A/N: How about some BuckyNat for Bucky's birthday? This was just going to be a short fic, but it kept getting longer, so enjoy :) Story/part titles from Winter by Tori Amos.

Part I: You Say I'll Always Want You Near

She doesn't want to live in Stark's ugly tower (does she think of him as Tony now?). But everyone else is, and commuting in New York isn't exactly pleasant. She has safe houses all over the world, but, when she's in town, she stays in what they're calling Avengers Tower. It's kind of nice, since she has her own floor and the accommodations are naturally the top of the line. Tony's primary method of showing appreciation (or any emotion, really) is through providing material comforts, so she's certainly not complaining.

Living with the other Avengers is… well, interesting, to say the least. Bruce has been living there pretty much since New York, but everyone else has moved in much more recently. She's the last to do so, but not by much. The fact that Steve has returned from his globe-spanning search to reside with his "only friends in the world" (he's so dramatic) makes the idea more tempting to her. The presence of a brainwashed Soviet assassin who has shot her twice does not deter her, and Tony is delighted by her acquiescence.

Bruce and Tony have their respective labs – Bruce's is neat and orderly (comparatively speaking), and no one could find anything in Tony's if they needed to. He can, though, and that's all that really matters. The gym has impressive weights to actually challenge Thor and Steve, and an archery range for Clint. There are more standard accoutrements for regular folks like herself, and she enjoys being able to go shoot something without leaving the house. It's much nicer than a SHIELD facility, and there's always someone around who will spar with her if she wants.

Missions are her preferred method of spending time, of course, but Tony's baby certainly provides more off-duty entertainment than she usually has. Still, nothing beats curling up with a good book, and there is plenty of room for privacy, too. So much so that, a month in, she has only seen the former Winter Soldier (she can't bring herself to call him 'Bucky') once, and that was when she moved in. He'd been silent, watching her very carefully, but shook her hand when Steve introduced them. Since then, he's kept himself scarce. If he uses any of the Tower's modern marvels, it isn't while she's around.

Steve was very excited to have found his friend, but she's relatively certain the man had allowed himself to be found. She hadn't seen him when they brought him in, but he didn't look too good when she did. It would have been hard for him to survive on his own, after what they did to him – she's read the file. Steve is still cheerful when she sees him, usually a few times a week, so she supposes his best friend must be improving in some manner. It doesn't seem like a façade on Steve's part.

But it might be on the Soldier's. Steve's floor is above hers, and his friend naturally lives on the same floor (though there are others, if he wanted his own). She supposes his bedroom must be directly on top of hers, because she can hear him in the night sometimes. Pacing for hours, bumps or thuds, screaming. The screaming is the worst, especially if she is asleep during it. It invades her dreams and seems to fit perfectly into her nightmares, and she is worthless the rest of the day. She doesn't know what Steve does, because he surely can't be sleeping through it, but eventually the screams stop and things grow quiet and she tries to convince herself that she's safe here, no one's hurting her, and she can sleep. Sometimes she does.

The missions are infrequent, which is both nice and irksome. Recent events (mainly her actions in the Triskelion) are things she wants to think over, to consider how her life led her to this point, and where she wants it to go. And the semi-retired lifestyle she's been enjoying provides plenty of time to think. That is, of course, also the irksome part. Sometimes she really needs to stop thinking and have something to do.

The Soldier doesn't go on missions – not at first. But she can hear his nights getting rougher above her, and Steve looks less cheerful and more worn out. He seems most like himself when they are on a mission together, and trying to help the man who used to be his best friend is clearly weighing on him whenever they are in the Tower. She doesn't ask for specifics, and he doesn't provide them. But she does suggest that he give the Soldier an outlet of some kind to pass the hours, being careful to mention it mid-mission, when he doesn't have time to discuss it. It's none of her business, after all.

Until the next briefing.

"AIM got ahold of some of Stark's tech," Clint is reporting from his recon mission. "Some nasty stuff, too; I saw them testing it out. We're going to need to go in there and get it back. There are thirty guys in-house, but they've got all the scariest toys, so it's more than a one-man job. The head guy comes around about once a week, and we could do some real damage to the organization if we bring him in."

Steve nods, looking at the satellite images in front of him. "Okay, Tony and I will go through the front door. You and Nat should stake out this rooftop and let us know what we're walking into. You may need to take out the leader if he's escaping."

She doesn't mind not being in the thick of things – she is a spy, after all. And has nothing on the brute force Steve and Tony can bring to the table. Steve likes having her keep an eye on things and assess them, and Clint can certainly see best from a distance. Thor is off-world and Bruce doesn't like missions unless absolutely needed, but she's sure the four of them can handle it. She looks over Steve's shoulder at the layout and silently agrees with his assessment on the best location for Strike Team Delta, as SHIELD had called them.

Clint clears his throat and they turn to look at him. "Sorry, Cap, but I won't be around for this leg. Fury's got me in India for at least the next two weeks."

She frowns at him – he hadn't mentioned it previously. "I'm not a good shot from that distance," she tells Steve.

He mulls this over, then looks at her with sudden intensity. "How about Bucky?" he suggests.

Kicking herself mentally, she forces a smile. "I know from personal experience that he's an excellent shot."

Clint snorts, and Steve's face falls a little bit. "Sorry, I just thought –" he begins.

She waves a hand. "It'll be fine, Rogers. I'm sure he'll be a good addition to the team. If he wants to go," she adds.

He nods. "Well, I'll go tell Tony. Wheels up at 0800." Tony wasn't always at briefings because getting him to leave his lab was a challenge. He didn't seem to mind being filled in later.

After Steve leaves, she moves forward to take a better look at the map. "Anything I should know?" she asks Clint, who's watching her.

"Didn't mean to leave you in a lurch," he says instead of answering.

She meets his eye with a smirk. "You think I can't handle him?"

"I think he almost killed you more than once, and no one would object if you said you'd rather not be in a potential combat situation with him," Clint replies, still serious.

"I would love to be in a potential combat situation with him. Pretty sure I could just sit back and watch," she jokes. His mouth twitches but he doesn't give in to her humor. "Look, I told Rogers he needs to get him out of the house once in a while, and I can't refuse to be part of that. Besides, it's a low-risk mission, so even if he goes catatonic on his first time out, it won't have any major impact."

He nods slowly. "Alright. Well, keep me informed." He doesn't say that he worries about her, but she is well-aware that he does. It rankles, sometimes, but she has to remind herself it's not a weakness to have people care for her.

"I will," she says.

It's a good thing Clint isn't going on this mission, she reflects as she straps herself into the cockpit the next day. He hates mornings. Night missions are much more his thing (she doesn't have a preference either way). Steve is definitely a morning person, though, and she is interested to see if his best friend is, too. Tony is not, but she suspects he hasn't gone to bed yet, so he's still alert and ready to go. She wonders how Pepper handles that.

"The gang's all here, Red," Tony calls and she starts the engines.

The trip takes a few hours, but she's always liked flying. It's relaxing, and good way to spend the morning. She doesn't know what the boys are doing in the back, but it's pretty quiet back there. A part of her is anxious not to have gotten a look at Barnes earlier so she could start assessing what he'll be like in the field, but she soothes that concern by remembering (and trying to believe) what she told Clint.

When they land outside of town, Stark flies off in his suit almost as soon as the doors are open (was it awkward back there?) and she catches sight of the Winter Soldier at last. He's not wearing the same gear he did when he shot her (twice), but he might as well be. His hair is a bit shorter and he's unmasked (and clean-shaven), but that doesn't stop a shiver from running down her spine at the sight of him. When she moved in, he was wearing sweats and not particularly threatening, but now he looks like he could easily complete this mission all by himself. She doesn't suggest this to Steve.

"You ready?" Steve asks her, looking concerned. Perhaps he noticed her reaction to Barnes.

"I am," she replies. He looks over at the Soldier (he doesn't look like a Barnes now, and certainly not like a Bucky) and the latter gives him a short nod. Satisfied, Steve leads the way out.

Steve isn't all that great at stealth, so they part ways after Tony radios in to say it looks just like Clint reported it. She is pleased to find that Barnes is at least as good at being unnoticed as she is, and some of her anxiousness starts to fade. They reach the designated rooftop without incident and he assembles his rifle. To her surprise, he doesn't use a tripod, just stretches out on the roof and holds the weapon steady with his metal arm. It's very effective and she forces herself not to stare.

"In position," she reports, crouching down nearby and looking through binoculars. She could be his spotter, but she doesn't think he's used to having one, and suddenly wonders why she's here. Steve asks for an update on the situation, and she tells him, smirking at the idea that her purpose is just to tell Steve what his friend is doing. The leader hasn't arrived yet (Clint had shown them a picture he was able to get of the guy), so they delay. Waiting in silence is usually a big part of her missions (spying is waiting), but it isn't the same without Clint here. And with Barnes instead.

She's on his left side, and glances over at him after Steve gives his orders. Barnes is very intent on his task, taking no notice of her. Until she's staring and he looks over.

"Can I help you?" he asks politely, but she detects a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

She smirks. "Got an upgrade?" she answers without answering, tapping the shield painted on his shoulder where the Soviet star used to be.

His gaze doesn't leave her face, and she catches the ghost of a smile. "Yeah," he says.

"Does it overheat it you cover it up for too long?"

He looks a little surprised at the question, but not offended. "Sometimes, especially if I'm using it a lot. I don't think that's why my gear never had a sleeve, though," he amends.

"They wanted people to know it was you."

"Yeah."

She licks her lips, thinking, as he turns his attention back toward the other building. "Did Steve paint it?"

His attention remains ahead, but he nods. "When I asked."

By the set in his shoulders and the way his body is tensed, she thinks she might be getting close to trespassing, and decides to drop the thread of conversation. It's more words strung together than she's ever heard from him, and she can be satisfied with that. She doesn't know him, only knows a brutally efficient soldier, and has no idea what might set him off. Best to err on the side of caution, as usual.

They wait in silence until a car pulls up closely. She verifies with Barnes that it contains their target, and tells Steve. Steve gives the mission a go, and their silence becomes much more on-edge as they watch their friends openly attack the building. "I never understand why they don't at least try to infiltrate it," she mutters, mostly to herself.

Barnes makes a startled noise that she realizes is a laugh. "That's not Steve's style."

She glances over at him for a moment before returning her attention to the third floor windows, through which she can see Steve. "It's yours?" she guesses.

"Yes," he answers with no trace of humor.

As Steve and Tony make their way up toward the top, she gets the sinking feeling that this is too easy. The leader is not directly visible from where they are, but the men are fewer than expected and it seems like the mission will be over in a matter of minutes. Tony identified the tech they'd stolen and is destroying it as they go, the target is making no effort to escape, and she finds that suspicious.

Barnes swears suddenly with a ferocity that surprises her, and then he's on his feet. "Move," he tells her, but grabs her by the arm before she can respond and pulls her away from the edge of the roof. She doesn't question his action and follows him behind the brick wall that hides the staircase entrance. He keeps his hold a moment longer than necessary, but then releases her and presses against the bricks, peering around the wall to the spot they just vacated.

She is about to ask him what the matter is when she hears the door slam open and voices shouting orders. Then she smiles and wonders what tipped him off that she missed as she pulls out her garrote, glad to find it wasn't some kind of episode on his part.

"Ready?" he asks softly, looking at her intently, his muscles tense.

"Yeah," she replies, and they leave their cover.

Hand-to-hand combat has always seemed like a dance to her. It's usually fast-paced, her hair is whipping around her, and she's always sore in strange places afterwards. This one is no different, but she is surprised to see how fighting alongside the Winter Soldier turns out. She had expected him to efficiently take down targets until none were left, paying no attention to her. But while he matches her expectations for efficiency, he seems to easily match her own style so they work in tandem far better than either would alone.

When the dust clears (metaphorically) and there are over a dozen men scattered on the roof (mostly unconscious), she stops to stare at him while she catches her breath. He's surveying the mess while he does the same, but then he looks up at her, raising an eyebrow in response. A smirk crosses her face and she starts to comment on how well they work together, but then Steve's voice is in her ear.

"Nat! Report!"

He sounds stressed and she supposes he's been speaking to her while she was a little preoccupied. "We're fine," she says quickly.

Barnes expression returns to mission-blankness, and they both hurry back to check on Steve and Tony. The reason for the smaller force defending the building must have been because of the squad sent to deal with potential snipers, so Steve was able to finish his part of the mission while they were busy. They have the leader in custody and Tony's destroying the last of his tech.

"Well, shall we head home?" she asks conversationally.

"Roger that," Steve replies. "We good here, Stark?" he adds.

Stark expresses his opinion of those who stole his stuff in no uncertain terms, and she winces at the language. "But, yeah, let's go."

Putting her binoculars away carefully, she gets to her feet, surprised, as always, at how much she aches. Barnes is packing up his rifle and she watches him, considering how deft his prosthetic seems to be. Then he stands and looks at her questioningly.

"None the worse for wear?" she asks lightly as she turns and heads for the stairs.

"Fine," he replies stoically, and she smiles to herself as she makes her way down. When they get outside at the bottom, she assesses him and thinks he has some minor cuts and bruises, but nothing worth mentioning. He watches her assessment, frowning. "You've got something," he points toward her side.

Glancing down, she sees small knife embedded there, and sighs. So her hasty pirouette to evade it hadn't worked out quite like she'd hoped, but at least she'd taken down the guy who'd come at her with it. Now that she's noticed the wound, it starts to hurt. "Better leave it in," she mutters, and he nods.

"Everyone good?" Steve asks as he catches up with them. Tony presumably flew off to make sure nothing had happened to their quinjet while they were working.

"Yep," she says cheerfully. Barnes looks at her sharply, but doesn't say anything.

Walking isn't too uncomfortable, she decides as they head off in silence. The weapon is serving to staunch most of the bleeding, so she should be able to make it to the jet before she needs to bandage it. And Steve always makes such a fuss over her injuries, so she doesn't want to tell him. He's been injured far worse, far more often. He just heals faster. That doesn't mean it is painless for him. In any case, they aren't exactly in a good location to just hang around while she gets appropriate medical attention.

She stumbles once, on the uneven ground a few hundred yards from their plane, and Barnes manages to catch her by the upper arm and return to his spot just out of reach a few seconds later. Planting her feet more carefully, she glances over to nod at him and he returns the gesture. Once everyone's back in the quinjet (Tony had a trap to take care of, but it was cleaned up by the time they got there), she sets it on autopilot and drags out her first aid kit.

Tony and Steve can be heard over the rumble of the jets, discussing the mission. Or something else; it doesn't matter, they're busy. Carefully, she unzips her suit enough to get at the injury, pulling up her undershirt, and hisses when she pulls the blade out of her flesh. It starts bleeding profusely, but she has gauze ready and closes her eyes as she applies pressure to staunch it.

"Want some help?"

Barnes voice startles her and her eyes snap open to glare at him. His eyes are trained on her face, and she can't tell if he's amused to have elicited a reaction from her or not. She adopts her customary smirk and shrugs. "I think I've got this. It's not too big."

He looks down at her appraisingly, cocking his head. "Needs stitches," he tells her a little gruffly.

"I'm sure I can make it back home and then I'll stitch it up." He nods, seeming satisfied, and turns to go. "You were really good out there," she tells him suddenly.

He seems as surprised by the comment as she is to have made it, but then he smiles. It's the most genuine expression she's seen on his face, and she's a little taken aback by how much it changes his appearance. "So were you," he replies earnestly.

"Oh, I'm sure you could have handled that many guys without me," she tells him coolly.

He pauses as though considering it. "It was more fun this way," he says with utmost seriousness.

A little confused by his tone (or maybe it's the blood loss), she just gives him a tentative smile and he leaves her alone.

Back in the Tower, she patches herself up more effectively, and decides she'd better not tell Clint, either. She does tell him they were successful and everyone made it back okay, and then figures she'll head to bed. Until she's interrupted by a knock at her door. She half-expects it to be Barnes, verifying that she's taken his advice, but it's Steve. He smiles at her, the kind he only does when he's upset, and she steels herself for whatever is coming next. "How was he?"

"Barnes?" she asks.

His brow furrows slightly. "Yes. He won't tell me, so I'm hoping you will."

She smiles more genuinely than usual, because that's how she is with Steve, and leans against her door frame. "He is as terrifying as I remember, but I'm glad to have him on our side. It was fine, Steve," she assures him. "We made a good team."

Steve nods slowly. "Alright, well, that's great to hear. Are you okay?"

She realizes she was wincing and she shrugs. "Just a little sore. I'll be good in the morning. Go get some rest, Steve," she tells him.

"Night, Nat," he says, turning away.

"Night," she calls after him, and is very happy to sink into bed shortly thereafter.

Barnes becomes a regular fixture on their missions. Stealth is his greatest skill, so often joins her. Clint does, too, and she's relieved to find that they seem to get along. As well as Barnes gets along with anyone. It's not that he clashes with people; it's just that he is more like a shadow than a teammate. She doesn't know him now any more than she did on the first mission. He's very good at what he does, seems oddly able to mirror her movements if they have to fight anyone, and, very rarely, shows a dry sense of humor that she can't help but enjoy. His concern for her well-being is not like Clint's or Steve's, and seems more like a reflection of his preference for efficiency than the fact that she isn't as strong as he is. She finds this flattering. The way he occasionally stares at her is more disconcerting, though, and she appreciates only being around him when he has something more relevant on which to focus his attention.

Steve questions her about his friend's behavior after most of their assignments, and she wonders if Barnes has opened up to him at all. He must, because Steve is generally cheerful again. Not that he's usually obvious about it, of course, but she can tell he's in a good mood most of the time and she figures Barnes' behavior would have the greatest effect on that. She never sees Barnes outside of missions and briefings, though she can still hear him above her some nights. Earplugs are a potential solution, but sleeping without being able to hear anything would be impossible. She's a light sleeper; it's part of her job, part of who she is.

So, one night, when things are particularly bad, she stares at the ceiling and debates with herself. Steve is out, and won't be waking up his best friend. No one else will. It's likely no one can hear the anguished screams that make it sound like he's actively being tortured. She won't be sleeping, so she might as well get up. And then she might as well go up there and free him from his demons. But he might kill her, not recognizing his surroundings. And self-preservation has always been one of her skills…

She finds herself wrapped in a robe and vaulting up the stairs two at a time, only somewhat reassured when her fingertips brush the Widow's Bite in her pocket. His door is locked, but that doesn't much slow her down. Once inside his room, she presses herself against the door and assesses her surroundings. Barnes is thrashing against his blankets, though he's no longer screaming. His room is mostly bare, containing only a partially stocked bookcase and a dresser. Nothing adorns the walls and the floor is clear of any discarded clothing (unlike hers). There are undoubtedly weapons hidden around the room, and she approaches cautiously.

"Barnes?" she murmurs. "Barnes!" she repeats a little louder, and he stills suddenly. In the space of a blink, he's out of bed and pinning her against the door. His eyes are wide and blank and she figures this was a stupid idea.

"Natalia," he rasps out, then collapses against her, hands clinging. She stands very straight, staring ahead as his shoulders shake in what might be sobs. She can't feel any tears, but sometimes those won't come. Tentatively, she lifts her hands, no longer pinned, and pats his back. He's shirtless, though fortunately wearing pajama bottoms. How much more uncomfortable this would be if he were any less clothed, she considers as she slowly runs her hands up and down the bare skin of his back. The unpleasant memory of waking up from a nightmare to cling like this to Clint is quickly pushed away.

He calms down eventually and draws away from her, the intense stare he always has outside of missions is back. She forces a gentle smile. "Sorry to intrude," she begins.

"You could hear me," he says flatly.

His voice is a little less rough, possibly the result of speaking English instead of Russian. Or maybe it was just her imagination; a single word is hardly enough to go by. "Yes," she answers simply.

He nods, looking anywhere but at her. "Sorry," he murmurs.

The sight of the intimidating Winter Soldier half-naked and studying his feet like a chastised child is both amusing and heartbreaking. Her impulse is to pull him back to her and stroke his hair, but she's never one to give in to her impulses.

"Don't be. It's not your fault," she says as lightly as she can.

His gaze doesn't waver from the floor, but he nods again, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. She watches him, waiting to see if he'll look up, and catches sight of the considerable scarring where his metal shoulder attaches to his flesh. Leaning forward slightly, she is intrigued to see it looks almost like wires and wonders, for the first time, how he can sustain having what must be an awfully heavy hunk of metal grafted on. His eyes are on hers again, and she smiles gently.

"May I?" she asks, reaching out toward the appendage.

He catches her hand in midair in his right, and shakes his head abruptly. "Please, don't," he says, and she is surprised at the pain in his voice.

She draws back, her smile still affixed. "It's alright, James," she tells him, the name popping out unintentionally. It seems to surprise him, too. "Well, if you're alright, I'm going to head back upstairs," she adds.

"I'm fine," he lies, and her smile becomes a little sad. She didn't expect him to open up to her, of course; it's more a matter of him reminding her strongly of a time in her life she'd rather forget.

"Good night, James," she says, opening the door and slipping out.

"Good night… Natalia," she hears him murmur as she leaves.

If her presence during such a vulnerable moment bothers him, he doesn't show it on the next mission. Or the next. She doesn't tell Steve, thinking that it might be a breach in trust (tattling on him to his friend) and Barnes doesn't need any more of that. It's not like it would do any good anyway; Steve's still adjusting to life in the modern world and doesn't need to think he has to be Barnes' babysitter. She just wishes she could forget the way he said her name.

He usually calls her Romanoff on missions, and she isn't surprised that this doesn't change. The reasons he might have used her first name, in the original Russian, at a moment of stress, is something she goes round and round theorizing about. Perhaps he was dreaming in Russian and it just continued. Perhaps he would have spoken that way to anyone who found him in that state. Or perhaps he is in love with her. A turmoil of emotions existing under his cool exterior would not come as much of a surprise to her, but she finds him harder to read than anyone she's come in contact with before.

After three more missions with him, she gets some insight into the puzzle. Things go south and they're being held down in the kitchen of an abandoned apartment building. Bullets are whizzing by, but they're safe enough for now if they don't move. She glances over at him as she reloads and sees him wince as he shifts his weight.

"You hit?" she asks quietly.

He looks over at her sharply, something like anger passing over his face before vanishing into his usual expressionlessness. "I'm fine," he growls.

Sighing, she leans over to poke his side, eliciting a hiss of pain. "We've got a moment here, let me look." His expression reminds her of a trapped animal. "I'd hate for you to be bleed out on me here, Barnes. Rogers would kill me."

He doesn't look willing, but he nods, leaning gingerly back against the countertop behind which they are taking cover. She pulls supplies out of her belt first, delaying, then moves a little closer to him. His gaze flickers passed her as she gently lifts his gear to expose his stomach, wondering irrelevantly if she's the only one in the Tower without impressive abs, and if they are the result of exercise or experimentation. There is a bullet wound above his hip, bleeding much less than she would expect.

"It went straight through," she tells him and he nods again, still focused on some spot in the distance. She cleans it deftly, causing him to flinch once, then tapes on a bandage. The exit wound is soon also dealt with and she pushes aside the unpleasant thought that a normal human would be bleeding more. He didn't seem to be healing in any way, just not gushing blood. It's strange, and she considers asking Steve if he still has that file she gave him.

"There, all done," she says, frowning a little as she runs her fingers along the edge of the bandage to make sure it will stay down.

He catches her hand (again) and she looks up at him, surprised by the thoughtful expression he's wearing. "You don't remember me, do you?" he asks, some emotion in his tone masked just enough to be unidentifiable but not enough to be unnoticed.

"Remember you?" she echoes, frowning, unmoving.

A pained look crosses his face and he releases her. "Nothing," he returns, repositioning his shirt and turning in the direction of their attackers.

"James," she presses, copying his action.

"Later," he says shortly, and then Steve and Sam helpfully swoop in to save the day, effectively putting an end to the conversation.

Barnes doesn't speak to her again until she corners him in the Tower. Steve is debriefing Nick, and they're alone on Rogers' floor. "What did you mean?" she demands, catching him off-guard.

He jumps back into a defensive stance when he sees her, then drops his hands and looks passed her. "Nothing, don't worry about it," he answers brusquely, trying to walk around her toward his room.

She catches his right arm and plants her feet, but he doesn't fight her. "Tell me, James," she insists, part of her wondering why she cares this much, the rest apprehensive of what he might say.

A heavy sigh escapes him and he finally looks at her, revealing that emotional turmoil she was expecting. She wasn't expecting it to feel like someone just punched her, though. "In the Red Room," he murmurs, gauging her reaction.

She remembers the Red Room. She doesn't remember him. "What about it?"

"I knew you there," he answers, still watching her.

Biting her lip, she shakes her head. "I don't think that was me, James," she says soothingly.

His expression changes to one of bitterness and his mouth twists into a smile. "Right, I know, I'm not exactly the most reliable source," he growls, his left hand gently but firmly disengaging hers from his arm. Then he stalks away and she frowns after him, perplexed. And decides she really should get that file back from Steve.

Pouring through the file (Steve kept it because of course he did) is not a pleasant way to spend an evening. But she does it anyway, searching for any mention of the Winter Soldier being used in the Red Room. She doesn't think he knows her, of course (how could she forget a man with a metal arm?), but supposes she might find someone else who reminds him of her. Then maybe he won't stare at her like he has been.

As she reads, she thinks that Steve is wrong to go looking for his best friend in this man. Even after everything done to her, the content horrifies her. How he was able to break free at all, and to survive afterwards on his own, is a testament to his strength. She hadn't expected to admire someone who had shot her twice, but sometimes these things happen. Nothing in the file indicates that he was ever in the Red Room, but she's pretty sure some pages are missing. She resolves to ask Steve about it in the morning, and settles down for a fitful sleep.

"Pages missing? I don't know what you're talking about," Steve tells her at breakfast.

She smiles. He's such a bad liar when not being snarky. "Why did you take them out?"

He frowns at her, upset to have been made. "I didn't," he answers defensively.

Her smile broadens. "I see. Barnes did. Why would he do that?"

Steve looks down at his plate uncomfortably. "He didn't say. Just that he didn't want you reading them."

She hadn't thought he would share her interest in the file with Barnes of all people, and frowns at him. "Does he have them?"

"I think so."

"Great." She gets to her feet and heads down the hall to Barnes' room.

"Wait!" Steve calls, but she ignores him and knocks on the door.

It's clear that Barnes didn't get much sleep last night, either, though she doesn't remember hearing him. Not nightmares, then. He's shirtless again, hair a mess and looks like she woke him up. She smiles charmingly. "May I read the rest of your file?" she asks politely.

He frowns at her, then rubs his face with his real hand. "What?" he mumbles.

"Your file. The one I gave to Steve. The one you took pages out of."

That wakes him up. "No," he says shortly, and moves to close the door.

She puts her foot in the jamb and holds it open with both hands. "Why not?"

The look on his face is almost panicked for a moment before he glowers at her. "It's not something you should read," he tells her firmly.

A cold smile crosses her lips. "I read the rest of it. How bad could it be?"

"Bad."

He stares at her and she stares back, and she thinks that Steve is probably wise to have stayed in the kitchen. "Then tell me about the Red Room," she says finally.

His eyes close and he is motionless for a moment. Then he releases the door and steps back into his room, turning toward his dresser. After a moment, he's retrieved some papers from a hidden panel in the bottom of a drawer and hands them over to her. Then shuts the door in her face before she can stop it again.

Back at the table, Steve hasn't moved. "He's sure cranky in the morning," she says conversationally as she drops back into her chair.

Steve smiles grimly. "We were up most of the night."

"Doing what?" she teases lightly.

"Talking," he answers, looking at the table. "I'd better go," he says, clearing his throat. She looks up at him with an eyebrow raised as he gets to his feet.

"Alright. See you later, Rogers," she answers. He pats her awkwardly on the shoulder, then leaves.

The missing section is in Russian, and she reads it carefully. Nothing rings any bells, but the story unfolding before her certainly indicates that he did know her. The Red Room was around for years, but he was there at the same time she was. And he trained those in her program. It isn't named specifically, and neither are any of his students, but she recognizes enough from her own history to know it's true.

After reading it three times, just to be sure, she sits back to think. Eventually, she is aware of someone coming in and sitting down across from her. It does not come as a shock to see Barnes (recently showered and dressed) sitting there when she blinks and focuses. He looks genuinely apologetic, which is a change, and she wonders irrelevantly whether he lost his expressive nature because of HYDRA or WWII.

"I'm sorry you had to find out this way," he murmurs when he sees her looking at him.

"What way would be better?" she asks curiously, aware of how detached her tone is.

He shrugs. "Remembering on your own, probably."

She looks down at the papers but doesn't read them again, scanning briefly, then returns her attention to him. "Why don't I remember?"

Something like a wince crosses his face. "It's bad," he warns her.

"Tell me."

He looks at her, assessing, then nods. "You were… punished for inappropriate behavior."

She leans forward, frowning. "What kind of inappropriate behavior?" She remembers being one of the best, being very dedicated, and was always careful to avoid garnering the displeasure of her superiors.

His attention turns elsewhere and a bitter smile twists his lips. "You misappropriated a military asset for your own use," he says flatly.

"What?" she asks, confused.

"I mean me," he explains ruefully.

She resists the urge to repeat her question. "My own use?" she says instead, arching an eyebrow.

He shifts uncomfortably. "I'm not complaining. It just wasn't what anyone had in mind when they, you know, made me."

Silence reigns as she mulls this over. "We had an affair?" she guesses at last.

"Yeah."

An unexpected laugh bubbles up out of nowhere and he looks at her sharply when it reaches a slightly hysterical caliber. She composes herself quickly. "Well, why didn't you say so, Barnes?" she teases, leaning back with a smile, all confident amusement.

Her shock hasn't diminished, but he seems convinced, watching her carefully. "And how would I have brought that up?" he wants to know, frowning at her reaction.

Playing such a scenario through her head makes her smile broaden, and she holds in another laugh that might sound give her away. "Good point. I hope that's not what you were dreaming about when I woke you," she says instead of explaining her smile.

He clears his throat. "No."

"What do you remember?" she asks.

Studying his hands, he avoids the question and she begins to wonder if he will answer. "Everything," he whispers. "And you were the one good thing in all of it," he adds, a little louder.

She licks her lips, unprepared for such a sentiment. Saying thank you doesn't seem appropriate, and he probably knows how easily her words turn to lies. So she gets to her feet in silence and touches his cheek gently before going back to her floor.

After being holed up in her room all day, she feels a little better about the whole situation. Not good about it, but at least willing to accept it. She's always known there was stuff missing, probably stuff implanted, in her memories (they're part of her, and will never go away, as Loki said). It was just unexpected that it might all materialize into a person. So when she hears him having a nightmare later that night, she thinks she will do something about it.

Going out the window and into his is risky, and probably silly, but it seems somehow fitting. Was it something they did before? She'll have to ask him, she decides as she slides into his room and then holds very still.

"James?"

As before, her voice launches him from his bed, and she forces herself to stay calm as he pins her against the wall again. "Natalia," he whispers, almost reverently when he comes to himself, then drops away immediately. After a brief scan of her, his gaze is fixed on the floor.

"You okay now?" she asks softly.

He nods, still focused on his feet.

"I've been thinking," she says after a moment. He slowly drags his eyes up to her face, the inspection prompting a shiver to run through her as though it were a caress.

"Yeah?" he murmurs when she doesn't continue, his expression carefully closed off.

She licks her lips, pleased by the effect the gesture seems to have on him, and he looks away abruptly. "I don't remember knowing you before. But I… I know you now," she offers. He nods again, body tense as though he might flee. After a moment of consideration, she decides, what the hell, she can go through with it. "And I'd like to know you better," she adds, feeling unusually hesitant.

"How much better?" he asks, lifting his intense gaze to her face again. And she supposes she isn't as good at reading people as she thought, because she didn't recognize what it meant before. Now, in the dark, both of them dressed for bed, it's pretty easy to identify, even if it does make her heart pound.

She tosses her head, gauging his reaction. "How much would you like?"

In a moment, he's pressing her against the wall again, this time with his lips on hers. When she wraps her arms around him, he trails kisses down her neck to the scar on her shoulder he put there. He kisses an apology onto it and pulls her against him tightly. "Natalia," he whispers.

"James," she answers, and can feel his smile against her skin.

"I've missed you," he murmurs as he moves back up to kiss her lips again.

He's surprisingly gentle, and waits for her to lead. Which is fine with her. When she isn't sure she'll be able to stand for much longer, she pushes him toward the bed. He falls back onto it and she settles herself on top of him. He's watching her again, and warmth pools in her belly at his expression alone, even without the added heat of their respective positions.

"Wait," he protests roughly.

"Hmm?" she questions, leaning over to kiss him again.

"I'm not – this isn't – are you sure?" he finally gets out.

She smiles. "Haven't we done this before?"

"Yes, but –"

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No," he acquiesces.

She runs her fingers up his chest and smiles at his shudder. "Then what? Because you wouldn't have been looking at me like that since I moved in if this wasn't what you wanted."

He licks his lips and leans up to kiss her gently. "Haven't been around a lot of beautiful dames lately, let alone had one in here," he murmurs. She smiles at the phrasing. "But you don't remember, and –"

To stop his protests, she shifts her weight to settle comfortably across his hips, and he closes his eyes for a moment. The worried look hasn't left his face, which she finds terribly endearing. "You think I'd only want you because of what happened before?"

He considers, seeming surprised by the idea. "I was… functioning then. I'm not in good shape now," he admits slowly.

Sighing at him, she pulls her shirt over her head, tossing it away. "And you think I am?"

"Yes." He's dead serious, gaze fixed on her face.

"Just better at faking it. You'll get the hang of it. Now, how thin do you think the walls are here?"

He looks quite startled at her question. "Why?"

"Because I'd rather not have Steve come to your rescue if he hears any strange noises," she explains with a straight face.

A smile softens his expression, and she is surprised by the change it makes on his already-handsome features. "I don't care," he tells her firmly, and flips them over so he is above her. She is quickly convinced that letting him take the lead works out pretty well for everyone.