[His fingers spasm on the edges of the dish, he's damned lucky he doesn't break the thing. He has to turn with deliberacy, to set the dish down and get an extra lemon from the fridge all the while facing away from them both. By God's grace, or Steve Rogers' stubbornness, he manages to keep the stiffness from his shoulders and his motions easy and casual.
It was something said too easily to be unmeant. And Bucky - the Soldier, with frost clinging like spidersilk in his mind - remembered that first night back from Azzano. What Peggy said had stuck with him. Left an impression.
I should have been kinder. That night, maybe all others since.
He cuts the lemon, squeezes it out over the apples, and wets the edge of the crust against the dish. Then, very carefully, he lays the final crust down overtop and starts the process of pressing a fork down against where the crusts meet to seal it down.]
Oven ready?
[That he sounds normal is a minor miracle, and he turns with the pie in his hands.]
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It was something said too easily to be unmeant. And Bucky - the Soldier, with frost clinging like spidersilk in his mind - remembered that first night back from Azzano. What Peggy said had stuck with him. Left an impression.
I should have been kinder. That night, maybe all others since.
He cuts the lemon, squeezes it out over the apples, and wets the edge of the crust against the dish. Then, very carefully, he lays the final crust down overtop and starts the process of pressing a fork down against where the crusts meet to seal it down.]
Oven ready?
[That he sounds normal is a minor miracle, and he turns with the pie in his hands.]