It's 2025, two years post blip and photography student Rosie Dylan is still learning how to rebuild her life. She's just trying to get to graduation and make enough cash to pay her rent. But then Captain America leaves her an unexpected voicemail.
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A/N: Hello friends, this chapter got away from me and somehow ended up being over 6k words, it's also very plot-heavy but I promise the next chapter will open with smut because I want Bucky and Rosie to bone already. But also, plot is important, I guess.
Warnings: mention of organs and drugs, there's also a little objectification of Bucky by some drunk women at a bachelorette party but it's shut down pretty quickly.
Please don't forget to vote and comment on the chapter! Enjoy!
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DELACROIX, LOUISIANA
"Are you allowed to be up there?"
Alpine stares at Rosie from the kitchen counter, her little head tilted and big round eyes exuding innocence as if to say "well, of course I am."
Rosie isn't convinced but the cat doesn't seem to be doing any harm, just swishing her fluffy tail across the oak worktop as she licks herself clean.
She leaves Alpine to it, cradling her mug of coffee in her palms as she wanders out to the porch. When she had a little explore of the house yesterday, she found sweet vanilla creamer in Bucky's fridge and caramel coffee syrup in the pantry and went to town with it. The overly sickly sweet scent of her drink was enough to wake her up before she'd even taken a sip. It's 6am and the sun is already twinkling on the water out front, catching through the trees surrounding the house. Rosie can understand why Bucky feels so at peace here. New York is constantly alive and kicking, too much sometimes, so much noise and chaos that even if you do manage to find those little pockets of quiet, the reprieve is brief.
But Delacroix is calm. It makes her feel the same way smooth jazz does, mellow like the strings or the brass as they float through the melody. Rosie finds that her whole body relaxes with the sound and that's exactly what the city has done since she arrived.
She prises her phone from the pocket of her sleep shorts, finding her favourite morning playlist on Spotify and setting it to shuffle. Etta James plays quietly from the bench beside her as she reclines back against the mismatched cushions Bucky has piled against the worn wood. This is not where she thought she would be when she flew into New Orleans a week and a half ago. Rosie can't wrap her head around the whirlwind this trip has become. She keeps having to remind herself why she's actually here, that she has a job to do. Starting with Mia's bachelorette party tonight.
Her phone chimes, breaking through the gentle crooning of whichever song is playing next, and she rests her warm mug between her thighs as she picks it up.
Bucky 🐻: Good morning, kitten. I miss you. Did you sleep okay? Is Alpine behaving? I hate New York.
Bucky 🐻: Actually, I just hate being where you aren't.
