Paper Dolls

|chapter eight|

a/n: welcome back, y'all. thanks for being paitent. I love that you guys love this. 

hallway/bathroom smut, bridget being a bit of a brat, bucky really likes to talk

Bridget rushes down the hall, looking nervously behind her. Sunlight filters in from the broad windows at the end of the long corridor, basking everything in a late afternoon glow.

Her father is due home any minute and his unwanted questions would be a serious roadblock to her plans for the evening. No matter how old she gets, it's impossible to lie to his face. Her cheeks can't help but form a stupid smile and he knows she's not telling the truth every fucking time.

When James left the dress shop, her mother spent close to an hour ranting and raving about him. It bounced back and forth from wondering how someone like him had the audacity to come into her place of business to shock at the sheer amount of money that he was willing to spend on a dress. The war may have ended over two years ago, but silk like that from France still costs more than what most people around here make in a month.

She bangs on Wanda's door, three heavy hits as she shifts from side to side in anticipation. Her bottom lip has been chewed on without relief since the moment James walked out of the dress shop. It's what she's doing as the door flies open and Wanda's slender fingers grip her arm, pulling Bridget inside the small apartment.

"Okay, so I have a blue dress that you would look amazing in, but then there's also black which James seems to really like," Wanda says, rushing to the bedroom before emerging with a dress in each hand. "But, I don't want you to look like you're going to a funeral, you know what I mean?"

Bridget flops down onto the threadbare couch, her head falling against the back. She breathes in the spicy smell of whatever Wanda is making for dinner mixed with the sweetness of perfume.

"The blue will work. Where's Pietro?"

Laying the dress on the back of the chair, Wanda can't help but roll her eyes. She's dressed for a night in, soft pants and a button down shirt that is tied at her waist. Her normally flowing auburn hair is in a ponytail, swinging with every motion that she makes.

"Working. For James, actually."

Bridget sits straight up, eyes growing wide. A tingle of anger goes through her, annoyed at another secret being kept by the people around her.

"What? When did that start?"

Wanda fidgets with a loose thread on the cushion, not meeting her eyes. Her nose scrunches as her shoulders come up to her ears.

"Around, I don't know...a year ago?"

"A year?! And you didn't tell me?" she exclaims, in a voice high enough pitched that she swears the dogs start barking.

"Oh okay," Wanda huffs, slapping the couch cushions. "How was I supposed to tell you, the daughter of a police chief, that my brother was working for criminals?"

Bridget pouts, folding her arms over her chest. She understands, but she can't deny that it hurts. Wanda flops over onto her lap, poking Bridget's cheek with her fingernail. She tries to swipe her hand away and misses, which causes a small smile to break through.

"Don't be a baby. I just wanted to keep you outta trouble, that's all."

"Well, what kind of stuff does he do?" Bridget sighs, leaning forward and resting her chin on her hand.

Wanda hops up to the kitchen, stirring the pot on the stove and turning off the knobs on the oven. It smells amazing in the small space but then again it always does. Wanda never gives up an opportunity to make someone a meal, even if it's just for herself and her brother.