ostavil | don't touch that dial

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wanda

don't touch that dial

They're the two most terrifying people on the planet and wanted by several governments but they're playing house in the middle of nowhere and not a single person can tell. Bucky's used to being invisible and silent and he'd managed to hide out in Romania for longer than he should have been able to by living on cash only, working under the table, keeping to the shadows. This is different. This is a real life that he can have, out in the open, and nobody even thinks he's suspicious at all.

It's a very, very good thing that HYDRA no longer has control of Wanda Maximoff.

When they're out in public, he keeps his face away from cameras and his arm hidden; a hat and Wanda's tricks do the rest. He can take his time picking out food, plan meals, pretend to have the friendly banter that a husband and wife would have. It's nothing he's never had before and this kind of stability almost feels like he's stealing the life he was supposed to have after the war. There's some other version of him who died falling from that train and maybe it's that version that's getting a new lease on life now.

It's autumn and the leaves have started to turn, yellow like the sun and scarlet like Wanda's hair and there's a brisk wind that says there's gonna be a storm in a day or two. Rain or snow, he isn't sure, but it's Canada so it can go either way. He has his left arm slid into Wanda's to cover up that it doesn't hang naturally the same as his right does and nobody suspects a thing. Their neighbors aren't ever curious, there's no surveillance, there's nothing to worry about. It's a strange feeling but a good one.

"You know, if you can figure out how to explain it to my tiny soldier brain I would love to know how you managed to keep our house invisible from everyone else. Small words, though. I'm all brawn and no brains."

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But she did do many things wrong. When their parents had died and their apartment building had turned to ash, she and Pietro could have chosen differently. They could've chosen to live and make do with what little they had. They could've chosen to live with their anger and be much like their surviving neighbours, helping each other amongst all the strife. If Pietro hadn't been so angry, maybe he would've doubted Strucker's claims as she originally had.

Wanda knows where her series of choices has led her. She knows where they led Pietro, too, even if she prefers to bury her head in the sand. Unlike the people she's controlled, she always had a choice. Sometimes she thinks Bucky is too kind to her, much like Steve often is.

It's her choice to greedily grab hold of Bucky's company rather than face the void of Pietro. It's not fair, but Wanda knows she's never been fair.

But rather than argue with him—there's no point; Bucky may exude charm when he lets himself relax into it, but he's as stubborn as an immovable boulder—she wrinkles her nose and drops her hands to her sides. "I think you should make me dinner first before you we start talking about that."

She thinks it's only fair.

"Far be it from me to deny a girl dinner. I'm gonna learn that paprikash someday but you're gonna have to live with American food for right now. I guess you'll survive, huh?"

Bucky is actually a good cook both between what he'd learned before the war and what cookbooks have taught him now. They buy the best food they can, too, because he knows that they pump chemicals into things now and he has no idea what that might do to Wanda even if he's immune to it. It's steak tonight and roast potatoes and he hopes his ability to cook makes up for Wanda's part of this whole deal.

"You just have to sit your pretty little self down on the couch and watch tv until it's done. I'm full service. You don't have to worry about a thing, Wanda. Never have to, with me. I should have bought some flowers for the table and made it real nice but I forgot. Next time, though."

Wanda thinks to ask him 'What flowers?' but she does as he suggests, sitting in the very corner of the couch with her legs curled beneath her and her body twisted in the direction of the kitchen. There are flowers now on the table in a nice little vase. She's chosen sunflowers, thinking something nice and bright is most suitable for his caretaking mood.

"One day, you'll be sitting here and I'll be cooking," she says. "Even though the kitchen will be a mess and something will most likely be on fire." She purses her lips and shrugs a shoulder dismissively. Her cooking gets her by, although she doesn't have a love for it as Bucky does.

Of all the things she anticipated of him, a love for cooking wasn't one of them. It's been a nice surprise. Despite knowing almost everything about everyone (or at least what they think about), she likes that his little biography at the Captain America museum doesn't include everything about him.

That blurb at the Smithsonian misses a lot. It doesn't tell you that he loves to cook, that he can't sing, that his favorite subject in school was math and he wanted to go to college for engineering but he could never afford it so he was working the docks until he could. Then the war happened and he couldn't go anyway but he still loved math, could calculate coordinates and angles in his head, and it made him a better sniper.

It doesn't tell you that he loves dancing because it's intimate, that it's a way to get close without giving away your whole heart. It doesn't say that he loves to read everything he can get his hands on or that his favorite weather is fresh-falling snow before the city can get it all dirty. Even after all that time under the ice, he loves the cold.

Cooking doesn't take him long because he's efficient; he puts his ingredients together mise en place before he ever starts. The potatoes are roasted with herbs and the steak is cooked over the stovetop and by the time it's done, he just has to get the wine and set the table. It makes this house a home, to do these things, and he enjoys it.

"All ready, Wanda. Yet another Bucky Barnes culinary masterpiece ready to be experienced."

Honestly, she could get used to this.

She knows she shouldn't take it for granted. She also knows she should stop him from taking on too much. He's still recovering from a decades-long ordeal and he needs to rest his mind and his muscle memory so he can regain everything that's attainable back. But she thinks that he likes this, that this is a part of Bucky Barnes HYDRA only smothered but never snuffed completely out.

Wanda's always surprised by the effort he goes to and the elaborate meals he opts to cook. She imagines it makes him feel somewhat normal. It must reconnect him to something that he truly enjoys—and she doesn't doubt that he does enjoy being in the kitchen.

"You continue to outdo yourself," she says with a wide smile. Most of the time these days, her cheeks pinch from smiling too much. Wanda's still surprised that she can smile after losing Pietro.

She stands by the table with her hands poised, ready to grab something—anything—that's needed, but she's unsurprised, yet again, that Bucky leaves nothing unthought of.

"You're going to have to leave something for me to do one of these days," she laughs. "I feel like you do too much."

"If I leave you something to do, you will no longer need me to provide you with food," Bucky teases. "Traditional gender roles say that I'm supposed to provide you with food and since I don't have to hunt, I've decided cooking is going to be the way I do that. If we were in the woods, I would keep you well stocked in game. I'm a machine."

They're in a two story suburban in a cul-de-sac though so hunting for survival isn't the kind of thing they need to do. Everything is easy for them, almost too easy, and Bucky is getting used to it. He never wants to leave. He wants to pretend to be Wanda Maximoff's husband for the rest of his over-extended life.

"You brought the flowers, though," he points out. "It's an essential part of the place setting. Now eat up before it gets cold. That steak needs to be eaten before it sits too long. You're gonna love it. I'm fantastic at this." Cooking, at least, isn't killing people and he can be proud of it. He takes a bite of his own steak and it's good, really good, and he's glad he can share this with Wanda.

"You know, as far as the neighbors know, you have the perfect husband."

"I'm aware," she says in a deep tone, ensuring that she speaks in her American accent. As she easily slices into the steak, she knows that this whole charade is too easy. She always wanted to be like Samantha and be the perfect witch and wife and solve problems while living efficiently.

Life isn't a sitcom, even though it's feeling very close to it right now.

She moans when she bites into the steak. Unsurprising, yet again. It doesn't matter to her how many weeks he's spent cooking for her, everything tastes better and better. Wanda will never forget what it's like to go without fresh food.

She'd thought Bucky Barnes would be a big walking question mark, someone to keep two eyes on and her back up around, but she's growing too relaxed. It's too easy to believe this is real.

"Is this what you did before?" she asks as she cuts into her steak once more. "Cook all the time?"

"I used to help my mother in the kitchen when I was a kid," Bucky explains. "She had her hands full with the baby after my sister was born and she couldn't do it all alone. I learned how to do a lot of things. I can mend clothes, too, if you rip a hole in your favorite shirt. I'm fully house-trained."

It feels nice, too, to have the stability of it all and it makes the nightmares a little more bearable if his days are idyllic and domestic bliss. Wanda doesn't have to hear him scream at night if he makes sure to stuff towels under the door to block the sound and then he can get through it all without embarrassing himself or betraying his weakness.

"I used to like to help people. Still do, I think. I would love to be like Steve, you know? I just can't. There's too much evil in my history to ever be inspirational. People can't trust me. They can trust him in a way they'd never trust me. Doesn't help that I have this monstrosity of a left arm. But with you, it's better. I don't dwell on it all day."

Wanda frowns thoughtfully. "You can still help people."

Steve might wear the Captain America garb, but Captain America is merely a vessel and not the heart behind all the good-doings. It's the same with Bucky's arm, even if it's more of a displeasing weight than something he can use to help guide his desires to help those around him. It's a reminder to be better. She thinks his arm is much more than what he considers it to be.

"I think Steve is inspirational in a different way." Looking down, she taps the prongs of her fork against the side of the plate. "People think of him and see Captain America. They don't see Steve, not as you do. People see someone unattainable who is meant to solve all of their problems. They put too much hope on him to be the perfect solution, but he's just a man."

And fallible, at that. Look at the mess they created in Germany. Although Steve is hardly the only one to blame for what's occurred, she knows that the world's idea of Captain America would never have played a part in the dismantling of The Avengers. Their version of him is too perfect and not real.

"You know that better than anyone." She looks up at him and gives him a small smile. "When Pietro died, he used to tell me some stories about you. You were a brother to him and I think you inspired a lot in him. Monstrosity of a left arm or not."

"Steve was always my brother. Even when I had nothing, I had Steve. It feels weird for him to be so unattainable now, like something I'm no longer allowed to touch. This is the same guy I used to snag double dates for in hopes we'd find a girl who would look past his physical appearance to see the good guy underneath."

Bucky pushes his food around on his plate and tries to find the words to say. He has a hard time talking about Steve because he misses him more than anything and the only thing that fills that void is Wanda. Wanda makes him feel like a whole man again, makes him feel like he's allowed to want things and allowed to be a real person again.

"Spending time with you helps, though. Sometimes I wish it was real and not a cover. I wish it wasn't...I know it has to be uncomfortable. I know it has to be something that's unsettling, knowing the weird guy you're hiding with started nursing tender emotions because he's finally being treated like a good person again. I know you should have better. You'd be happier with better than me but I'm selfish, you know?"

"We're friends, aren't we? I think that's very real."

Without Pietro, Wanda has no one. Her family is gone. Her home is gone. Her country is in ruins. Vision isn't here. All she has is Bucky, who's stuck around despite what she can do is very similar to the torture he faced for decades. She might not grip him tightly or box him in a magical cage to keep him close, but the ease with which she's taken to this life has been made easier because of him. Wanda's an odd fish in a pond she's only ever dreamed of swimming in.

She smiles and ducks her gaze. "You think too highly of me. I belong in the Raft with everyone else, but I'm here with you, where I'm being fed very big meals," she chuckles, "and being encouraged to sit on my ass when Barton made a big speech about getting off of it. I'm getting very lazy because of you."

"I'm not talking about friends, Wanda."

What he feels for Wanda isn't exactly friendly. It's beyond that. For the first time in eighty years he's felt desire and he doesn't know what to do with it. He doesn't know how to ease that ache or how to even broach the subject. He feels like he's getting close, talking about his feelings, but Wanda is putting up an invisible wall and he wonders if this is her way of saying he's too close, he's too much, she's not ready or willing to take him on as a romantic prospect.

It's hard, though, to look at her and want for the first time in so long and he doesn't know what to do with it. He should hide it, he thinks. He shouldn't change what they are and should keep them as friends. Friendship is safe, very safe, and he thinks the safety is probably better than the wild, tangled unknown that would be a romantic relationship. He thinks he should be telling himself this over and over until the feelings go away.

"I'm talking about more than that. And I don't have a right to want more than that, Wanda. Not after everything I've done. There's no amount of dinners and house cleaning that can make up for what I am inside, you know?"

She frowns as she looks at him. "But who you are inside is a good man."

If he was anything to the contrary, she sincerely doubts he'd entertain her, cook for her, and trust her. She started out as his best friend's enemy. She tried to kill his best friend. Wanda sincerely doubts that if Bucky was as horrible as he believed himself to be, he wouldn't be able to see past that.

Or the fact that she can easily read his mind if she so wished. Sometimes it was like flipping through a picture book. She's done it carelessly to people before. As tempting as it is to peek inside, she thinks it's only fair to let him reveal what he wants when he wants to.

It seems that he is, and Wanda flushes, her heart racing violently. It's easier to read someone's mind than to hear it. At least she can prepare for it or she can gently bat it away from being at the forefront of their consciousness. He credits her too much. She simply sits and walks with him and makes sure that no one thinks anything more about their new quiet neighbours who are a little odd and keep to themselves. She's not the one who has made this feel like a home.

"I'm… weird," she says, furrowing her brows tightly together before she laughs, but it's an incredulous, weak thing. As kind as most of the Avengers are, she had been alone in a crowded meeting room. And now that Bucky keeps seeing her—and making it a point that he can and does see her—she feels like backing into the shadows and to what was her normal. "This is the most normal my life has ever been and that's because of you. Anyone would be lucky to have you as anything in their life. I know I am."

"And I'm not? Wanda, do you think I care about your powers? You've never hurt me. I feel...myself with you. More myself than I've felt since before I fell. I still have nightmares but the days are good so it balances out. I don't care about your powers. You're not gonna hurt me with them because if you were, you already would have done it. You can read my mind without a book. You can control me without HYDRA's code words. You haven't because you're a good person."

Bucky reaches his right hand across the table to touch Wanda's. "If it makes you feel uncomfortable, I won't mention it again. I just thought I should be honest that what I feel for you isn't simply friendship and that I want...well, I want you. And I haven't wanted anything for myself in a really long time. It means something to me to have these feelings because it means I trust you with the most vulnerable parts of me."

He rubs his thumb against her skin. "It's up to you, though. If you don't want me to ever mention it again, it drops right now. We go back to being friends and nothing changes. But if you're interested in it, we could try it out and see if it fits. I think it will. I think we're suited for one another. I'm not the same as Vision, I know that, but maybe I can still be good enough."

Her powers were always her backup wall erector if she ever needed them. She'd done so with Vision plenty of times, and he had been too kind and patient and literal to ever question it. But Bucky isn't a synthezoid learning how to walk like a human and talk like a human. He already is one.

She's so used to being the one in the room who knows everything. She can prepare for anything. Of all the things she had tried to prevent or be ready for, this had never crossed her mind.

She looks down at his hand on hers, distracted by the movement of his thumb. Whenever Bucky touches her, she wants him to touch him even more. That's the only information she's ever let herself have about this. She's always tried to subtly encourage him to touch her more, to reach out and grab her. It all seemed to help him feel more at ease, and it had selfishly let her feel, well…

"I've never…" She keeps her gaze down and her brows furrowed. "I've never done… anything like this before. Ever."

Bucky's lived a life, even one that had been cut short. Wanda's always been envious and enthralled with his stories because she's never gotten to experience what he did. She wishes she had. She always imagined it as herself in his stories. When she looks up at him, she says earnestly, "I don't know even how to dance. You should want someone who can dance."

It's silly, she knows, but she's not as great as he thinks she is. She can't dance. He likes dancing. It's an oversight and an important one.

"I can teach you how to dance," Bucky says. He frowns a little though. "You and Vision never...? Ever? Because I don't mind doing the teaching I just figured you had some experience."

Bucky doesn't even know how sex with Vision would work other than he'd assumed she'd had it with him even if she'd had no partners before him. It's something he'd assume of anyone her age and now he has to look at her differently. It's all right, though. If she needs someone to teach her, he's more than happy to do it. Being the more experienced one is erotic, in a way, and he's not going to take much to warm up to the idea.

"We can take it slow if you need to. I don't need you to jump into bed with me for dessert or anything. If you need to ease into it, I'm more than happy to do it. I just wanna be with you. There's not a statute of limitations on when and there's not any rules on the how."

"I've had sex before," she says a little indignantly in an attempt to ignore her furious flush.

This is why it's easier to stay friends with very attractive almost-one hundred-year-olds! It means that his infinite amount of experience is shared in little anecdotes that make her long to travel back in time and see him in his prime. It means that there's some distance between them, where her inexperience is kept under wraps while she acts as a sponge for all of his.

Her face and neck are hot. Wanda could easily make the room chilly—she's been working on that, even if she hardly understands it—but doing so will alert Bucky, and she doesn't particularly want him alert to anything at all at the moment.

"I've done some… things. When there was time." Given her house arrest, Wanda did have some time on her hands. God, she's making her face feel even worse.

"I don't need to know what you did," Bucky says softly. "I just need to know what you like, that's all. I want to make sure you enjoy it as much as I enjoy it. That's the point of it, after all, and you should always be enjoying yourself. Your life should be full of joy."

Bucky doesn't know how much he contributes to that but he wants to, desperately and it seems like Wanda isn't saying no to him. He turns her hand over, stroking his fingers against her palm. Her skin is soft, so soft, and it's so much different than his hand that is calloused from years and years of shooting firearms.

"When we're together, I'll make sure that you enjoy it. I'll do everything I can do to ensure that. If you can trust me, I'll make you happy. It's all I want to do." He smiles a little. "And I'll teach a little witch how to dance. You're beautiful when you fight. I'm sure you will pick up dancing quick as anything."

"Do you ever think of yourself?" All that indignation and furious flushing are gone. It's always about her, what she likes, and what she enjoys. Wanda's enjoyed every little thing that Bucky's done for her, even the things that she was never aware she would like.

It's something she's noticed for a while now and has never quite known how to address it. She's always wanted to be delicate, knowing that his focus on others comes from a place of healing and from some unfounded need to atone for every little thing he's done to everyone, even those he never directly hurt. But she supposes being blunt is appropriate now, especially given…

"I trust you," she says, looking at him. She closes her fingers around his, wanting to momentarily stop his distracting movements and to make sure that he understands it through a language he seems to prefer. "And it's important to me that you enjoy it, too. It's fine if you end up not liking it."

God, she's talking about having sex with Bucky Barnes.

Bucky frowns at that, at the implication that he might not like it, that thinking of her is somehow wrong. Shouldn't he be thinking of what she likes and how good it feels for her? He doesn't want it to feel bad for her or remind her of something bad and now he feels like she's turning that on him and he doesn't like examining it.

"Why wouldn't I like it, Wanda? Why shouldn't I think of you more than me? I haven't wanted anyone in decades. I want the closeness of it, the intimacy. I don't want you to run from me. Is that a bad thing? To want you to feel good and find that important, more important than what feels good to me?"

Maybe he's taking it the wrong way. She did say she wanted him to like it too. It's just the it's fine if you end up not liking it that bothers him. Does she know something he doesn't know, something she picked up on accident? It worries him.

"Men are easier to please than women, Wanda."

There are a few reasons she can think of that could be the reason why he doesn't like it. She's not as experienced. She's different. What makes her different makes her dangerous. Wanda has to assume the other women he's been with were different to her—normal, without powers, and possibly without all the baggage that follows her.

"It's not just about me, Bucky. It's sweet that you're so focused on me, but… you're going to be there, too." She grips his hand, and this time it's her turn to sweep her fingers over his.

"You should like it, too. That's important to me," she says quietly. "There's a chance—maybe a really small chance—that you won't like it, and I want you to know that's okay."

She knows deep in her soul that he'd tell her the same thing. It's okay for her to not like it; he won't be offended. Wanda just happened to get there first.

"I'm pretty sure I'm gonna like it. 99.99% confident that I'll love it, actually," Bucky says, laughing softly. "But we don't have to go run in there to do it right this second. It's usually better if you warm up to these kinds of things and set a mood. Why don't you let me clear the plates and we'll watch something? Maybe something we've already seen?"

If they've already seen it, he won't be compelled to take in every detail the way he does every time he sees something new and he can spend more time touching Wanda instead. He needs the background noise as a crutch to ease into the intimacy and he thinks Wanda will probably feel more comfortable with it as well. He doesn't know what Vision was like intimately and he knows Wanda doesn't know about any of his partners (and they're all probably dead by now anyway) so they'll come into this with clean slates.

"Go get comfortable and let me handle the mess? I like doing it, so I don't want any arguments from you. Maybe I can't do magic but manual labor? I'm great at it. I want to make your life easy and nice. I love taking care of you."

That furious flushing and heat return promptly at his confidence. Sometimes she wonders if Bucky's aware of it and does what he does on purpose. She likes to think he's oblivious, but there are times when she's convinced he's well aware of what he's doing and enjoys it.

She sighs heavily, regarding him with a look of not being amused. It's on the tip of her tongue to argue with him and even do the dishes herself, but if it gives him something to do and a moment to mull over what they've spoken about, then she'll give it to him this last time.

She reluctantly pulls her hand away from his to grab her glass of wine. Pushing out her chair, she stands, and rests her other hand against her hip as she looks down at him sternly. "You're annoying," she says, narrowing her eyes at him. While he might have taken the mantel of wanting to treat her well and do everything for her, she thinks it's only fair that he sees her pay it back in kind by letting him get away with it.

Turning away from the table, she states matter-of-factly, "If it's not done in five minutes, I'm coming in to do it. Charming words or not." And that's a threat she intends to uphold. She glances over her shoulder to regard him sternly so he's aware of how very serious she is about her threat.

Reluctantly, she returns to the living room and sits in the corner of the couch she tends to claim. She doesn't feel as comfortable as she usually does. There's an expectation now. She's too aware of herself and how she's sitting and how her dress is falling across her thighs. She listens intently to Bucky in the kitchen for something to focus on that isn't herself.

The cleaning helps him get his head straight and he thinks he might go over the five minutes but luckily he's fast and efficient so he has everything in the dishwasher, the counters wiped down, and the wine put away by the time he thinks his time is up. He knows Wanda could do it with a wave of her hand but he likes doing the work. He likes taking care of her because it makes him feel like he's doing something good and putting happiness into the world, even if it's happiness for one Sokovian witch and not anyone else.

When he's done, he wipes his hands on a dishtowel and goes to sit next to Wanda. He's hyperaware of her now because the penny has dropped and he knows he's allowed to look at her openly instead of sneaking glances when he thinks she isn't looking. Wanda is beautiful, her features delicate but hiding the incredible power she has behind them. She doesn't look like she can be capable of what she is and it's very easy to forget she doesn't need his protection. He slides his arm around her shoulders.

"Let's start with this," he says quietly. "Sit in my lap for a little while and we can just watch tv. It'll be new but we can get used to it."

She cocks her brow at him as she smiles, although she's not going to decline his suggestion. Sitting on his lap might be nice, even though it's clear to her where this will lead. She wishes she had more time with his arm around her shoulders; it's grounding in a way that isn't suffocating, and if she could somehow keep that arm around her while she sits a little too close beside him, she would. It's a gesture that's given her confidence since they came here.

She does as he suggests, moving onto his lap. At first, she sits ramrod straight, resting her hands on either side of his thighs like she's unsure of whether she's going to tip over or not. The last thing she wants to do is hurt him or make him uncomfortable, but she's thinking too much. When she overthinks, the world starts making noises and the last thing she wants to do is let all the noise from the neighbours and beyond the street infiltrate the wall she's erected in her mind. She relaxes on her own, pulling at the strap of her short red dress up her shoulder and leans back against his chest as she rests her hands easily in her lap.

"I liked your arm," she says quietly, looking straight ahead at the television. Even though she's moved, she thinks it's something he can know now without her admission feeling stupidly weighted and weird. "I like it when you put it around me."

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