Part 2 of Pretend We're Real People. While this can be read independently, it is the author's wish and intention that you first read Part 1 of the series, Mistletoe Mischief.
She wasn't sure if he was avoiding her, or the party, or both. It was New Years Eve and the Avengers tower was filled with the sounds of laughter, talking, and tipsy people having fun. The Christmas party a week ago had been an intimate gathering of just the Avengers. Tonight, everyone they knew were there – Rhodey, Sam, Maria, Phil, and two dozen other colleagues, friends, and significant others. The air in the room was thick with flashing lights, buzzing conversation, and soft music.
All night long, Bucky hovered on the fringes of the party. Socializing and mingling were things that still daunted him. Mostly he stayed with Steve, but Steve was with Tony most of the night, sickeningly adorable in the way that made Natasha gag outwardly and gush inwardly, and so Bucky was left looking like a lost puppy. She should have joined him, she knew, and if he were any other man – or woman – she would have. Instead she skirted around him just as he skirted around her, like dancers fated never to be partners. That kiss at the Christmas party made her feel things she had been denying ever sine Bucky moved into the tower, and her instincts of self-preservation told her to stay away.
But of course they gravitated towards each other. They always did, just as when she was a girl in the Red Room, just as during a dozen undercover Soviet ops, just as at the Christmas party last week. That last time was, admittedly, more of their friends literally shoving them towards one another than their own pull towards one another, but it had reignited the spark between them. Or rather, it had forced them to confront the spark that had always burned under the surface, however much they tried to ignore it. And Natasha had never been good at self-preservation when it came to James.
She laughed absentmindedly at the unheard joke Rhodey told, a good one if Clint's guffaws could be trusted. Then she downed the entire contents of her half-full glass of mixed vodka before she excused herself, mumbling something to Clint about getting some fresh air and headed towards the glass doors that led to the balcony. As she made her way across the room she caught Bucky's eye from where he stood at the far end of the room. She gave him a coy smile and tilted her head to the side – come with me. He replied with a slight upward quirk of the corner of his lips.
The frosty air nipped at Natasha's cheeks when she walked out to the balcony. She was in a thin dress, but she barely noticed the cold. She grew up in Russia, training outside on winter days in nothing but shorts and a tank top. She had learned not to feel the cold. She had learned not to feel anything at all – not cold, or pain, or hunger, or love. Until him. When they met, he could barely remember what love or even a kind touch was, but somehow she made him remember, and he taught her, among other things, how to love. Then he had forgotten again, and she buried the knowledge deep enough that it was as good as forgotten, so that its sharp blade wouldn't slice her up from the inside. That was always what she did – she didn't feel. It was the most thorough kind of self-preservation, the only protection against what was within herself.
Below her, New York was celebrating the coming year. Even from the Tower she could hear the cheers of the crowds in the street below, see the dazzling lights. In half an hour the new year would roll around and the night would blossom with flame and color. Natasha found herself thinking of the city fondly; it was certainly one that she liked more than most. But it wasn't home. She had never known one; someone like her didn't lay down roots and settle. Home wasn't the Red Room where she grew up, nor her brief, unhappy marriage so long ago, and not even SHIELD. No, in her long life, she had never felt like she belonged anywhere, except at James's side.
Footsteps approached from behind her, and she knew that it was him – the sound was just loud enough to be noticeable, too subtle for it to be Tony or Clint or even Steve. She also knew that he wanted her to know he was there, because otherwise his footsteps would be completely silent. He was announcing his presence in the most understated way possible, so that she wouldn't be alarmed at his sudden presence.
"This reminds me of something," he said with a laugh of frustration. "But for the life of me I can't remember what it is."
Pieces of the memory rose up in her mind – a guttural voice speaking in Russian; the blast of the night air, colder than ice; the taste of alcohol still burning in her throat; the weight of the dreaded ring on her finger; arms around her, one warm as flesh, the other cold as metal… "It was a new year, too," she said softly, her eyes unfocused even though she looked directly at him, she was watching the patchwork fabric of her memories. "In the Red Room. I was seated next to Alexei… it was the night our engagement was announced. I snuck out the back door during the speeches and you met me behind the buildings. It was cold, and we were like…" a wistful smile crossed her lips "Like a spot of warmth in the midst of the winter, and that was enough."
"Yes," Bucky said, and her gaze sharpened at the sound of his voice, meeting his eyes. "Yes, that's it. It was the last time we could be together. You tried to convince me to elope. I should have let you."
Her eyes lit up as the memory came back to her. "Yes, I did." She tilted her head to one side, the past bringing with it the bittersweet tinge of melancholia. "I was young and stupid enough to risk everything for love."
He chuckled, moving closer to her unconsciously. "No, you were always a fighter. A survivor."
She stepped closer to him, their bodies mere inches apart. She could feel the warmth of his body, radiating faintly just as it did that night so many years ago. "Yes, but –" She looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with naked longing as she ignored the deeply ingrained voice self-preservation and bared her innermost thoughts to him. "What if that's not enough anymore? All I've done is survive – stay alive, no matter the cost. But I want to live, James. I want to mean something to someone."
He cupped her cheek in his right hand and she leaned into his touch instinctively. "And you're sure?" There was a crease between his eyebrows. "You're sure that you want that someone to be me? I'm messed up, Natalia."
"So am I," she replied simply. She heard the thunderous boom of the first fireworks below them, the gasps of the crowds in the streets. It was a new year, a new start...
James smiled. "In that case… to new beginnings, Natalia."
"To new beginnings," she echoed. This time when he kissed her, there wasn't any of the hesitance of their previous kiss. It was languid and sure and indulgent, and just as they did all those years ago, his lips on hers sent thrills down her spine. They parted briefly and Natasha cradled his head in her hands to kiss him again. The new year fireworks bloomed below them, and she was filled with a long-forgotten sense of hope for the future.
Notes: Happy New Year, all.