#also elektra representation bc shes my gf and i love her so

[fireheartpages]

i. per aspera | m.m.

series masterlist

summary: Being hounded by government agencies was low on your list of priorities, until they make it more than just a minor inconvenience on your way back to finding normalcy short of your best friend and boyfriend. So, you find yourself stumbling into a small firm, recovering from the Blip like everyone else, and make an unexpected connection with someone who understands your grief--and your abilities--on a level that you could have never expected.

word count: 5.3k

rating: 18+, sfw, second person pov. reader uses she/her pronouns and is semi-catholic for plot/angst/symbolism purposes (but more on that later), past steve x reader, reader is a mutant, warning for some mentions of violence and death, heavy tony stark slander, spoilers for daredevil season two, defenders

a/n: sO--first things first, this series will have eventual daredevil/defenders spoilers, as well as nwh spoilers!! the chapter title is half of the quote “per aspera, as astra.” the series title “permit the righteous to be moved” comes from a bible verse, Psalm 55:22, which says “Cast your burden on the Lord, and he will sustain you; he will never permit the righteous to be moved.” it's a verse that's meant to encourage you to make it through a tough time, out of context though... *laughs in mean author* this is a little thing that's been floating around my head since I saw nwh, and i've been itching to get it flushed out ever since. it's mostly going to follow the phase four canon on the coattails of Nelson, Murdock, and Page, the only canon deviance is that instead of returning to the 40s (like an idiot), steve was killed by thanos in the final battle in endgame (but more on that later!) reader is young and grieving and traumatized and her only friend is an equally traumatized amputee, but then she stumbles into the devil and all his friends ;)

November 2023

You were a good person. You swore.

But some people, some people test you. Some people, of course, being Tony Stark. Even from beyond the grave, the asshat still found ways to make your life miserable.

You lost people. More people than just Tony Stark, but the rest of the world seems to forget that. You watched your boyfriend of six years be murdered by a genocidal space grape jolly rancher. You never got to say goodbye to your best friend before she flung herself off a cliff because she thought self-sacrifice is the only way to save the greater good (Nat might have been right in this case, but that doesn’t mean you’re happy about it). Tony got a private and a public funeral. Steve got a few seconds of silence on the news and Nat was barely acknowledged. Real fair, you thought.

But as if your grief over losing two of the most important people in your life wasn’t enough, everyone being returned from the Blip meant government agents were sniffing up your ass, looking to press five-, six-, seven-year-old charges from the time you were dragged on the run at eighteen years old. You spent the five years of the Blip helping rebuild the entire world, but even that’s not enough for a pardon.

And back to Tony ever-so-helpful Stark, his will didn’t exactly leave his legal team at the disposal of someone he talked to maybe three times in the last five years, so you were on your own. He’d given you and Steve the help he could during the first year of the Blip, when you’d publicly resurfaced after two years on the run, but eventually, charges were dropped without trial, and everyone seemed to forget. That was probably due to the fact that a lot of the people pressing charges against you were presumed dead, while the rest dropped what they had because, you know, half of the world disappeared.

But now, here you stood, about eight charges against you that could probably get you a lifetime in jail, (kinda) widowed, lonely, and lacking any sort of legal representation.

You’d known about Nelson and Murdock (now Nelson, Murdock, and Page) before the Blip, notable from the Punisher trail, and Foggy Nelson’s run for DA, back when you paid attention to the news a little more than a seventeen-year-old should have. They were ground-level, pro bono half the time, and had a reputation for reliability. Even though they had a bit of a reputation for ending up in the spotlight, you hoped choosing them would result in discretion. You didn’t need more eyes on you right now.

You stood outside the door, steeling your nerves to walk in and explain your side of a situation they probably knew very well from the opposition. Your mind buzzed as your enhanced abilities scouted out who was on the other side. Three people, one… one enhanced? You could tell someone had heightened senses and that one of those senses was not sight.

Weird, you thought. Maybe they’ll take pity on me.

You knocked on the door as you opened it, peeking your head in with a tentative smile.

A man stood behind a desk in the center of the room, loose blonde hair hanging into his eyes and a smile that told you he was far too good at keeping a secret. “Hi!” He extended a hand to you as you let the door shut behind you. “Foggy Nelson. How can we help you?”

You introduced yourself with the warmest smile you could muster, hoping that shaking his hand hid the nervous tremor that sunk into your body.

At your name, his facade dropped, eyebrows raising and mouth going agape. “Wait. The Avenger?”

You have a curt laugh. “Not really an Avenger anymore.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Foggy said. “I can only imagine.”

He walked back around the desk to the opposite side, motioning for you to sit. “I feel like I could guess why you’re here.”

“You and half the population.” You took a seat, sensing his steady heartbeat and letting it ground you.

“I’ve heard a lot about your case through the grapevine. You’ve got every charge they can pin on you right now, most of which I think are complete bullshit. Sorry for the language.”

Steve would have loved this guy.

“Yeah, not ideal,” you said, easing into your skin. The fact that he was on your side without you having to plead your case and beg for representation sunk into you with tremendous relief. “Especially when your one connection to legal representation is dead. Tony Stark wasn’t my favorite person in the world, but his loyalty was admirable.”

Foggy’s expression changed into something of genuine sympathy, and you could feel the truth behind his words when he said, “I can’t imagine what it must have been like to lose so much of your team, just to lose more for good in the long run.”

You took a shaky breath, his statement hitting you square in the gut and digging its finger in until your throat started closing like a vice. You hadn’t expected to react this strongly when talking about this with someone other than your inner circle. You were going to have to get good at this, fast, if you were hoping to have any shot of not going to prison. “It’s tough. Weird to see the holes they leave, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Foggy said, “I really do.”

He cast a glance over to his right, at a closed office door. His partner must have Bliped. They must be close.

“So, uh, knowing my case from the opposition, what do you think are my chances of staying on the outside?” you asked, forcing humor into the edges of your words. It was in vain in the end, but it made you feel better and relieved some of the tension that had been hung in the room.

“Honestly, I think the case against you is flimsy, from what I’ve heard, at least. That’s not to say they don’t have more than what’s I’ve heard second hand, but anything they have against you can easily be circumstantial, I assume, and probably outweighed by the good you did in these last five years.”

Your shoulder sagged, the weight of anxiety being chipped away. “You don’t even know what a relief it is to hear that. They skipped me when they were handing out pardons, and it’s kinda been weighing me down ever since.”

“I can only imagine,” he said with a laugh. “We’d love to take on your case. I’ll confirm it with my partners, but I highly doubt there will be any protests. I’ll review the charges against you and start building a case. When are you free to meet again to flush out details?”

His eagerness and enthusiasm were contagious. You let yourself smile, just a little, at him. “I’m pretty open. Not a lot going on right now, besides this.”

“Does tomorrow work?” he asked, glancing at a planner that was laid open on his desk. “Say, three?”

“Sound good,” you responded, loosening your writhing hands in your lap.

“Perfect!” He stood, extending a hand to you. You stood, taking his offering as the knot in your stomach began to untangle itself, just a little.

Before you could say anything, a door to your right opened, revealing a woman with blonde hair tied at the nape of her neck and a buzzing cell in hand.

“Karen!” Foggy exclaimed. He introduced you with a flourish, explaining your situation and the case he accepted on their behalf.

Karen was wide-eyed as she looked at you, offering another handshake, which you took gladly if it meant she was on your legal team. “Oh, wow, it’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Her voice held awe and the edge of humor.

“Nothing good, I’m sure,” you responded with a smirk.

“Oh, don’t be such a downer,” Foggy said, coming to stand next to you both. “It’ll be all good things by the time we’re through with you.”

“Your confidence is inspiring, Mr. Nelson,” you joked.

Foggy smiled, shrugging with mock humility. “All in a day’s work.”

You were exhausted by the time you made it back to your little Brooklyn apartment.

The sun had set fully and the autumn chill had started to eat away at the edges of summer. You shivered a bit as you pushed open the door, toeing off your shoes and tossing your bag on the counter.

It was quiet. So, so quiet in the apartment you’d once shared with Steve. Unbearably so.

Usually, on nights like this, you put on a record from his collection, the one he’d begun during the Blip, the day you signed the lease. Tonight, instead, you made your way into the kitchen, dug the half-empty bottle of vodka out of the freezer, and took a swig.

Steve was all over the apartment, but you couldn’t get the heart to pack any of his things up. The last remnants of him were preserved within the walls of your little one-bedroom broom closet. You’d had the money to opt for something a bit bigger, but Steve had insisted on this one. Feels like home, he’d said. The view of the bridge justified the pricey rent, so you’d agreed with hardly a second thought to move in here with him and try your damndest to build a life on the scraps of what you had left.

He’d lost Sam and Bucky in the same go, you’d lost Wanda and then Peter, those blows landing one after another, and Natasha wasn’t coping well with the loss. Neither was Steve, for that matter, but at least he wasn't pushing you away when you offered your shoulder.

Your eyes danced around the apartment as you picked up every reminder of him, and everything you lost. Suddenly, your stomach churned and you were regretting opening the vodka bottle. Your hands shook as you picked up your keys again and shoved the vodka bottle into your bag after a moment’s contemplation. You were out the door no more than five minutes after you’d even stepped foot in your apartment, hailing a cab and hoping the frantic New York evening would stave off your brewing panic attack.

Bucky opened the door with sleepy eyes and a frown etched deep into his face. He was clearly doing about as well as you were.

“Is that a bottle of vodka in your purse?”

“I can’t go home anymore.” Your voice was choked even as you tried to even out your breathing. Panic pulled at your every fiber, demanding to be heard. “He’s everywhere. He’s in everything. I can’t even have a simple fucking conversation without him being brought up.”

Bucky said nothing, just opened the door farther, allowing you to step inside. You took the invitation, walking on shaky legs.

“It’s never about him. It’s always about Tony, too,” you continued, tears stinging your eyes, threatening to spill. “Tony gets murals and dedications and eulogies and Steve gets a modification to an already existing monument as if his sacrifice meant less than Tony’s.”

Distantly, you heard the door click shut, and Bucky sigh, making his way towards you.

“Fuck Tony Stark,” you said, hysterics winning over and the tears finally staining your face. “Steve never did anything to deserve this. He’s just gone.”

You sobbed, air escaping you, as your world began to cave in. You felt arms wrap around you, tightening on your waist when you gasped and cried harder, turning to bury your face in Bucky’s shirt.

“I miss him too much,” you sobbed.

“I know,” Bucky said, a whisper in your hairline. And you knew he did, lest you have sought out the comfort you knew only he could provide. “I do too.”

Bucky had insisted you take his bed. You wanted to protest, but he was incessant and far less inebriated than you were by the end of the night, so you’d relented without too much push back. He’d made you down a glass of water before you passed out, and left some aspirin on the bedside table for you in the morning.

Maybe you should just move in here, you thought, with someone who understood what your grief felt like and somewhere that didn’t feel like a memoriam to everything you’d lost.

Your hangover was a dull, aching thing that gnawed its way into your bones and underneath your skull and buried itself deep within the creaks of your body.

The aspirin did little to curve the effect, and you cursed the universe that Bucky and his stupid super-soldier serum body was immune to drinking and hangovers, and that with all the crap your enhanced body could do, healing yourself wasn’t on that list. You stumbled out of his bedroom, grateful the lights were kept low. He was standing in the kitchen, a bag of something that smelled heavenly and a cup of coffee that smelled even more heavenly on the counter.

“No food here, I just got something delivered.” He turned as you approached, still blinking the sleep out of your eyes. “You look like shit.”

“Feel like it. Is that caffeine?”

“Just how you like it.” He nudged the cup towards you and your clumsy hands picked it up.

“You’re a saint,” you said, inhaling deeply, letting the warmth of the cup seep into your skin, willing it to engulf you and push out anything else.

“Eat something,” Bucky said, putting the bag on the small bar in front of him. “You can’t put all that coffee on an empty stomach.”

“So thoughtful,” you teased. “You eating?”

Bucky looked like he was going to respond for a moment, then you watched his expression change as his mind made up and he moved to the other side of the counter, taking the barstool next to you. You opened the bag, pulling out the breakfast he’d decided on. McDonald’s pancakes.

You felt safe here.

“I have a meeting today I don’t want to go to,” you said dumping two packs of syrup on your stack of pancakes and watching the eggs soak it up.

“What time? What for?” Bucky asked, eyeing your plate with heaps of judgment. “Do you want some food with your syrup?”

“Can it, Barnes,” you said, licking your plastic knife clean of the maple-y goodness. “Three. It’s with my new legal team so the FBI doesn’t send me to jail for not falling at Tony’s feet.”

Bucky chuckled a bit. “You rejected his help?”

“He didn’t leave me any, after the Blip.” You shoveled a dripping bite into your mouth.

“Seriously?”

“His resources and help died with him,” you said somberly. “I wasn’t gonna bug Pepper right now, not when I know what she’s going through. Or maybe I don’t, I don’t have a kid, but…” You poked at the styrofoam plate, watching how your fork left holes in the material. “I didn’t want it, anyway. I need one last act of rebellion against everything he is.”

Bucky smiled, almost imperceptibly. “So, what’s the plan?”

“No clue,” you admitted. “I went to the guys who did the Punisher trial. Guess I’m just hoping they’re as good as they are in the papers.”

“What are you gonna do if you lose?”

It wasn’t as if the thought hadn’t occurred to you. You were just uncertain as to if you actually cared.

You sighed, deep and gaping, like your lungs stretched open to reveal that gaping put you kept hidden away in an attempt to keep it from swallowing you whole. “Start praying again and hope God hasn’t abandoned me.”

Nelson, Murdock, and Page was just as inviting today as it was yesterday, and it unsettled you just a bit. You knocked, hearing a “come in!” tossed at the door before you even had a chance to steady yourself and put your hand on the knob. You opened the door, revealing Foggy and a man you hadn’t met yet. You could sense another person in the office to your right, Karen if you had to guess.

So, that makes this Matt Murdock.

Wow. Tall, dark, and handsome was an understatement. Not usually your type, but something about him was just magnetic. Like he knew the attention in the room would eventually land on him, and he was okay with it, good with it. Good at molding a crowd’s attention into something he can use. Something he had a bit of practice with, if the strong set of his jaw and the slight pout of his lips were any indication.

That was all you could really see of his face, though. He wore dark sunglasses with a red tint to them. This was the one with the heightened senses but no sight, you realized. The one who’s been in his office, you assumed, when you were here.

Whether he was enhanced, or a mutant like you, you couldn’t tell. Probably not appropriate to ask right upon meeting him, though.

He turned his attention to you in a way that made a shock go down your spine as you approached the two men. Foggy spoke first, gesturing to you with an introduction. Matt stuck his hand out in your general direction, and you took it, not without some hesitation.

“Hi,” you said, a mockery of a greeting. Your abilities were turned up to eleven, tracking every neurotransmitter sent through both boys’ systems. You could sense Matt’s heightened senses, almost feel them yourself (a habit your abilities had taken on recently which you were decidedly not happy with). You were in overdrive.

Foggy led you and Matt into Matt’s office, Karen joining you not a moment later. You heard Foggy recap your discussion yesterday distantly, nodding and agreeing at appropriate times. You let him read out the charges against you: evading and resisting arrest, theft, bribery, tax evasion, identity theft (even though you got fake IDs; Foggy didn’t think that one would stick, but would still land you with a misdemeanor), computer crime (which you didn’t even know was a thing), and of course, treason. Karen guessed there would be more. Matt was shocked you weren’t a wanted fugitive.

None of this was news to you and honestly, none of it phased you. You’d kept flitting your gaze back to Matt, as much as you tried not to, with his full lips and fluffy hair.

Oh, God, please do not be attracted to your lawyer.

You listened as the three of them spoke, mostly amongst themselves and with each other, answering questions and supplying what you could. It was hard to focus when you could feel Matt’s attention on you, unwavering and vice-like, the whole time.

“I think her safety should be our biggest concern,” Matt said. “With her abilities, landing prison time could be dangerous for both her and other inmates.”

“Damn, Matt, you’re gonna make her out to be armed and dangerous?” Foggy asked, eyebrows up to his hairline.

“I think a logical approach is the best way to go about this one. She’s probably more vulnerable to an attack, and prison guards don’t have the best reputation for defending vulnerable inmates,” he argued, voice strong and steady. “She gets attacked and tried to defend herself, people could end up dead.”

You gaped at him.

“What if they opt for something more high security, like what Helmut Zemo has, or the Raft?” Karen asked.

You shuddered at the mentions.

“Sorry,” Matt whispered to you, as Foggy responded to Karen. “I know frankness in this situation can make you feel a bit small. I’m sure mentioning your trauma doesn’t help.”

You snapped your mouth shut, acutely aware that he probably knew exactly what expression you wore in that moment. “I’m used to it, at this point.”

“Doesn’t make it any easier.” He leaned away, and only then did you realize just how close he’d been, the ghost of his breath on your cheek and ear.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Karen directed to you. You snapped your attention to her, willing your abilities to just shut up for a moment. Why are other people's bodies so damn loud? “What exactly are your powers?”

You swallowed hard, bringing your reheated script to the forefront of your mind. “It’s a mutation. I can control biomolecules,” you began, your voice lifeless. You tried to bring some vitality into your tone. Irony was a close friend of yours. “So, basically anything that’s living. It’s kind of a medical thing. I know what pheromones you’re emitting and what neurotransmitters are in your system right now. I can feel and control your heart rate, if I wanted to. It applies to plants and animals, too. I can change things around, if need be. Heal. There’s probably more, but I’m hesitant to keep exploring what I can do without my degree.”

You were met with silence, as you usually were. Karen was the first to recover, asking, “You’re in school?”

“Med school. Got an undergrad in environmental studies.”

Foggy was next, stuttering. “So you’re just aware of everything and everyone around you, all the time?”

“Not everything. Has to be living. I also try not to use it as much as I can, save the occasional life-or-death situation.”

You picked at your cuticles as Karen furiously scribbled something on her notepad and Foggy overwhelmed you with the feeling of confusion. You hated this. Explaining what you can do. It made you feel so ostracized. No one ever looked at you the same after they knew what you were capable of.

Steve had always encouraged you. Nat helped you explore your limitations. Bucky and Sam are still supportive. Wanda and Peter are relatable.

But outside of them, you were treated like a weapon at best. You were only ever an Avenger when they needed your help, or when you were disagreeing with them. Sharon Carter was one of the only people who ever fought to keep you away from SHIELD, and away from inevitably becoming an experiment. And you weren’t even sure she was still alive.

“So, that’s why you keep looking at me like that.”

Matt’s voice pulled you from your retreat of thoughts, snagging your attention back to the present so sharply you felt a sting on your consciousness.

“You know I’m looking at you.” There was nothing accusatory in either of your tones. Just… An olive branch. You revealed your hand, so he would reveal his.

“Wait,” Foggy said, still brimming with confusion. “You can pick up on his—”

“Enhanced senses,” you supplied, locked in a strange sort of sightless staring contest with Matt. “I was hit with it as soon as I walked in the building.

Matt gave an almost imperceptible laugh. “Mine have a larger range.”

Did he just…

Did he just tease you? Brag about how his enhancement was stronger than yours?

You flushed, suddenly biting back the edges of a smile.

“Holy shit,” Foggy said. “That’s…” He laughed, taking you a bit by surprise. “That’s honestly incredibly impressive.”

You blushed just a bit.

“I don’t doubt that this will go to trial. We’ll try to get you a pardon, all things considered. Maybe all they need is a bit of resistance and some time to come to their senses,” Matt said, rising out of his seat. “If we do end up in court, all you’ll need is a strong case and a sympathetic jury. Which, in this day and age, aren’t all that hard to come across.”

“Worst comes to worst,” Karen began, “you’re young. We can push that you were coerced. We did it with—”

“No,” you said, demanded, in a stronger voice than any of them had probably heard from you. From the way Matt went on edge, you could tell he knew what saying that meant to you. “No. I wasn’t coerced. Steve—” You unsuccessfully tried to hide the way your voice cracked on his name. You were speaking through the thick of tears now. “He never did anything like that. He wasn’t like that. Never. Not to anyone. And--and certainly not to me.” You took a deep breath, trying to comfort your frayed nerves and push off the tiredness. You were tired, so so so far beyond physically, or even emotionally or mentally tired. The kind of tired sleep can’t even catch anymore. “I know I’m young. I know I was a kid when the Avengers took me in. But I was eighteen when they split. I know, I know, I know that’s hardly an adult, but legally I was one. I made a choice when I pushed back against the Accords. Natasha and I did. We fell on opposite sides but that didn’t mean we weren’t pushing. The Avengers didn’t fall apart for lack of trying. We didn’t choose to run, we—we were forced.”

Forced by Tony, you thought. You’d avoided the subject of him for this long, though. No point in bringing him up now, even if it’s just to spare the inevitable headache he caused.

“All those years I spent with Steve, I—we—“ you couldn’t finish. No one knew about your relationship, save Nat and Sam who you were on the run with, and later Bucky. Most of the team knew by now, but it still wasn’t public domain. If it were to get out, things would get so, so much worse for you than they already were.

“You were together,” Karen supplied softly.

You wiped quickly, almost erratically at the tears that managed to escape. “We weren’t until about a year into running.” You took a shaky breath, your body betraying you. For all you could do to others with your mutation, it did jack shit to help control your own body. “He was a good man. He was so, so good.”

You hated explaining what you and Steve meant to each other to people, to anyone who didn’t know Steve. No one saw him the way they were meant to.

You felt a hand on your shoulder, an extension of comfort radiating from the skin, and your body betraying you by letting it bury itself within you. You looked over to see Matt, face sympathetic and thumb tracing a small pattern onto your skin. “It’s okay. We’ll keep him out of this.”

You thanked every God you could think of for Matt Murdock in that moment.

You’d left Nelson, Murdock, and Page feeling weirdly lighter than you had in days. It was like there had been an anvil in the center of your chest, and an attorney with fluffy hair and a smile that knew too much lifted it off with one conversation.

You were standing on the sidewalk, just outside the building for a few minutes after you left, contemplating if Bucky would let you spend the night again if you brought him takeout instead of alcohol he couldn’t get drunk off this time, when Foggy and Karen walked past you, saying goodbye and goodnight before getting in a cab together. A few moments later, Matt materialized next to you.

“Which way you headed?” He had his cane in hand, one you had the sneaking suspicion was for show, and his suit jacket draped over his forearm.

You stalled for a moment, your response held in suspense between the two of you. “Haven’t decided yet.”

Mat gave a crooked smile. “Too many options?”

“More like none at all.” You sighed, shivering a bit in the evening air. “Home isn’t home anymore, y’know? Wondering if my last remaining friend will trade takeout for his couch.”

He said nothing, just draped his jacket over your shoulders. He offered you his arm, then gestured for you to lead the way. You decided on food first. Then you’ll figure out where you can stomach sleeping tonight. You walked down the street on Matt’s arm, letting the slide of his cane lull you into a thoughtless wander.

“I lost someone, too,” Matt said, a couple blocks down. “Not that it’s any consolation. I know saying it sounds moot, but…”

You looked up at him expectantly.

“But grief is a universal language, nonetheless.”

“You say that like you’ve lost a lot of people,” you whisper.

Matt’s silence confirms your suspicion.

“So,” you prod, hesitant of where the line is between you and this man you met mere hours ago for the first time, but whose jacket lay around your shoulders to fend off the bite of cold in the air and whose arm you’re using to steady yourself as you walk with little knowledge of what direction you’re going in tonight, or tomorrow, or the next day, or the next. The man whose particular skillset connected the two of you in a strange understanding you could share, one which no one else could understand without. “Who was it? A partner?”

A small smile crept onto his face, one of reminiscing on fond memories. “Kinda. Yeah, I guess.”

You lapsed into silence again for another block. This, what Matt was offering you, was not something you could take freely.

“Her name was Elektra.”

You sensed norepinephrine flood his body as his anxiety spiked. “You don’t—you don’t have to tell me. I can tell it upsets you.”

“That’s the thing,” he said, unfazed by how easily you read him. “It never gets easier; talking about them, you know?”

You took that in for a moment, internalizing the idea that every time someone mutters Steve’s name, your throat will constrict like it did today. It never gets easier.

Matt continued as you approached the restaurant. “She was-she… She meant a lot to me. Point is, I get it.” He laughed a bit, running a hand over his chin as you came to a stop. “And I don’t, cause no one will ever know him like you did.”

You swallowed, doing little to dissipate the lump in your throat. “Can I buy you dinner?”

Matt gave you a sympathetic smile, the edges weighed down by something a bit indiscernible. “I wish I could, but I have a prior commitment tonight,” he admitted, and you sensed the genuine sentiment behind his words. “Let me know when you get where you’re going, when you figure it out.” He handed you a Nelson, Murdock, and Page business card with something scribbled on it. A number. “That’s my cell. Call me if you need a—couch, or anything.”

You smiled at him for a moment, letting your eyes flit over him, and all the emotion you could read without even looking under the surface. “Thank you,” you said. And for the first time in weeks, for the first time since the Blip, for the first time since you lost Steve, you meant it.

You hoped Bucky liked pho.

He threw the door open, rubbing sleep out of his eyes despite the relatively early hour. “What?”

“Do you like pho?”

“What.”

You held up the bag.

He sighed and opened the door further, letting you in. “Take my bed.”

You began to protest, his name falling half-heartedly off your lips.

“I can’t sleep in it anyway.”

You set the bag on the floor, sitting down and arranging the bowls of rice noodles and broth in front of you. Bucky took the invitation, eyeing the pho a bit wearily. The two of you ate in silence for a while, and you tried your best to keep your mind clear. You’d lost track of time after a while, just watching the broth swirl, when Bucky finally broke the silence.

“Whose jacket is that?”