eye and tell me that I look bad in this sweater."

"Look you in the eyes that are popping?" she asks in return, chin lifted, never one to back down. "Of course you don't look bad, nothing looks bad on you, you're ridiculously handsome. But it doesn't look like you."

It would be the same if she put on something pink and frilly. She might look beautiful in it, but she wouldn't look like herself.

"Would you choose it for yourself?" she asks. "Look me in the eye and tell me, if you walked in here and no one offered any help, that's what you would be drawn to."

Bucky honestly has no idea why either of them care so much about a goddamn sweater, but her question helps him narrow it down, at least for him. No, he probably wouldn't have gone for this sweater, because he's driven it into his own head that he can't look soft. He wears dark, solid colors that help him blend into a crowd and keep a low profile. He chooses clothing that he can move in, run and punch and jump in. He dresses like a spy, like a soldier, but that wasn't always the case.

"I would have a long time ago," he admits in a low, melancholy voice, sighing in resignation before reaching out to grab the darker sweaters from her hands. "But I had all the softness stamped out of me, so you're right. It isn't me."

He turns to head back toward the dressing room and hangs up the sweaters, leaving the door open as he pulls the soft blue sweater over his head and tosses it onto the padded bench, yanking a navy blue one off of the hanger instead.

Sylvie follows close behind and pushes Bucky further into the changing room, then shuts the door behind them. It isn't a hard shove, barely move than a tap between the two of them, and she stares at him hard.

"And I like you exactly as you are," she tells him. "Whatever happened to you, whatever was done to you, this is who you are now and I'm in love with this man. A bloody blue sweater that looks odd on you has no bearing as to whether or not you have the ability to be soft, trust me, you've been plenty soft with me. I recall all the internal squirming I've done."

Which isn't to say she doesn't like it, she does very much. She just doesn't know what to do with it some of the time, but she's trying for him.

Before Bucky can pull the sweater on, Sylvie is stomping into the changing room and pushing at him, so he turns to look at her with a hard expression that only softens more and more as she speaks. Her voice is stern but the words are sweet and, though he wouldn't tell her so, kind of romantic. She wraps up her speech and he chuckles, dropping the sweater onto the bench so he can lift his hands and cradle her jaw in them, thumbs stroking at the point of her chin.

"This is the dumbest fight anyone has ever had," he declares, but his voice is fond and he leans in to give her a kiss on the mouth and then wraps his arms around her shoulders in a hug, drawing her in against his bare chest. "I've been plenty hard with you too, if I recall correctly."

It's a terrible joke and he knows it, and he only says it because he's holding her too close for her to easily squirm away. "I love you, too. God help me, but I do."

"That's a stupid joke," she informs him as she wraps her arms around him in return, forearms against the bare skin of his waist. She doesn't say anything about whether or not the fight is stupid, because she still thinks she's right about the stupid, ugly sweater, but she also doesn't want to continue arguing about it.

She's quiet for a moment before a hesitant knock sounds at the door.

"How's it fitting?"

The saleswoman sounds as if she would rather be anywhere else, asking any other question, and Sylvie presses her lips together, trying not to laugh.

"I know, but it broke the tension, didn't it?" Bucky murmurs in a low voice, smirking as he presses a kiss to her cheek, letting his hands slide from her waist to the center of her back. The knock at the door reminds Bucky where they are and he looks at Sylvie, matching her expression as he presses their foreheads together.

"Fits perfectly," Bucky calls out as he cups Sylvie's ass in his hands and squeezes, another terrible joke. "We'll be right out, thanks."

"No worries!" The girl replies, sounding like there are many worries, but her clicking footsteps go quiet as she walks away.

"So, should I get the dark and broody red one, or the dark and broody blue one?" He asks with a fond smirk, ducking his head to give her a quick kiss on the mouth. "You pick and I'll wear it out."

"Blue, of course," Sylvie answers, her voice utterly deadpan. "It makes your eyes pop."

Terrible jokes aside, stupid argument aside, she finds herself soothed by the fact that they can argue and simply go about their day. However an idiotic fight it may have been, there are no hard feelings, no resentment being carried, just two people who love each other.

That in itself seems ridiculous, given her life, but she enjoys it all the same.

"If only we were alone right now," Bucky says with a laugh, kissing Sylvie again and squeezing at her ass, briefly lifting her a few inches from the floor and then setting her back down, bending her back a little with his kiss and then suddenly pulling away. "Okay, stop that."

He's smiling, strange little fight forgotten, and he picks up the blue sweater, yanking the tags off before pulling it over his head. After smoothing it down, he glances in the mirror and yeah, this one is better. He leaves the baby blue one behind, putting it neatly back on the hanger, and then picks up the shirt he was wearing and the red sweater as well. "I'll go ahead and get both."

Bucky leaves the dressing room and heads for the counter, where the salesgirl is waiting, looking both wary and relieved. "I'm gonna wear this one out, if that's okay."

"Sure!" She says in a chipper voice, taking the tag Bucky gave her and ringing up the sweaters. There's a rack of jewelry on the counter and Bucky's eyes catch on a silver chain with a small silver shaped like a dagger. It makes him smile and he reaches out with his metal hand to carefully remove it and set it down.

"This too," he says warmly, and then glances fondly over at Sylvie. "No need to wrap it up."

"You'd what?" she asks. "Spank me?"

Without waiting for an answer, Sylvie marches from the fitting room, making no attempt to hide that she'd been inside with the very handsome man who exits after her. Let people think whatever they want, given that what they'd really been doing was fighting.

In general, there isn't much that can make Sylvie soften, not noticeably, but her brows draw together when Bucky reaches for the necklace, almost as if she's confused. She glances at him quickly, a dart of her eyes, as if checking. Could such a thing really be for her? It's a strange idea, being given a gift.

She doesn't want to assume.

“Maybe I would,” Bucky tells her, laughing incredulously to himself as they head for the counter. He can’t help but to picture it in his head— a pink handprint on Sylvie’s round, pale ass, but he blinks the thought away as he checks out.

He catches her look as he adds the necklace, and says nothing as he finishes paying and takes his bag. It’s only once they’re back outside, away from anyone who may overhear, that he turns and lets the silver chain dangle from his metal fingers, tiny dagger glinting in the afternoon sun.

“This is for you,” he tells her as he hands it over, smiling almost sheepishly. “It was too fitting to pass up.”