A/N: Spoiler alert for Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Avengers: Age of Ultron, and Captain America: Civil War.
As always, many thanks go out to CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur for the Beta and Winter-Soldier-88 for the brainstorming.
Note 1: I know it's been a while since this story was updated, but it couldn't be helped. Not only is my muse a fickle little scamp, my family has been experiencing a great deal of emotional turmoil that may not get better any time soon. Such is RL.
Note 2: This story is being revamped. Some scenes will be removed completely. Others will be changed to better conform to the MCU movies. Also, parts 2 and 3 will be eliminated and the chapters posted all under one title.
Namaste,
Sunny
"I will come back to you, I swear I will;
And you will know me still.
I shall be only a little taller
Than when I went."
― Edna St. Vincent Millay, The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems
Winter Soldier
And You Will Know Me Still
Chapter 44
The boom of thunder awoke Natasha. She sat up on the side of the bed, reaching for her phone to check the time. On the way to the bathroom, she stretched sore muscles, twisting at the waist to get the kinks out of her back. As she changed clothes, she examined her body again, finding even more bruises, scrapes and cuts. Anyone who saw them would think she'd been beaten, and they wouldn't be far off.
The ones on her arms and knees were from the ride on the chamber as it flew through the air and landed in Clint's quinjet. Before she could close the hatch, one of Ultron's robot army had grabbed her and flown away. With no concept of how to handle a human, the machine had knocked her out by flying too high, too fast. When she regained consciousness, she was lying on the cold, stone floor of Ultron's lair. At the ship salvage yard off the coast of Africa, he'd eschewed detailing his plans for the extinction of humanity. He obviously changed his mind now that she was his prisoner and incapable of mounting an attack or calling for help, as far as he knew.
Ultron had locked her in a cage, and an unknown amount of time later, had taken off, leaving her alone. She sent a distress call to Clint, and soon, the sounds of fighting increased as her teammates engaged Ultron and his army. Then, Bruce had come along to rescue her, suggesting that they just disappear and leave the others to fight.
Though they weren't a couple any longer, Natasha still cared about Bruce. She'd given him a kiss and pushed him into the pit. "I adore you, but I need the Other Guy… Now go be a hero."
When the fight was over and the last of Ultron's robot bodies had been destroyed by Vision, Natasha had contacted the Other Guy in the quinjet, but before she could tell him how to shut off the cloak, he disconnected the comm. Because it was cloaked, they couldn't track it.
So much had been lost that day. Quicksilver died saving Clint and a young boy, not to mention the cost in civilian lives. Now one of her best friends was missing in action. Unless Bruce contacted them, they had no way of knowing if he'd survived the crash of the quinjet, wherever that might be. Fury would keep her updated on the progress of locating Bruce, and maybe, one day soon, one of the team would receive a post card in the mail. Out loud, she whispered, "Wish you were here."
In the bedroom, she took out clean clothes and got dressed. The smell of coffee drifted past her nose as she went out to the living room. James must've known she was awake because he was standing at the stove scooping food onto plates. The table was set, and as she slid into her seat, he placed a cup of coffee in front of her, followed by a plate of food, bacon and French toast. His favorite, but she didn't care. She wasn't really hungry, but he'd taken the time to cook, and she felt obligated to consume the fruits of his labors.
~~O~~
James brought his plate and coffee to the table, taking the seat to Natasha's left. He bit off a piece of bacon, all the while watching Natasha from the corner of his eye. Though she gave the appearance of enjoying her meal, he could tell it was for his sake and not because she was hungry.
He didn't know what could've happened that would make someone like her, someone strong in body, mind, and spirit cease enjoying life. According to his research, people needed time to deal with trauma, whether physical or emotional. Some developed PTSD, and others simply went on with their lives as if the trauma was just a bump in the road. Natasha had been there for him when the dreams and flashbacks got to be too much. He could do no less for her.
Natasha put down her fork and picked up the coffee cup, sipping while staring off into space. She got up to pour a refill and moved over to the window, taking the occasional sip as she watched the rain.
The field behind the house was so saturated it couldn't take any more, and once again, flash flooding was being forecast for the area, especially in the mountains where they were. Fortunately, the house sat on a rise, and most of the water drained around it toward the creek. If James had to guess, he'd say that the rest of the bridge would be gone the next time they headed that way.
"Natasha?" She looked over at him, one eyebrow raised in question. He held up her plate from which she'd only taken a few bites.
"It's good. I'm just not hungry." Draining the last of her coffee, she handed him the cup. "I'm going to the library to read."
When lunchtime rolled around, James knocked on the library door to ask what Natasha wanted for lunch. He found her asleep in the window seat covered with a blanket and her book on the floor. He picked up the book and set it on a shelf and left her alone. He came back into the room when she hadn't come out by dinner time. She awoke when he touched her shoulder, looking around as if she had no idea where she was or how she'd gotten there.
"I'm making dinner."
Natasha yawned and rubbed her eyes. "I'm not hungry. Think I'll just go to bed."
James watched her go into her room and close the door, sad on her behalf for everything that had happened the last few weeks. All he knew about the incident was what had been broadcast on the news. The cynical side of him knew for certain that what had been reported was either a fraction of the story, or the public had been outright lied to. The events in that small nation on the other side of the world had been blamed on the Avengers, while at the same time praising them for saving the planet… again.
Taking Clint's advice to heart, James left Natasha to herself, certain she'd come to him when she was ready to talk. What he didn't realize-and who could blame him-was that this day set a precedent for days and weeks that followed.
~~O~~
For once, Natasha's sleep was dreamless, and she was thankful not to have the Avengers' fight with Ultron and his robot warriors, the battle with the Chitauri or visions of the Red Room replaying endlessly in her head night after night. She rolled over, pulled the covers up to her neck, and had just drifted off again when there was a knock at her door. "Yes?"
"Breakfast is ready."
James really was sweet to do all the cooking until she felt better. "Just a few more minutes."
There was a long pause. "Okay."
His footsteps faded, and as she was about to doze off again, there came another knock, more impatient this time. Annoyed, she called out, "What?"
"Time to eat."
What was it with James knocking on her door every couple of minutes? "I'll be out in a bit."
"Five minutes."
Pulling the covers over her head, Natasha rolled onto her other side, curled into a ball, and went back to sleep. Soon, she began to dream about Bruce, smiling and holding out a hand, his face alight with excitement.
Wish you were here, Natasha. The water in Fiji is clear as glass, and the sand is as white as the first snow of the season. You'd love it here. No worries. No schedule. We can do what we want when we want.
She did want to join in, yet each time she reached out, he moved farther away, his gentle voice urging her to hurry.
Come on, Tasha! Everyone's here. Tony, Pepper, Steve, Hill, Rhodey, Sam, Thor, Vision, Wanda, Pietro, Helen Cho, Madam B, the Other Guy. Clint even brought Laura, Cooper, Lila and baby Natasha. We're all waiting for you. Bruce stepped out of the way so she could see her friends frolicking on the beach and in the water. A volleyball game was in progress with Pietro playing on both sides. The Hulk sat in the sand playing with the children. Clint and Stark where building an epic sand castle.
But Clint's youngest child is a boy they're naming Nathaniel.
Pietro? How could he be there? He died saving Clint's life.
Why would Madam be in Fiji? She hates the beach.
How can the Other Guy be here, Bruce? What's going on?
Bruce shoved his hands in the pockets of his knee length shorts, shrugging sheepishly. Then, he was gone, and Natasha found herself standing alone at the water's edge, the waves lapping at her feet. Just trees, sand and water as far as the eye could see.
The wind went from a light breeze to gale force so quickly that she could no longer stand upright without support. Grabbing onto the trunk of a tree, she turned her face from the rain pelting her like needles and soaking her to the skin. It went in her mouth and nose, choking her.
Natasha let go of the tree and turned to run, lashing out when a pair of arms grabbed her around the waist and turned her into the rain again. Using her legs, she knocked her attacker off balance, and she landed on top of him, but before she could defend herself, he picked her up and pushed her back against a wall, hands held next to her head in a strong grip she was unable to break.
Now the water was coming from the side. She wrenched her left hand free and reached for the K-Bar, but it was gone, as where her Makarovs and widow's bites. All her weapons were gone. Then she felt tile under her bare feet where there had been sand only a moment ago.
The hands holding her gentled and let go, framing her face. The fingers of one hand brushed the wet strands of hair from her cheek. She blinked water from her eyes. The face hovering in front of her was familiar. Wavy shoulder length dark hair, blue eyes. But Bruce had curly hair with a few grays and brown eyes.
"Natasha? Speak to me. Can you hear me?"
Bruce doesn't speak Russian, Natasha thought curiously.
The rain stopped as suddenly as it began. Fiji faded to a pinpoint and disappeared with a faint pop. Natasha shivered when the cool air hit her wet skin. The hands holding her head moved away. A pair of strong arms lifted her high, the swaying movement an unfamiliar sensation. She laid her head on the firm shoulder by her head. Under her palm pulsed a heartbeat thumping a steady rhythm. Sliding that hand up and around the neck of the person carrying her, she felt wet hair touching the back. With a sigh, she snuggled deeper into the warmth pressed against her side.
Then, this new person put her down, forcing her to stand on her own. A towel was tossed over her head as hands rubbed at her scalp. Those same hands urged her to lift her arms and her wet top was removed. The towel dried her upper body then her wet bottoms were removed and her lower half dried as well. In the dark recesses of her mind, she remembered her mother doing the same after her bath when she was a small child. She smiled at the memory, whispering, "Mama."
Within seconds, Natasha was dressed in dry clothes and warm socks were on her feet. Someone took her hand and led her to another room where a fire raged in the fireplace giving it a warm and cozy feeling. She was left alone for a moment then her companion was back. He picked her up again and sat down holding her close. A blanket was wrapped around them like a cocoon. "Natasha?"
"Hmm?"
A hand smoothed the still damp hair from her face. "Look at me."
The voice was familiar and commanding. For a moment, she thought it might be her father, but he was seldom home until after she'd gone to bed. Tilting her head back, Natasha looked into a pair of blue eyes filled with worry. "James?" She pressed her palms against his chest, putting distance between them. "What's going on?"
He moved her off his lap to the sofa, tucking the blanket snuggly around her. Without responding, James went into the kitchen and came back a few minutes later with a cup of hot tea. Sitting on the edge of the sofa next to her, he urged her to drink. The heat and caffeine in the tea spread to all parts of her body, clearing her mind and bringing her surroundings into focus. "Were we just in the shower together with our clothes on?"
~~O~~
James had to do something to snap Natasha out of this state of inertia she'd been in for nearly a month. Clint tried to help through texts and emails, and James had looked up her symptoms online: clinical depression.
What she needed was a jolt to her system, something that would force her to respond. An idea came to him, and he went into Natasha's room without knocking, tossed the covers off, scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the glass walled shower in the ensuite. She refused to stand, so he got in the shower with her and turned on the cold water. At first, she turned her face from the water, mumbling something about Fiji. Eventually, he put her down, and she turned her head to get away from the spray, wrapping her arms around his waist, muttering something about Fiji.
Before long, she released him, and fought back, thinking he was attacking her. James turned as they fell backwards to keep her from being hurt. On their feet again, he saw the intent in her eyes to hurt him before she could produce the actions. He grabbed her wrists and pressed her against the wall of the shower. She wrenched her left hand free, using it to search for weapons she didn't have. James framed her face with his palms, forcing her to look at him. He pushed the hair out of her face, speaking softly. "Natasha? Can you hear me?"
She stared at him as if seeing him for the first time and nodded. He turned the water off, picked her up and carried her out to the bedroom, forcing her to stand in front of him while he dried her hair. He didn't hesitate to strip off the wet clothes and dry her body before dressing her again.
Leading her out to the living room, he rushed to his room to change. He was back within a couple of minutes to find her still standing where he'd left her. He picked her up and sat on the sofa with her on his lap, the blanket tucked over both of them to combine their body heat.
Eventually, Natasha stirred against his chest. Again, he pushed the hair from her face, keeping his voice soft, yet firm. "Natasha! Look at me."
At the sound of his voice, she pushed back to look him in the face. "James? What's going on?"
Setting her on the sofa, James made sure she was covered with the blanket before going into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. When the tea was nearly gone, she looked right at him for the first time in weeks, giving him a curious glance, and her next question filled him with relief and a touch of humor.
"Were we just in the shower together with our clothes on?"
~~O~~
"What do you remember?"
"I was dreaming about Fiji. Why?"
Instead of responding to her question, James asked one of his own. "Are you hungry?"
For an answer, Natasha's stomach growled, and she grinned. "I could eat."
He was gone in an instant. The clattering of pans and utensils accompanied the enticing scent of food cooking. A few minutes later, he returned with a tray, placing it over her lap. This time he made beef stew, hot buttered biscuits and more tea. The combined scents made her stomach growl again. She scooped up a spoonful of the stew and ate it, finding it surprisingly good. Not too much salt, a hint of garlic and black pepper, carrots, onions, celery, potatoes and chunks of tender beef. "Mmm. You've been practicing."
James watched her eat for a few minutes, an odd expression on his face. Concern and worry. "You're not eating?"
"Of course." He left and came back with a bowl, biscuit and tea for himself, taking a seat in one of the armchairs where they could see each other easily.
When Natasha finished eating, she wiped her mouth and laid the napkin on the tray. James jumped up to take it away and came back with a small slice of cherry pie. He resumed his seat, the ankle of one leg resting on the knee of the other, still with that odd look in his eyes.
"Something wrong?"
"What happened in Sokovia? Tell me everything."
Natasha cut off a piece of pie and ate it, thinking over how to begin. The cherries and crust were slightly warm, sliding easily down her throat. After a sip of tea, she used the fork to poke at the pie, avoiding looking at him. "It's a long story, if you're ready for it." James nodded. The shades on the doors leading to the patio were open to let in the light. But something wasn't quite right. The sun was too bright, and there were flowers blooming in the back garden where none had been the day before. "What have the news agencies been saying?"
"Same as when it first happened. The Stark Relief Organization is still on the scene. But it's becoming old news."
She snorted a laugh. "It's only been a few days. It's not like the media hounds to let it go so quickly."
His eyes darted to the side and back. "It's been more than a few days."
Drawing her eyebrows together over her nose, Natasha looked for indications that he was about to spring the punch line of a joke, but he didn't even twitch. "I don't understand. Clint dropped me off yesterday."
"No, he didn't." His feet shifted and he clasped his hands together. "It's been four weeks since Clint brought you home, Natasha."
"If this is a joke, Barnes, it's not funny." Throwing the blanket aside, she went to stand in front of the fireplace, rubbing a hand up and down her bicep.
James came to her side and handed her the phone. She took it, intent on proving him wrong. Then she saw the display. "This can't be right."
The date displayed was just two days short of a month since the Avengers fought and defeated Ultron's robot army. Her email account showed several hundred unread emails. There was almost that many texts, the majority of which were from Clint to James. Steve and Hill's names were in there too. Missed calls? She didn't even want to think about it.
Scrolling through the texts, she saw that James had been seeking advice from Clint on what to do for her. He said she was sleeping all day and night, eating infrequently, and only when forced. On many occasions, James had to take her to the bathroom like a child. If he took her out of the house, she would wander off the moment he turned his back, and when she did stay, she would sit, hands in her lap, and stare into the sky.
Natasha shoved the phone at James, and he took it, following her into her bedroom. In front of the full length mirror, she turned to the side, and pulled down the waistband of her pajamas. The skin of the left hip was unblemished except for the gunshot scar. The bruises and cuts on her forearms were gone as well.
She pulled her shirt up and turned to look at her back. Again, nothing marred the smooth skin. Her injuries couldn't have healed overnight, but how could James be telling the truth? Had she really lost an entire month of her life?
~~O~~
When she first returned home, James just went along with whatever Natasha wanted to do, thinking once she was fully recovered, their life would go back to normal. That she'd work things out for herself if he was patient. After a week or so of letting her be, he tried taking her for walks, but she would turn around and go back to the house. She would sit on the sofa or in the library, and either stare out the window with a book on her lap or fall asleep again.
Even with his limited knowledge and experience, James could tell that the combination of the battle and the emotional trauma Clint only hinted at had sent Natasha into a depression. Clint offered to come and help. However, when James was told that his wife had given birth a few weeks early, he declined, asking him to communicate by text.
Maybe James shouldn't have waited so long to take matters into his own hands. But what's done is done.
As the days turned into weeks, nothing changed. Natasha slept her days away, only eating once a day, if that. Many nights, he found her wandering around the house in the dark. When asked what she was looking for, she said she couldn't find the bathroom. As if she were a small child, James would take her by the hand and lead her to the ensuite, wait while she did her business, and take her back to bed.
A few times, she'd crawled into bed with him the middle of the night, curling up next to him and calling him plyushevyy mishka, teddy bear. When she went back to sleep, he would carry her back to her room.
Twice, he found her standing on the patio staring at the moon humming a tune he didn't know. When asked what she was doing, Natasha would say, "Singing to the stars."
Now, at long last, she was truly awake and aware, participating in conversations, and showing interest in what was going on around her, talking, asking questions, and expecting answers.
"Four weeks?" James nodded. Natasha returned to the sofa, pulled her knees to her chest and covered herself with the blanket. "You've been taking care of me all this time?"
"Clint helped where he could." He picked up the phone where she'd laid it on the table, scrolled until he found what he wanted, and handed it back. "Said to show you this."
It was a photo of a baby in a bouncy seat, bald headed, and wearing a onesie with the name Nathaniel Pietro on the front.
"They named him after Pietro." Natasha's smile was happy and sad at the same time. "And I missed it."
"Who's Pietro?"
She leaned forward to put the phone on the table. "He was the young man who saved Clint's life, though I'm certain he hadn't planned on dying for it." There was a long moment of quietude then Natasha scooted into the end of the sofa with her knees up. She took his hand, silently asking him to stay with her. "The base in Sokovia had a much larger defense force than we anticipated…"
Early Evening
"…With the cloak turned on, we weren't able to track where the quinjet went down." Natasha started to take a drink of tea, finding the cup empty. She put the cup on the table and stretched her legs out barely touching James' thigh. While they'd been talking, the sun had set and it was dark out. "I looked through my messages. They still haven't found Bruce or the quinjet."
James patted her foot where it touched his thigh. "I'm sorry."
"Thor went back to Asgard, Clint to the farm, Steve, Stark, Rhodey, Sam, Wanda, Vision, and Cho are most likely at the new training facility Stark built, and we're here."
He took a deep breath and let it out. "Do you regret being here with me?"
"Of course not. Why would you think that?"
"Sometimes, it's like you want to be somewhere else."
Shaking her head, Natasha poked him with her foot. "If I wanted to be somewhere else, I wouldn't be here." He seemed to accept what she said as the truth. That was good, because she wouldn't lie. Not about this. "I've been doing all the talking. Now it's your turn. What did you do while I was gone?"
James looked at her then away, but not before Natasha saw a twinkle of humor in his blue eyes, thinking nothing of it until his next words, said in an offhand blasé tone.
"I had a party the night you left that lasted for three days. We had a live band, played video games, drinking games, and went skateboarding off the roof. Someone drove the SUV into the lake, and the fire department had to drag it out."
Struck speechless, her eyes wide with disbelief, Natasha stared at James for a long moment. He was having one over on her, so she went along. "And the other sofa?"
"Used it to start a bonfire."
When James looked up this time, she saw it. The same devil-may-care grin he'd worn before the war. Before he died and was brought back by HYDRA. Before he'd been turned into the Winter Soldier.
Over the months they'd been together, James had faked the grin on many occasions. This time was different. This time it was real, coming from that place inside he told her was dead and buried long ago. She stared at him, biting her lip to keep from laughing. Then, he raised one eyebrow, and she burst out laughing.
Leaning back, one arm over the back of the sofa, James held on as long as he could. At first, just the shaking of his shoulders. Then, when he couldn't hold it in any longer, he sat back and laughed.
The hilarity tapered off and came to an end. Still, they kept shooting each other cheeky grins. James picked up his cup, and when he reached for hers, she touched the back of his hand. He looked at her and she smiled. "That's the first time I've heard you laugh. You should do it more often."
For a moment, he looked confused, as if it hadn't occurred to him. Natasha withdrew her hand and he turned away. She was thinking about going to the library for her book when he came back and tended to the fire that was almost out. "What did you really do while I was gone?"
James shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged. It was obvious he didn't think it was important enough to talk about. "Not much."
There was something he wasn't telling her, but she wasn't up to an interrogation. "Thanks for listening, and for the laugh."
"You're welcome."
Natasha went to the library for a book and returned to sit on the sofa with the blanket over her. She couldn't keep her mind on the story though, requiring something more stimulating than To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf. There was little dialogue and no action, with most of the novel written as thoughts and observations. How it got on the list of the top one hundred English-language novels of the twentieth century, she was at a loss to understand. She closed the cover with a snap and laid it on the table with a sigh.
Pulling at the waistband of her pajamas showed the amount of weight she lost in the missing time. She couldn't have gotten much exercise either. Tossing the blanket aside, she stood up to stretch, feeling her muscles pull from lack of use.
Her memories of the last few weeks were sketchy, teasing her with brief flashes of scenes that made no sense. It made her wonder if this was how Bruce felt after a Code Green, weak, disoriented, fearful. Too bad he wasn't around so they could commiserate together.
Going to the entertainment center, Natasha turned on the Tai Chi music, moved to the center of the room, and went into her routine. From the corner of her eye, she saw James coming out of the kitchen. He stood for a moment watching, then joined in the way he used in the beginning.
Over the next couple of weeks, Natasha eased back into her exercise routine with James' help. She wasn't a hundred percent yet but was well on her way.
One night, after a long walk down to the bridge to check on the repairs, Natasha opened the patio doors to ventilate the room so she could clean her weapons. James was off doing whatever he did when he wasn't with her.
She was just finishing with the luster cloth when James came around in front of her holding the remote. "How about a movie or some music?"
"Sure. You choose." The Makarov was returned to the case with its twin and placed out of the way with the cleaning kit.
He set the remote aside and turned on the stereo on manually. The station he tuned it to announced that it played a variety of music from several genres spanning nearly a hundred years. It was all upbeat for the most part, with the occasional sad or sentimental love song thrown in to keep it from getting boring.
A trumpet solo came on that Natasha recognized. James did as well to go by the excitement that lit up his face. He tossed the blanket out of the way, pulled her to her feet, and led her to the open area in front of the fireplace.
Holding her in the classic dance pose, he counted the beats then went right into a fast-paced swing dance. He kept the steps simple, and she appreciated it because she hadn't danced like this in some time.
He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way.
He had a boogie style that no one else could play.
He was the top man at his craft,
but then his number came up and he was gone with the draft.
He's in the army now. He's blowin' reveille.
He's the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B.
James released one hand to swing her out and back, then in a circle, and into his arms again, making her laugh.
They made him blow a bugle for his Uncle Sam.
It really brought him down because he could not jam.
The captain seemed to understand
because the next day the cap went out and drafted a band.
And now the company jumps when he plays reveille.
He's the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B.
~~O~~
Just seeing the delight on Natasha's face after weeks of blank stares thrilled James. He spun her under his arm twice. It made her laugh, and he would gladly dance with her for hours just to hear that sound again.
The song came to a big finish as he pulled Natasha into his arms and leaned her back into a shallow dip. He lifted her upright again, the hand on his shoulder had clenched in the material of his shirt, the ends of her nails digging in slightly along the edge of his prosthesis. He could feel it, yet he couldn't. More of a pressure than actual feeling.
She grinned and poked him in the chest. "Didn't know you could dance like that."
James shrugged one shoulder. "Didn't remember until I heard the song." The DJ made a commercial announcement then another song came on, the tempo slow and easy. They went into each other's arms as if they'd been doing it forever.
Natasha's hand stroked his shoulder, giving him a small jolt when her cool fingertips touched his neck and slid upwards a fraction of an inch into his hair. James pulled her close, his left hand resting on her waist moving in toward her spine, eliciting a small gasp when his metal hand accidentally touched the skin of her back. She didn't complain or move away, so he left it there. A moment later, her warm breath hit him on the side of the neck.
The song ended, and James moved back to look into Natasha's eyes. She rested her hands on his shoulders, and her lips parted as she rose up on her toes to kiss him.
~~O~~
As they slowly parted, Natasha moved her hands to either side of James's head, pushing her fingers into his hair, their eyes meeting again. The long strands tickled over the knuckles as they kissed again. This one had passion and fire and yearning.
Then, just as quickly as it started, the kiss ended when James grabbed her upper arms and moved her back. Natasha looked up at him, confused by his reaction. Taking hold of her wrists, he gently removed her hands, and stepped back.
They watched each other for several moments, barely breathing. Then James picked up the phone, using his thumb to scroll. "It's Clint. I should have sent him an update over an hour ago."
He shoved the phone at her and she took it while holding his gaze until he finally turned away. She read the text, tapped out a response, listening to his footsteps head toward the kitchen. There was a moment of silence then she heard the door to his bedroom click shut.
If James had stayed until she finished with Clint, what would she have said? Their lives were hardly the stuff of which dreams were made. More like nightmares.
Natasha shut off the phone, took a wine glass from the cabinet and filled it from the bottle in the refrigerator. Moments later, she stood in the middle of her bedroom holding the glass in one hand and the phone in the other, wondering how her life had gotten so off track.
TBC
Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy was a major hit for The Andrews Sisters, and an iconic World War II tune.
To the Lighthouse is a 1927 novel by Virginia Woolf. The novel centers on the Ramsays and their visits to the Isle of Skye in Scotland between 1910 and 1920.