"Well, I've always loved a lost cause," Bucky says. "But you're too fiery to give up even if your body wants to. That's one of the things that attracts me to you, you know?"
Bucky takes care not to move very much so she can sketch him with ease.
"That doesn't mean you can keep pushing yourself every time and expect to come out all right, though. Your body does need the rest and I'm going to make sure you get it."
"Sometimes I think dying would be easier," she admits. It's a thought she's had plenty, especially during cold winter nights when she has to fight a fever alone. Death would've meant rest, at long last. "But I'd like to live first. See the world, maybe even fall in love, while I still got time."
Blushing at her admission, she ducks her head to focus on her sketching. The modeling is just an excuse, really; she's watched him closely and long enough that she can draw him from memory. But it's nice to be able to see the finer details without having to be furtive about it.
She starts shading his eyes. "I wish I could see blue. I bet your eyes are even prettier in the right color," she compliments, her tone unabashed despite the flush on her cheeks.
"No, you're too young to die. You're going to live and you're going to have all the things you want while you do it," Bucky says. He doesn't say love even though that's something he's seeking too because it's too early and too fragile for something like that but he's thinking it.
She says that she wishes she could see blue and he tries not to move too much when he frames his next question even though he can feel the frown lines forming on his brow in spite of himself.
"What color does it look like, then? Describe it to me?"
She gestures to the potted plant on her windowsill with the hand holding the pencil. "Something like that, but the nurse I asked said that's green." That was the best way for her to describe her colorblindness. She then looks down at her sketch. "But you're handsome even in just black and white, so it doesn't really matter."
Her eyes are blue too, but she hasn't particularly cared. In fact she's never actually drawn herself.
"I like to go to the movies, when I can," she says after a moment. You know, since they're getting to know each other. "Or the dancehalls, sometimes, but just to watch. I'm not a good dancer. I can't keep up."
“I’m a hell of a dancer,” Bucky says, grinning at her. “Have a sister, which means I had to learn so she could learn. Turns out that the best way to get all the girls is to know how to dance with them so I think it worked out in the end.”
Steph talks about going to the movies and it reminds him that he hasn’t been in forever. His smile softens a bit.
“I should take you to the movies then. There’s at least a hundred of them I haven’t seen because I’m too busy so anything we see will be brand new to me even if it’s old news to you. I manage to keep up with the war on the radio and in the papers. Luckily, it’s still in Europe and we are an entire ocean away.”
She gives him a disbelieving look for a moment. Not because he claims to be a hell of a dancer, but because she believes him and that he can dance his way to a girl's heart — yet here he is, hanging out with one who isn't made for dancing in a place furthest from a dancehall. So she says, "I gotta see it to believe it," because she wants to know how that might feel. She'll find a way to keep up.
Her expression brightens when he mentions taking her to the movies. She doesn't even think about it being a proper date or how being seen with him would look like to other people. "You should. You're doing the Lord's work here, Doc, but even God rested and so should you," she teases.
She doesn't comment on the war. She tries to avoid any talk of it, as much as possible. Her father had died in the last one and she'd seen for herself how miserable it had made her mother.
"Well, if you don't want to go dancing, the movies have plenty to occupy us. I wish someone would invent a way to get a reel you could use at home. That would be swell, wouldn't it? Watching a movie with someone right at home? Don't know how you'd fit it in your house, though, unless you've got one bigger than mine."
Bucky has a large brownstone, honestly, but not large enough for an entire room to screen films in. He wishes he did because it'd be nice to curl up with Stephanie and watch one right at home.
"So if you can't tell which color is which, how do you know what paint to use? Do you just trust what's on the tube or do you only ever use pencils?"
"I would love to go dancing with you. But you gotta promise not to laugh, and maybe we just dance real slow." Besides, it's the slow dancing she really wants anyway. Though even her Sunday's best might not be good enough to go out with someone like him... but didn't he say he doesn't care? She can still show him a fun time. She knows she's plenty interesting, if people would just give her the time of day.
She likes the idea of a movie you can watch at home though. What a marvel! "Maybe that Stark guy can invent one," she muses. She's been to one of the man's shows. Lots of pomp, but also promise. "He can already make a car fly."
She doesn't look up at him at the question about her tools, though she slows down with her shading to answer him. "Can't afford paints anyway," she admits in a quiet tone. "Pencils and charcoal are cheaper." She's never done a true colored piece, but she'll give it a try sometime now that he's procured her some supplies. "I'm gonna have to just follow what I see. It will look wrong to you, but, maybe... you can help me with it?"
"Well, maybe I can just tell you the right colors to use," Bucky says, giving her a sheepish grin. "Just call me an artistic consultant at this point, right?"
It means more time spent with her, which he wants desperately.
"Too bad there's not really a way to correct for color blindness. Ordinary vision problems, yes, but we're a ways off from correcting for that condition."
"I'm gonna be bothering you so often you're gonna get sick of me." Because why would she not take advantage of his offer to be her eyes? It's a great excuse to talk to him. "But I would really like that." She might not even mind being color blind for the rest of her life.
She finishes the piece and holds it out to him with both hands, her smile sheepish and nervous. Technically she hadn't had to do anything really different, but him being right there to use as a model and to watch her just feels... more. "I love sketching you," she admits despite her nerves. "You're very nice to look at and think about."
"You do a really good job of it," Bucky says, fascinated as he looks down at what she's drawn. She seems to catch the little movements of his face that he doesn't realize that he's doing and there's a light in his eyes when she sketches him that makes the picture look like it's going to jump right off the page.
"You definitely need to sell these," he says. "I know plenty of people who would buy portraits like this. It's more intimate than a photograph. I know it's the most intimate present I've ever received and I've been engaged before."
"If you really believe I can do it," she relents, her blush returning at his compliments. The embarrassment aside, it's a good idea. By selling her work, she'll be able to save up to pay him back eventually. It's a comfort even if he'll ultimately refuse to accept being repaid for taking care of her. And isn't that the dream anyway? Getting to do what you love for a living?
She runs her fingers over the pencils. "Thanks again for these. I'm really touched." Not just the pencils, but for everything they've talked about. Though there's a part of her that still thinks he'll change his mind eventually, so she doesn't keep her hopes up too much. She at least got tonight.
"It's getting late. You ought to get some rest." She doesn't actually want him to go, but he's had a long day. It's not like she's going anywhere for a couple more days, anyway. Unless she dies from some complication, which would be such a shame.
"I'm exhausted," Bucky admits. "There's too many patients and not enough doctors. I don't really want to go, though, so you ought to know that. I'm just going to fall asleep sitting up if I don't."
Bucky touches her hand and squeezes it lightly. "I'll be here in the morning to check on you and if something happens in the night they'll call me. I have my own private telephone at home."
It's late enough that she's pretty sure there shouldn't be anyone in the vicinity of her room, and that's what emboldens her to lean forward to press a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you. I'll be here tomorrow," she teases, her cheeks flushed.
He's lucky they're in a hospital room, because she'd have done something more embarrassing otherwise. As flustered as she can get when she's complimented or when someone does something nice for her, she also has an impulsive, reckless side.
Bucky knows that he's probably blushing because he didn't expect that at all but he doesn't regret it and isn't offended. On the contrary, he wants to stay and do something he'll regret because Steph is still his patient so he flusters a bit when he says goodbye.
"Well, yes, I'll be here in the morning to...to check your progress and see about a discharge, Miss Rogers. I hope you have a nice night. Well, it's a hospital, no night is nice, but you know what I mean."
She had a nice night. She had the extra blankets he requested for her, her new sketchpad and pencils, and the promise of him returning in the morning after already spending some time with her that day. She even thought about his fingers opening her dress instead of her hospital gown, his hand squeezing her breast instead of her hand—
The cold morning air has her coughing, but she doesn't feel as tired as she normally does. Breakfast is the usual hospital slop, yet even that doesn't disrupt her good mood. Then it's a matter of waiting, so she's already sketching by the time he arrives.
"Doctor," she greets with a knowing smile, shutting the sketchpad and slipping it under her pillow before straightening up. Her latest sketch is a surprise for now.
"Miss Rogers," Bucky says. He cannot help but smile, though, because she is much more than a patient to him. Her color looks good, not sallow and sickly the way it has been, and he lifts his stethoscope to put it in his ears.
"Time to take a listen," he says, coaxing her to let him hear her lungs. What he hears is good and clear in a way that he hasn't heard since she got admitted and while there's the wheeze of asthma, it isn't concerning.
"You're ready to be checked out. I'll put in the paperwork and you can go ahead and get dressed. I'll just note that you're going into extended care due to the delicacy of your lungs."
With that, he goes to do just that, leaving Steph to get ready so he can take her to "extended care." Perhaps that shouldn't be his house but he doesn't care. He's already planned for the half day to "settle her in."
She's relieved to be leaving the hospital, having been admitted long enough this time around, though part of that relief is because they can now openly pursue this attraction they both agreed they shared. She wonders how he'll get away with "extended care" but there's probably a way around that. He's a man, people will listen to him.
So she gets dressed, then packs what little belongings she'd had coming in and the new art supplies she's leaving with. It's not until after that, while she sits at the edge of the bed in wait, that she starts to have second thoughts. Not because she doesn't want it, but because she's nervous. Is he really sure about this? What's going to happen once they get to his place? She'd kissed him last night, what would he say to that?
Bucky has his own car, naturally, so once Steph is checked out he guides her there. No one seems to care what happens now that she's discharged and he's no longer her doctor and that's how he prefers it.
He opens the door for her. "Go ahead and get in. It isn't really that long of a drive and then you can rest if you need to."
This should be the part where she changes her mind and goes on her own way, right? After all, this all seems too good to be true, and the last thing she wants is to get her hopes up only to be disappointed.
But he smiles and opens the door of his car for her and she finds herself not wanting to refuse. Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe he'll just get bored of her eventually and make her leave. Does it matter, when right now he wants her? He did say he was lonely, and she was, too.
So she thanks him and gets inside. She spends the short ride asking if he'd slept well and how his morning went, more open and comfortable now that they're no longer in the hospital as patient and doctor.
The answers to both questions are "I don't sleep very much," and "Rushed, but good progress on all of his patients." Bucky doesn't mind sharing that much with her because it isn't specifics and he certainly doesn't mind sharing specifics about himself.
She has very little in the way of things to carry but after he opens the car door for him, he makes a fuss about carrying her things inside. "If you end up wanting to stay longer, I can drive to your place and pick up what you might want or need."
She would normally be huffy about doing things herself, but she finds that it's... nice, to have this. So she's left just holding her sketchpad, the rest of her things in his strong, capable hands.
She tries not to think too much about wanting to stay longer. Frankly, she already does. So "Thank you," is all she says to that, accompanied by a soft, shy smile. And it doesn't go away, only grows more embarrassed, once they're inside and he settles her in her room.
The spare bedroom that's now hers is big and fancy. She sets her sketchpad down on the nightstand with care, then hovers uncertainly in the middle of the room. She doesn't want to just set herself down on the bed, feeling like she'd soil the sheets. Maybe after a bath.
"Do you think I would have gone through the trouble to get you set up here if I didn't want you here? Yes, I want you here," Bucky says. "Stop worrying about it. Whenever you feel like going home, if you do, let me know and I'll drive you there. Until then, stay here with me and rest up. Don't worry about money or food or anything but getting better."
He's serious about that even if his intentions aren't pure.
"Is there anything you need or want right now? I can get it for you. I don't want you lifting a finger until your lungs are better."
"Okay." Well, that's a lie, and he deserves better for being so nice to her, so she amends, "I'll try not to worry." It'll be hard, since she's worried about money and work for so long, but maybe he has some means to distract her.
She rakes a hand self-consciously through her hair. "I think I gotta clean up before I get in there," she answers with a knowing tilt of her head toward the bed. "I know you work at the hospital, but I've been in there for weeks. I smell like antiseptic."
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Bucky takes care not to move very much so she can sketch him with ease.
"That doesn't mean you can keep pushing yourself every time and expect to come out all right, though. Your body does need the rest and I'm going to make sure you get it."
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Blushing at her admission, she ducks her head to focus on her sketching. The modeling is just an excuse, really; she's watched him closely and long enough that she can draw him from memory. But it's nice to be able to see the finer details without having to be furtive about it.
She starts shading his eyes. "I wish I could see blue. I bet your eyes are even prettier in the right color," she compliments, her tone unabashed despite the flush on her cheeks.
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She says that she wishes she could see blue and he tries not to move too much when he frames his next question even though he can feel the frown lines forming on his brow in spite of himself.
"What color does it look like, then? Describe it to me?"
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Her eyes are blue too, but she hasn't particularly cared. In fact she's never actually drawn herself.
"I like to go to the movies, when I can," she says after a moment. You know, since they're getting to know each other. "Or the dancehalls, sometimes, but just to watch. I'm not a good dancer. I can't keep up."
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Steph talks about going to the movies and it reminds him that he hasn’t been in forever. His smile softens a bit.
“I should take you to the movies then. There’s at least a hundred of them I haven’t seen because I’m too busy so anything we see will be brand new to me even if it’s old news to you. I manage to keep up with the war on the radio and in the papers. Luckily, it’s still in Europe and we are an entire ocean away.”
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Her expression brightens when he mentions taking her to the movies. She doesn't even think about it being a proper date or how being seen with him would look like to other people. "You should. You're doing the Lord's work here, Doc, but even God rested and so should you," she teases.
She doesn't comment on the war. She tries to avoid any talk of it, as much as possible. Her father had died in the last one and she'd seen for herself how miserable it had made her mother.
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Bucky has a large brownstone, honestly, but not large enough for an entire room to screen films in. He wishes he did because it'd be nice to curl up with Stephanie and watch one right at home.
"So if you can't tell which color is which, how do you know what paint to use? Do you just trust what's on the tube or do you only ever use pencils?"
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She likes the idea of a movie you can watch at home though. What a marvel! "Maybe that Stark guy can invent one," she muses. She's been to one of the man's shows. Lots of pomp, but also promise. "He can already make a car fly."
She doesn't look up at him at the question about her tools, though she slows down with her shading to answer him. "Can't afford paints anyway," she admits in a quiet tone. "Pencils and charcoal are cheaper." She's never done a true colored piece, but she'll give it a try sometime now that he's procured her some supplies. "I'm gonna have to just follow what I see. It will look wrong to you, but, maybe... you can help me with it?"
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It means more time spent with her, which he wants desperately.
"Too bad there's not really a way to correct for color blindness. Ordinary vision problems, yes, but we're a ways off from correcting for that condition."
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She finishes the piece and holds it out to him with both hands, her smile sheepish and nervous. Technically she hadn't had to do anything really different, but him being right there to use as a model and to watch her just feels... more. "I love sketching you," she admits despite her nerves. "You're very nice to look at and think about."
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"You definitely need to sell these," he says. "I know plenty of people who would buy portraits like this. It's more intimate than a photograph. I know it's the most intimate present I've ever received and I've been engaged before."
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She runs her fingers over the pencils. "Thanks again for these. I'm really touched." Not just the pencils, but for everything they've talked about. Though there's a part of her that still thinks he'll change his mind eventually, so she doesn't keep her hopes up too much. She at least got tonight.
"It's getting late. You ought to get some rest." She doesn't actually want him to go, but he's had a long day. It's not like she's going anywhere for a couple more days, anyway. Unless she dies from some complication, which would be such a shame.
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Bucky touches her hand and squeezes it lightly. "I'll be here in the morning to check on you and if something happens in the night they'll call me. I have my own private telephone at home."
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He's lucky they're in a hospital room, because she'd have done something more embarrassing otherwise. As flustered as she can get when she's complimented or when someone does something nice for her, she also has an impulsive, reckless side.
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"Well, yes, I'll be here in the morning to...to check your progress and see about a discharge, Miss Rogers. I hope you have a nice night. Well, it's a hospital, no night is nice, but you know what I mean."
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The cold morning air has her coughing, but she doesn't feel as tired as she normally does. Breakfast is the usual hospital slop, yet even that doesn't disrupt her good mood. Then it's a matter of waiting, so she's already sketching by the time he arrives.
"Doctor," she greets with a knowing smile, shutting the sketchpad and slipping it under her pillow before straightening up. Her latest sketch is a surprise for now.
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"Time to take a listen," he says, coaxing her to let him hear her lungs. What he hears is good and clear in a way that he hasn't heard since she got admitted and while there's the wheeze of asthma, it isn't concerning.
"You're ready to be checked out. I'll put in the paperwork and you can go ahead and get dressed. I'll just note that you're going into extended care due to the delicacy of your lungs."
With that, he goes to do just that, leaving Steph to get ready so he can take her to "extended care." Perhaps that shouldn't be his house but he doesn't care. He's already planned for the half day to "settle her in."
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So she gets dressed, then packs what little belongings she'd had coming in and the new art supplies she's leaving with. It's not until after that, while she sits at the edge of the bed in wait, that she starts to have second thoughts. Not because she doesn't want it, but because she's nervous. Is he really sure about this? What's going to happen once they get to his place? She'd kissed him last night, what would he say to that?
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He opens the door for her. "Go ahead and get in. It isn't really that long of a drive and then you can rest if you need to."
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But he smiles and opens the door of his car for her and she finds herself not wanting to refuse. Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe he'll just get bored of her eventually and make her leave. Does it matter, when right now he wants her? He did say he was lonely, and she was, too.
So she thanks him and gets inside. She spends the short ride asking if he'd slept well and how his morning went, more open and comfortable now that they're no longer in the hospital as patient and doctor.
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She has very little in the way of things to carry but after he opens the car door for him, he makes a fuss about carrying her things inside. "If you end up wanting to stay longer, I can drive to your place and pick up what you might want or need."
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She tries not to think too much about wanting to stay longer. Frankly, she already does. So "Thank you," is all she says to that, accompanied by a soft, shy smile. And it doesn't go away, only grows more embarrassed, once they're inside and he settles her in her room.
The spare bedroom that's now hers is big and fancy. She sets her sketchpad down on the nightstand with care, then hovers uncertainly in the middle of the room. She doesn't want to just set herself down on the bed, feeling like she'd soil the sheets. Maybe after a bath.
"Are you really sure you want me here?"
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He's serious about that even if his intentions aren't pure.
"Is there anything you need or want right now? I can get it for you. I don't want you lifting a finger until your lungs are better."
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She rakes a hand self-consciously through her hair. "I think I gotta clean up before I get in there," she answers with a knowing tilt of her head toward the bed. "I know you work at the hospital, but I've been in there for weeks. I smell like antiseptic."