[AU] these are not the parts and poems of the body only, but of the soul

[from_the_outside]

They've all entered a kind of tense détente after the ill-advised dinner party. Tony throws himself into work, Sharon and Pepper mostly avoid each other, and Steve, Vision, and Nat continue with oversight duties.

And the thing is... Tony's working it out. 

Not a removal, exactly, but he's getting close, he'd told them, to at least blocking the commands. It's not perfect and it's not a permanent solution, but it's a step in the right direction. It's also a step in the direction of Tony needing to test the words on Bucky himself, and so Sharon and Steve are on extra high alert, keeping an eye out for any indication that Bucky's retreating into himself again. Sharon's mostly moved into the room they share in Steve's apartment for that very reason, though she still isn't wholly comfortable with being in Steve's space all the time.

He's away today, working with Sam and Rhodey on a veteran's outreach program, so it's Sharon who walks with Bucky through the halls of the compound towards Tony's rooms. "It's you and Vision with Tony today," she tells him, and glances across the distance they're careful to maintain when not alone behind closed doors.

"How are you feeling about everything?"

Comments

[nerves_of_ice]

He gets to it with a will, and this one seems to go a little better. All their practice from the first, he figures. In what seems like no time at all, they're draping the second crust over the top of the pan.

"Then I guess we stick the edges of the two together," Bucky mutters, and starts trying to do just that.

[from_the_outside]

Sharon positions herself around the corner from him and works on the other sides, tearing off excess dough as she goes.

It winds up a little lopsided, and the edges that he squishes together look different from the ones she squishes together, but in the end they wind up with a pan full of something that doesn't not look like pie.

Sharon gives it a dubious look. "Does that look right to you?"

[nerves_of_ice]

The answer is no, honestly, but he doesn't want to say that.

"Maybe once it's baked," he says instead, hopefully. "And it's all browned. Besides, no matter what it looks like, it should taste good, right?"

[from_the_outside]

"That's the spirit," she says, amused. As she opens the oven door, a blast of hot air hits her face.

"Okay, put it in. We'll leave it up to the fates."

[nerves_of_ice]

He grins at her, shifts the whole pan onto his left hand, slides it into the oven and shuts the door.

Bucky leans over to give her a quick kiss. "Cleanup now," he says. "I remember how that part goes. Steve and I learned that fast. Then when we're done the pie should be too, or nearly."

He turns to look at the table, and winces a little at the splotches of red mixed with flour.

[from_the_outside]

Sharon comes behind him to hug around his waist, giving the table a rueful look before she kisses the nape of his neck. "Soap and water?" she suggests, not very optimistically.

She pats his sides fondly and lets go to make her way to the sink, running the hot water and adding soap into the dishpan.

[nerves_of_ice]

"Usually a good approach," he agrees, and comes up beside her to dunk the dishrag into the soapy water. Bucky wrings it out and goes to try to mop up the flour from the table, with mixed success.

"... baby, did this stain?"

[from_the_outside]

She comes over to look, and doesn't quite manage to keep the wince from her expression. "Maybe a little," she hazards, looking at the faint pink marks on the tabletop.

They match the ones on her skin. She grabs the bowls they'd used for mixing the dough and filling and eyes the tabletop once more. "...But not bad?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"We'll put newspaper down next time," he comforts her. "I don't think it's too bad. If I can't scrub it out, maybe it'll wear off, or I can refinish it later or something."

Or get Steve a new table if he wants one, he thinks to himself.

[from_the_outside]

"I'm sure it'll scrub off," she says, with more optimism than she feels, and ties her hair back into a ponytail before she rinses out both bowls and dumps them into the dishpan to wash.

"That juice got everywhere."

[nerves_of_ice]

"They're really ripe cherries," he says, smiling at her.

"You look cute."

[from_the_outside]

She laughs and flicks soap suds at him.

"Make yourself useful and bring over anything else that needs to be washed," she says, but her imperious tone is at odds with her smiling eyes and dimpling cheeks.

[nerves_of_ice]

He chuckles and gathers up the fork, the paring knife, and everything else they've used, setting it all by the sink for her before he goes back to mopping at the tabletop.

[from_the_outside]

She washes the bowls and utensils and rinses them under steaming hot water, her hands pink from heat now as well as the cherry juice, then sets them to drain. The kitchen is beginning to fill with the scent of cooking pastry and cherries, and she allows herself a moment of optimism before she looks at the oven and groans.

"I forgot to set the timer," she says, aggrieved. "How long ago did we put it in, do you think?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"Uh..." Bucky turns to stare at the oven as well, as if it'll have the answer printed across the front.

"Ten minutes or so? Maybe? Fifteen at most, surely."

[from_the_outside]

"The recipe said to bake it for an hour or so," she says, and goes to the stove, poking at the buttons, only to accidentally hit the wrong one and turn the oven off. "Shoot – "

She quickly resets the temperature, then studies the buttons with the intensity of someone attempting to disarm a bomb. Eventually, she figures out the timer, and sets it for another thirty minutes.

"I guess... check it in half an hour?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"Sounds good," he agrees. Bucky rinses out the dishrag one final time, hangs it to dry, and smiles at her.

"What should we do with the time?"

[from_the_outside]

She smiles back, and comes over to wind her arms around his neck, then leans up to kiss him.

"Nothing too distracting," she teases, against his mouth. "How about a movie?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"Probably a good idea," he murmurs, kissing her back. "If we get that distracted, it'll be longer than half an hour."

[from_the_outside]

She grins and reaches for his hands, lacing their fingers together as she steps back.

"Come on, let's go find something to put on."

[nerves_of_ice]

He lets her lead him into the living room and settles beside her on the sofa as they start flicking through the entertainment options. By mutual consensus, they stay away from the news - that's work, or too much like it - and after a short discussion decide not to put on a full movie.

Sharon teases him with something called the 'Great British Bake-Off', and he rolls his eyes at it, but agrees. There's a bunch of seasons available, but she picks something from one of the early ones and they settle back, his arm around her as she snuggles close to his side.

[from_the_outside]

It only takes a few minutes of watching the show to realize that they probably messed up in a few places, but she reminds herself it was a first effort and opts not to worry about it. And the show is so soothing, with its cheerful bake tent and stolidly British contestants, that it's easy to relax against Bucky's side, her head against his shoulder, her bare feet tucked up on the couch behind her, her fingers laced lazily with his on her hip.

It hardly seems like any time at all has passed when the buzzer goes off in the kitchen, and she reaches for the remote to pause the show before getting up.

"Come on," she coaxes, drawing him up with their linked hands. "Let's go see how it's doing."

[nerves_of_ice]

He ambles down the hall with her toward the kitchen, then frowns as they draw close and he gets a good whiff of the air - which doesn't smell like the warm rich scent of cherries and pastry that they'd left before.

"Is that--"

The air in the kitchen's a little hazy. Bucky drops Sharon's hand and moves quickly to the oven to pull the door open - and as he does, he gets a wave of smoke full in the face.

On the ceiling in the hallway behind them, a smoke alarm begins to shriek.

[marvel_npc]

She'd been extremely dubious when Vision told her Sergeant Barnes and Agent Carter were going to attempt to make a pie, and more so when Vision cheerfully admitted that the Sergeant said he didn't have any experience.

"Maybe we should just check in on them," she'd suggested, and so they'd started heading in the direction of Steve's apartment. They'll just walk by, she tells herself. Maybe knock and see if the Sergeant and agent could use any help. Not that she especially wants to spend an afternoon in the kitchen with Agent Carter; Wanda has successfully managed to mostly avoid being around her too much, melting away like a street cat into the shadows when the woman comes around.

But they won't impose, she tells herself. They turn onto the hall where Steve lives – and a few steps later, are greeted by the shrill yell of a smoke alarm. "Vis!" Wanda says, sharply, and lifts herself into the air, red power in her hands, to speed toward the source of the sound.

[from_the_outside]

"Oh no – "

She coughs as acrid smoke billows out of the oven and reaches for a towel to flap ineffectually at the fire alarm, prudently leaving the removal of the smoldering remains of their experiment to Bucky and his metal hand. "What happened?"