Day 31 | not-date
Title: not-date
Rating: FR13
Word Count: 2365
Series: we ain’t ever getting older (aka sequel to normal(ish) life)
Disclaimer: Captain America and all related characters are copyright of Marvel Entertainment and Stan Lee. Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all related characters are copyright of Joss Whedon and ME. No infringement intended.
Synopsis: Steve’s early and Bucky thinks Buffy is a bad influence. He’s not wrong. Sequel to normal(ish) life
+
Three rapid-fire knocks tightened Buffy Summers’ shoulders and she frowned at herself in the mirror. The opaque surface, tarnished at the edges and chipped in the center, reflected the narrowing of green eyes before they dipped down. Her left hand, holding the tin for the mascara, twisted so she could see her watch. The lines between her brows deepened at the time and with the fact that her not-date was early by nearly forty minutes.
“Just a minute!” was tossed over her shoulder in the general direction of the door. Buffy didn’t bother to raise her voice; it wasn’t a large apartment and Steve was asthmatic, not hard of hearing.
She leaned forward, past the sink and her meticulously organized bobby pins, to focus on her reflection. The brush for the mascara was drawn through what was left in her tin-she’d added Vaseline to stretch it just a bit more-before applying it to her lashes. The applicator reminded her of modern-day eyebrow brushes but worked well enough. She’d also commandeered a paintbrush or two from Steve’s art supplies to supplement her lack of beauty provisions.
Satisfied with her lashes, but still far from finished, she returned the mascara to the cabinet behind the mirror before making her way to the front door. Her apartment was one long rectangle with only two doors. The front door that opened to her kitchen and a bathroom door which also, disturbingly, opened to the kitchen.
A hand was pressed to the front door, and she flipped the cover for the peephole to the side and rose on tiptop to see out. A distorted image of Steve, neighbor from one floor up and her not-date for the evening, made her smile as she watched him run a hand through his hair. She envied him the bright blond as her own had returned the dirty blonde shade of her youth.
She barely had the money for rent-let alone a trip to the salon.
Her hand dropped from door to handle, stepping back while it opened. She offered by way of greeting and welcome, “You’re early.”
“Told ya,” a hand settled on Steve’s shoulder, shoving to make him stumbled a bit as he crossed the threshold. “Good evening, Buffy.”
She quirked a brow at Bucky’s antics before shutting the door behind the boys and made an attempt at hosting, “Help yourself to some coffee,” Steve’s grimace rolled her eyes, “or make a fresh pot. I still need to finish up.”
“You look beautiful,” Steve assured her.
“Flatterer,” Buffy countered with a quirked brow, “Careful, Rogers, or I might think was an actual date.”
She didn’t wait to see the blush but caught Bucky’s frown as she turned to make her way back into the bathroom to finish up. Her head inclined as she settled herself in front of the mirror and reached for the cabinet and the rest of her makeup. She watched Bucky’s reflection as he hooked a shoulder into the room, the rest of his lean frame settling in the doorway while Steve made himself at home in her kitchen.
The cupboards opened and closed as he searched for what she had on hand to make decent coffee. There was a splash as he dumped what remained of her own pot. Buffy’s nose wrinkled as she tried, and failed, to ignore the violent shaking it took to get the sludge off the bottom. Or the terrible noise it made as it slid into the trash.
Bucky’s mouth quirked and the dip of his chin told her, better than words, that he wasn’t ignoring Steve efforts and he found her inability to cook with antique appliances far more amusing than he should. Granted, the metal coffee pot-while dented all to hell-was cutting edge for the twentieth century, but to Buffy it was far from user friendly. It’s not like she could Google how to use the damn thing and it hadn’t come with instructions.
She missed the internet. And Starbucks. And sex. Not necessarily in that order. She didn’t let herself miss her friends. That way led to madness and Haagen-Dazs. She wasn’t even sure Haagen-Dazs existed yet-so mostly just the madness.
Shaking her head, at both her inability to grieve properly and that the women’s lib movement was decades off, Buffy focused on the makeup and the excuse they called foundation. It was thick and barely matched a girls’ skin-tone which forced Buffy to wear it down her neck and blend as best she could or risk the makeup line of shame.
“You did your eyes first,” Bucky observed from the doorway.
Buffy caught his gaze in the mirror and found him marginally more interested in what she was doing than Steve. She returned the foundation to the cabinet and snagged the powder, which was closer to her actual skin-tone, but slid right the hell off without the foundation, and shrugged. “It’s easier to fix mistakes.”
“Mistakes?” His head inclined with the question, and he smiled, likely because she was using one of Steve’s paint brushes to apply the powder.
Buffy ignored his amusement as she explained, “Mascara smudges, eyeshadow fall out. That sorta thing.” She leaned forward to work it around her mouth the way girls at the boarding house had taught her. It didn’t settle into any fine lines.
Though the lack of fine lines in and of itself was worrisome.
“Eyeshadow fall-out? Sounds dangerous.” Bucky’s deadpan wasn’t nearly as dry as Steve’s, but points for effort.
She glanced at him before finishing her neck with a few upward sweeps. His smile widened when he found her watching him and Buffy tapped the brush against the sink as she inquired, “So who’ll be your date this evening, Bucky? Suzy, Sally and Sharon? Or someone new?”
“That was one time-”
“That you had three dates,” Buffy countered and further clarified, “That were sisters.”
“Cousins!” Bucky exhaled and straightened, “The date was with Suzy, Sally was for Steve.”
He ignored the muttered, “I don’t think so,” from Steve in the kitchen.
“And Sharon came along as a-a…” he snapped is fingers before clarifying, “a chaperon.”
Women’s lib could not come soon enough as far as Buffy was concerned. “A chaperon only 3 years older?”
A hand came up to rub at the back of his neck as Bucky shifted under her scrutiny. “She was married.”
“And flirtatious.” Buffy turned back to the cabinet to return the powder and brush. She retrieved her blush, used a sparing amount as most of its ingredients were being rationed, before grabbing a few different lipstick choices and led Bucky from the bathroom and back into the kitchen.
The lipsticks were deposited on the kitchen table before Buffy smiled at Steve and assured him, “Almost ready.”
“Coffee too,” he returned her smile that widened at Bucky’s expense when he prompted, “So who is your date tonight?”
Buffy rolled her lips inward to hide her grin as Steve took over and retrieved her dress from the back of the chair. Bucky shook his head at his best friend and countered, “All I do for you and you take her side.”
“There’s no side,” Steve argued, “I’m just curious and you seem,” his head inclined as he looked up him, “Shifty is all.” Steve glanced at her, “He seem shifty to you, Buffy?”
“Punk,” was muttered with no real heat.
“Squirrelly,” Buffy countered and looked the man in question up and down before nodding, “Definitely squirrelly.”
“Clara!” Bucky snapped and threw his hands up, “Her name is Clara. She’s a sweet girl.” He narrowed his eyes at the both of them. “Be nice.”
“I’m always nice,” Steve assured him.
“I’m not,” Buffy chirped with a shrug.
“She’s not,” Steve agreed, pointing a finger in her general direction and smiled his most innocent smile.
Bucky wasn’t fooled.
The boys continued to squabble as she slipped back into the bathroom to change. The dressing gown, that was yards of rust colored satin and beyond cozy, replaced the dress on the hanger and she hung it on the clothesline in the shower. She stepped into the dress, directing it easily up over her hose and garter ensemble-which had been adorable in the beginning, but was now just tiresome-before slipping it up her arms to settled on her shoulders.
Buffy closed her eyes as she fumbled with the zipper and inhaled, tightening her stomach before directing it upwards. The two square meals a day she was allotted at the diner was doing wonders for her figure, but also made some of her clothing just a bit too tight. A few more weeks of tips and she could allow herself a shopping spree.
She turned to the mirror to adjust the dress and wish away the shoulder pads. They were barely noticeable, but still a nuisance. The green dress was a one shoulder wingtip design, and in her day it would’ve stayed one shoulder, but modesty was still king. The other shoulder was covered in white fabric that had a checkered design of green and grey with silver sown throughout.
It was why Buffy chose to part her hair on the right, opposite of the bit of sparkle at her shoulder, and the hair had held up through the morning rush at the diner. Thankfully. She gave herself one last glance in the mirror before slipping back out into the kitchen. The boys were seated at the dinette set and Steve stood, Bucky following just a bit behind.
“Buffy,” Steve’s smile was the real deal, “you look lovely.”
“Yeah, Day,” Bucky grinned, “You clean up nice.”
The use of the name her boss, Henry, had given her after mishearing her reminded Buffy that she’d needed a social security number to go along with alias of Ms. Beth Day soon or Vera, Henry’s wife, would shove her right out the door. She couldn’t use the social she remembered-Buffy was pretty certain they weren’t that high yet.
She’d found a sample card in a wallet at Woolworths. The number 078-05-1120* sounded legitimate enough. Hopefully the FBI had no interest in a waitress’ wages or Henry hadn’t purchased a wallet in recent years. She’d find out Sunday morning when she presented it to Vera.
“Buffy?” Steve made her name a question and she found his smile had dimmed as she became lost in thought. He moved the chair between the boys out from the table to offer her a seat.
“Thanks,” Buffy took the seat and sat down gingerly as Steve pushed her in. What Steve lacked in height he more than made up for in manners and humor, but it also meant she was wearing her shortest heals to make sure she didn’t tower over her not-date.
A cup of coffee was placed in front of her, and Buffy warped her hands around the too hot ceramic as the boys sat. Bucky relaxed into his chair, his suit jacket had been removed while she changed and was now draped behind him. The suspenders were very dark against his white shirt and Buffy hid her smile at the sight of them behind her coffee. She knew a few Hipster mini-Slayers that would’ve given their eye teeth for them.
“I couldn’t find milk,” Steve said by way of apology.
“I went for cheese instead with this week’s rations,” Buffy admitted even as she took a sip from the cup. It was hot and bitter and sometimes she missed Frappuccino’s like a lost limb.
“Think we’ll every join in this war?” Bucky asked before grimacing into his own mug. This particular friend had an inkling towards the sweet things and strong, black coffee wasn’t on his list of favorites.
“We oughtta,” Steve countered, “It’s the right thing to do.”
“And you’re all about what’s right.” Bucky shook his head, “war isn’t something we should aim for, Steve.”
“The world’s already at war,” Buffy reminded him and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her gut. War coverage wasn’t on the front page of the newspapers, not yet, but she looked for it each day and wished she’d paid closer attention in history, but she knew America would join in sooner rather than later-if this world followed the same path as her own.
“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, “the world. Not us.”
“We’re in it,” Steve argued, “We’re rationing food and metal to send across the ocean. We should be sending men to help fight.”
“And women,” Buffy tacked on and pinned her neighbor with a look that dared him to argue.
But since it was Steve, and not Bucky, he simply nodded with her statement. “Exactly,” his mouth thinned as he contemplated his declaration.
“Get all this war talk out of your system now.” Bucky interrupted, “I don’t want you scaring off Clara like you did Emily.”
“You brought it up,” Buffy offered sweetly before taking another sip of coffee. Bucky directed a wink her way and Buffy arched a brow in response, “You’re sneaky.”
“What?” Steve was looking back and forth between them before those blue eyes of his squinted at Bucky. “Jerk.”
“You gonna take Day around the dance floor this time?” Bucky countered the insult with a smirk.
Buffy frowned at the blush that worked its way up Steve’s narrow features. She took another sip of her coffee before offering, tone mild, “Or he could bring up the war and chase off your date, so you’ll be free to dance with me.” She slid her gaze to Bucky’s and watched it widen before tacking on, “again.”
“You chased Emily off on purpose?” Bucky almost sounded annoyed-except they all knew Emily hadn’t been his best date by far.
Steve was once again looking between the two of them before his head inclined, and while Buffy knew it wasn’t in Steve lie outright to his best friend, he did manage a convincing, “Maybe.”
“You’re a bad influence,” Bucky snarked, but couldn’t quite hide his chuckle.
Buffy rolled her eyes. “I’m merely broadening his definition of the truth.”
Bucky choked on his coffee while she shared a grin with Steve.
+
Note: The social security number mentioned in this story has a nifty history behind it. In 1938 Woolworth's decided to promot it's new wallet by showing how social security card fit into it. They thought it would be a swell idea to use a photocopy of a real person's social security card and by 1945 over 5000 people were using this poor person's social security number. This number has since been retired. I do so love the research. :)
Rating: FR13
Word Count: 2365
Series: we ain’t ever getting older (aka sequel to normal(ish) life)
Disclaimer: Captain America and all related characters are copyright of Marvel Entertainment and Stan Lee. Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all related characters are copyright of Joss Whedon and ME. No infringement intended.
Synopsis: Steve’s early and Bucky thinks Buffy is a bad influence. He’s not wrong. Sequel to normal(ish) life
+
Three rapid-fire knocks tightened Buffy Summers’ shoulders and she frowned at herself in the mirror. The opaque surface, tarnished at the edges and chipped in the center, reflected the narrowing of green eyes before they dipped down. Her left hand, holding the tin for the mascara, twisted so she could see her watch. The lines between her brows deepened at the time and with the fact that her not-date was early by nearly forty minutes.
“Just a minute!” was tossed over her shoulder in the general direction of the door. Buffy didn’t bother to raise her voice; it wasn’t a large apartment and Steve was asthmatic, not hard of hearing.
She leaned forward, past the sink and her meticulously organized bobby pins, to focus on her reflection. The brush for the mascara was drawn through what was left in her tin-she’d added Vaseline to stretch it just a bit more-before applying it to her lashes. The applicator reminded her of modern-day eyebrow brushes but worked well enough. She’d also commandeered a paintbrush or two from Steve’s art supplies to supplement her lack of beauty provisions.
Satisfied with her lashes, but still far from finished, she returned the mascara to the cabinet behind the mirror before making her way to the front door. Her apartment was one long rectangle with only two doors. The front door that opened to her kitchen and a bathroom door which also, disturbingly, opened to the kitchen.
A hand was pressed to the front door, and she flipped the cover for the peephole to the side and rose on tiptop to see out. A distorted image of Steve, neighbor from one floor up and her not-date for the evening, made her smile as she watched him run a hand through his hair. She envied him the bright blond as her own had returned the dirty blonde shade of her youth.
She barely had the money for rent-let alone a trip to the salon.
Her hand dropped from door to handle, stepping back while it opened. She offered by way of greeting and welcome, “You’re early.”
“Told ya,” a hand settled on Steve’s shoulder, shoving to make him stumbled a bit as he crossed the threshold. “Good evening, Buffy.”
She quirked a brow at Bucky’s antics before shutting the door behind the boys and made an attempt at hosting, “Help yourself to some coffee,” Steve’s grimace rolled her eyes, “or make a fresh pot. I still need to finish up.”
“You look beautiful,” Steve assured her.
“Flatterer,” Buffy countered with a quirked brow, “Careful, Rogers, or I might think was an actual date.”
She didn’t wait to see the blush but caught Bucky’s frown as she turned to make her way back into the bathroom to finish up. Her head inclined as she settled herself in front of the mirror and reached for the cabinet and the rest of her makeup. She watched Bucky’s reflection as he hooked a shoulder into the room, the rest of his lean frame settling in the doorway while Steve made himself at home in her kitchen.
The cupboards opened and closed as he searched for what she had on hand to make decent coffee. There was a splash as he dumped what remained of her own pot. Buffy’s nose wrinkled as she tried, and failed, to ignore the violent shaking it took to get the sludge off the bottom. Or the terrible noise it made as it slid into the trash.
Bucky’s mouth quirked and the dip of his chin told her, better than words, that he wasn’t ignoring Steve efforts and he found her inability to cook with antique appliances far more amusing than he should. Granted, the metal coffee pot-while dented all to hell-was cutting edge for the twentieth century, but to Buffy it was far from user friendly. It’s not like she could Google how to use the damn thing and it hadn’t come with instructions.
She missed the internet. And Starbucks. And sex. Not necessarily in that order. She didn’t let herself miss her friends. That way led to madness and Haagen-Dazs. She wasn’t even sure Haagen-Dazs existed yet-so mostly just the madness.
Shaking her head, at both her inability to grieve properly and that the women’s lib movement was decades off, Buffy focused on the makeup and the excuse they called foundation. It was thick and barely matched a girls’ skin-tone which forced Buffy to wear it down her neck and blend as best she could or risk the makeup line of shame.
“You did your eyes first,” Bucky observed from the doorway.
Buffy caught his gaze in the mirror and found him marginally more interested in what she was doing than Steve. She returned the foundation to the cabinet and snagged the powder, which was closer to her actual skin-tone, but slid right the hell off without the foundation, and shrugged. “It’s easier to fix mistakes.”
“Mistakes?” His head inclined with the question, and he smiled, likely because she was using one of Steve’s paint brushes to apply the powder.
Buffy ignored his amusement as she explained, “Mascara smudges, eyeshadow fall out. That sorta thing.” She leaned forward to work it around her mouth the way girls at the boarding house had taught her. It didn’t settle into any fine lines.
Though the lack of fine lines in and of itself was worrisome.
“Eyeshadow fall-out? Sounds dangerous.” Bucky’s deadpan wasn’t nearly as dry as Steve’s, but points for effort.
She glanced at him before finishing her neck with a few upward sweeps. His smile widened when he found her watching him and Buffy tapped the brush against the sink as she inquired, “So who’ll be your date this evening, Bucky? Suzy, Sally and Sharon? Or someone new?”
“That was one time-”
“That you had three dates,” Buffy countered and further clarified, “That were sisters.”
“Cousins!” Bucky exhaled and straightened, “The date was with Suzy, Sally was for Steve.”
He ignored the muttered, “I don’t think so,” from Steve in the kitchen.
“And Sharon came along as a-a…” he snapped is fingers before clarifying, “a chaperon.”
Women’s lib could not come soon enough as far as Buffy was concerned. “A chaperon only 3 years older?”
A hand came up to rub at the back of his neck as Bucky shifted under her scrutiny. “She was married.”
“And flirtatious.” Buffy turned back to the cabinet to return the powder and brush. She retrieved her blush, used a sparing amount as most of its ingredients were being rationed, before grabbing a few different lipstick choices and led Bucky from the bathroom and back into the kitchen.
The lipsticks were deposited on the kitchen table before Buffy smiled at Steve and assured him, “Almost ready.”
“Coffee too,” he returned her smile that widened at Bucky’s expense when he prompted, “So who is your date tonight?”
Buffy rolled her lips inward to hide her grin as Steve took over and retrieved her dress from the back of the chair. Bucky shook his head at his best friend and countered, “All I do for you and you take her side.”
“There’s no side,” Steve argued, “I’m just curious and you seem,” his head inclined as he looked up him, “Shifty is all.” Steve glanced at her, “He seem shifty to you, Buffy?”
“Punk,” was muttered with no real heat.
“Squirrelly,” Buffy countered and looked the man in question up and down before nodding, “Definitely squirrelly.”
“Clara!” Bucky snapped and threw his hands up, “Her name is Clara. She’s a sweet girl.” He narrowed his eyes at the both of them. “Be nice.”
“I’m always nice,” Steve assured him.
“I’m not,” Buffy chirped with a shrug.
“She’s not,” Steve agreed, pointing a finger in her general direction and smiled his most innocent smile.
Bucky wasn’t fooled.
The boys continued to squabble as she slipped back into the bathroom to change. The dressing gown, that was yards of rust colored satin and beyond cozy, replaced the dress on the hanger and she hung it on the clothesline in the shower. She stepped into the dress, directing it easily up over her hose and garter ensemble-which had been adorable in the beginning, but was now just tiresome-before slipping it up her arms to settled on her shoulders.
Buffy closed her eyes as she fumbled with the zipper and inhaled, tightening her stomach before directing it upwards. The two square meals a day she was allotted at the diner was doing wonders for her figure, but also made some of her clothing just a bit too tight. A few more weeks of tips and she could allow herself a shopping spree.
She turned to the mirror to adjust the dress and wish away the shoulder pads. They were barely noticeable, but still a nuisance. The green dress was a one shoulder wingtip design, and in her day it would’ve stayed one shoulder, but modesty was still king. The other shoulder was covered in white fabric that had a checkered design of green and grey with silver sown throughout.
It was why Buffy chose to part her hair on the right, opposite of the bit of sparkle at her shoulder, and the hair had held up through the morning rush at the diner. Thankfully. She gave herself one last glance in the mirror before slipping back out into the kitchen. The boys were seated at the dinette set and Steve stood, Bucky following just a bit behind.
“Buffy,” Steve’s smile was the real deal, “you look lovely.”
“Yeah, Day,” Bucky grinned, “You clean up nice.”
The use of the name her boss, Henry, had given her after mishearing her reminded Buffy that she’d needed a social security number to go along with alias of Ms. Beth Day soon or Vera, Henry’s wife, would shove her right out the door. She couldn’t use the social she remembered-Buffy was pretty certain they weren’t that high yet.
She’d found a sample card in a wallet at Woolworths. The number 078-05-1120* sounded legitimate enough. Hopefully the FBI had no interest in a waitress’ wages or Henry hadn’t purchased a wallet in recent years. She’d find out Sunday morning when she presented it to Vera.
“Buffy?” Steve made her name a question and she found his smile had dimmed as she became lost in thought. He moved the chair between the boys out from the table to offer her a seat.
“Thanks,” Buffy took the seat and sat down gingerly as Steve pushed her in. What Steve lacked in height he more than made up for in manners and humor, but it also meant she was wearing her shortest heals to make sure she didn’t tower over her not-date.
A cup of coffee was placed in front of her, and Buffy warped her hands around the too hot ceramic as the boys sat. Bucky relaxed into his chair, his suit jacket had been removed while she changed and was now draped behind him. The suspenders were very dark against his white shirt and Buffy hid her smile at the sight of them behind her coffee. She knew a few Hipster mini-Slayers that would’ve given their eye teeth for them.
“I couldn’t find milk,” Steve said by way of apology.
“I went for cheese instead with this week’s rations,” Buffy admitted even as she took a sip from the cup. It was hot and bitter and sometimes she missed Frappuccino’s like a lost limb.
“Think we’ll every join in this war?” Bucky asked before grimacing into his own mug. This particular friend had an inkling towards the sweet things and strong, black coffee wasn’t on his list of favorites.
“We oughtta,” Steve countered, “It’s the right thing to do.”
“And you’re all about what’s right.” Bucky shook his head, “war isn’t something we should aim for, Steve.”
“The world’s already at war,” Buffy reminded him and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her gut. War coverage wasn’t on the front page of the newspapers, not yet, but she looked for it each day and wished she’d paid closer attention in history, but she knew America would join in sooner rather than later-if this world followed the same path as her own.
“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, “the world. Not us.”
“We’re in it,” Steve argued, “We’re rationing food and metal to send across the ocean. We should be sending men to help fight.”
“And women,” Buffy tacked on and pinned her neighbor with a look that dared him to argue.
But since it was Steve, and not Bucky, he simply nodded with her statement. “Exactly,” his mouth thinned as he contemplated his declaration.
“Get all this war talk out of your system now.” Bucky interrupted, “I don’t want you scaring off Clara like you did Emily.”
“You brought it up,” Buffy offered sweetly before taking another sip of coffee. Bucky directed a wink her way and Buffy arched a brow in response, “You’re sneaky.”
“What?” Steve was looking back and forth between them before those blue eyes of his squinted at Bucky. “Jerk.”
“You gonna take Day around the dance floor this time?” Bucky countered the insult with a smirk.
Buffy frowned at the blush that worked its way up Steve’s narrow features. She took another sip of her coffee before offering, tone mild, “Or he could bring up the war and chase off your date, so you’ll be free to dance with me.” She slid her gaze to Bucky’s and watched it widen before tacking on, “again.”
“You chased Emily off on purpose?” Bucky almost sounded annoyed-except they all knew Emily hadn’t been his best date by far.
Steve was once again looking between the two of them before his head inclined, and while Buffy knew it wasn’t in Steve lie outright to his best friend, he did manage a convincing, “Maybe.”
“You’re a bad influence,” Bucky snarked, but couldn’t quite hide his chuckle.
Buffy rolled her eyes. “I’m merely broadening his definition of the truth.”
Bucky choked on his coffee while she shared a grin with Steve.
+
Note: The social security number mentioned in this story has a nifty history behind it. In 1938 Woolworth's decided to promot it's new wallet by showing how social security card fit into it. They thought it would be a swell idea to use a photocopy of a real person's social security card and by 1945 over 5000 people were using this poor person's social security number. This number has since been retired. I do so love the research. :)