I've had a few requests for Bucky. took me awhile to figure out how I wanted to handle it, but I did. so this is for y'all. :)

enjoy!

"Buck?" Steve says, head lolling to one side lazily to look at his friend as they walk forward slowly.

"Yeah?"

"Tonight was fun, right?"

"Yeah," he replies easily. It had been nice to meet up with the guys from the Howling Commandos and spend some time swapping stories over drinks.

"No," Steve replies, tone insistent as he stops walking suddenly, "I mean fun for you."

It takes Bucky a second to steady them both thanks to Steve's abrupt stop, and he takes the opportunity to tighten his grip around his friend's shoulders.

"Don't worry, Steve. It was fine. Just like old times."

"Good. Don't wanna overwhelm ya, y'know?"

"Sure," Bucky replies with a roll of his eyes. His days of being a shut-in, former Hydra-asset were long behind him, but still Steve worried like a mother hen. Oh, how the tables have turned , he thinks as he recalls the worry he'd once held for Steve's poor health. "Hey, your place is this way," he says with a frown when they start walking and Steve tries to take a wrong turn.

"But I wanna see Nat," Steve replies stubbornly.

"It's pretty late, pal. She's probably already asleep."

"Last to bed and the first to rise," he says, surprisingly clearly.

"What are you, a fortune cookie?"

Steve frowns and then laughs after a moment, clearly having clued into the joke. "'s'not a fortune. It's Nat."

Bucky sighs and then gives in as Steve leads them toward Natasha's place. Why he feels the need to see her this late Bucky has no idea, but there's only so much he can do to try and persuade a super soldier otherwise...especially one as stubborn as Steve.

Ten minutes later they've arrived outside her house, and Bucky's surprised to see there's actually a light on. Well I'll be damned .

Before he can even try to stop him, Steve has surged forward out of his hold to the door and knocked twice. "Nat!" Steve calls out excitedly when the door opens, revealing a very confused, but decidedly awake Natasha."Guess what!"

She lets out an oomph of surprise as he stumbles forward into her arms, and she takes a few steps backward to balance them both. Frankly, Bucky's surprised she's even still on her feet, because the dead weight of Captain America was not something easily handled.

"Steve...are you drunk?"

"Yeah!" he answers with an impossibly wide grin, and Bucky can't help but shake his head, even as he steps forward into the house to offer some help steadying the super soldier.

A shake of her head assures him she's got the situation under control, and he relaxes slightly as he watches her get Steve balanced. "Is there a stash of Asgardian liquor here that I don't know about?"

"Apparently his metabolism in death isn't quite the same as it was in life," Bucky offers in explanation with a shrug.

Natasha frowns and turns her gaze back to Steve. "How are you just finding this out now? You've been here a long time..."

His grin hasn't faded and he shrugs. "Didn't think to try. But Nat, I can drink now."

"You could drink before," she points out while doing a terrible job of hiding her smirk, "you just couldn't get drunk. Two different things, Rogers."

"You know what I meant," he mumbles as wraps his arms clumsily around her in a tight hug again. "You always know what I mean."

"How much did you have?"

"'nuff to remember why folks like getting drunk," he mumbles into her hair. Even half hidden, Bucky can see the stupidly wide grin on his face. "I love you. You know that, right? I never told you that before I don't think."

Natasha reaches up to lift his head away from her hair and then smiles warmly up at him as she breaks the embrace but keeps ahold of him. Bucky feels a smile spread across his own face because it's easy to see the tight bond they share and how much they care about each other. He's so glad Steve had that while he'd been the so-called Winter Soldier.

"O...kay. I think it's time for us to find you a bed, Steve," she says as he leans and nearly falls over.

"Bit forward of you, Nat," Steve slurs with a dopey grin that Bucky supposes is meant to be teasing. "Thought you knew my heart's taken," he slurs.

She rolls her eyes. "To sleep, Steve. A bed for you to sleep in. Alone."

"Oh," he says as he nods thoughtfully, "yeah, that sounds good. You got one of those?"

"Yeah, I think I have a bed, Steve," she answers with a chuckle. "Gimme a hand here, Barnes, would you?"

"You sure? I can probably get him back to his place," he offers, mindful that they had dropped in on her completely unannounced.

She waves it off with her free hand as she passes Steve's weight onto him before turning to shut the front door behind them. "He's in no shape and I've got a couple spare bedrooms you two can stay in."

"Much obliged," he answers with a quick nod of his head. "Where we headed?" he adds, readjusting his grip around Steve.

"There's a bedroom just down there," she says nodding down the hall before slipping an arm around Steve's waist.

"My two best friends," Steve mumbles turning his head to look at Bucky and then Natasha. "Both of you… I'm just so grateful, you know? To have both of you in my life. I'm so lucky. Of all the people to meet, and I got to meet you two."

"He's a sappy drunk?" she says incredulously.

"It's not sappy," he protests. "I love you guys. That's the truth. And I'm always honest. Always."

"You know, it's a good thing Captain America couldn't get drunk. The media would've had a field day," she quips.

Bucky barks out a laugh because she's so right.

"Was he like this as a kid?"

"Nah, he never had to put effort into getting drunk. He was so scrawny before the war that one sip would send him into a tailspin."

Steve frowns. "You're not s'posed to tell her that."

"Hate to break it to ya, pal, but I think she already knew. Besides, she's Russian - she could probably drink us both under the table, serum or no serum."

"Only with wodka!" Steve adds cheekily.

Natasha cringes. "Was that supposed to be a Russian accent? Stick to the Brooklyn drawl, Rogers." Steve's frown returns again and she laughs. "But you're not wrong, Barnes," she adds with a wink as she meets his gaze.

"I just call 'em like I see 'em, doll."

She scoffs. "Did that actually work back in the forties?"

"Most of the time," Steve answers.

"Some of the time," Bucky corrects. "And not as often as I'd have liked."

"Don't listen to 'im, Nat," Steve pipes up. "He was a ladies man!"

"Mmhmm, thanks for the info, Rogers," she replies as they finally reach the room. "You got this?"

"Yeah, I got it," Bucky answers and then turns his attention back to Steve, who's swaying pretty significantly.

"The other spare room is just across the hall, otherwise I'll be up for awhile in the den if you want some sober company," she replies before turning on her heel and heading out of the room.

"You ready, pal? Let's not make this any harder than it has to be okay?" he says, turning to Steve and finding the man already face down on the bed.

"Don't worry, Buck. I got this," he mumbles into the pillows.

Bucky laughs. "Yeah, I'm sure you do."

"He out?" she asks without looking up from her book as he walks through the doorway.

"Like a light," Bucky answers with a grin as he drops onto the other end of the couch she's curled up on.

"Guess this means I'm on the hook when he gets up in the middle of the night, confused about where he is," she quips.

"Enjoy it while you can...kids grow up so fast."

She laughs lightly as she closes her book and puts it down on the table. "You know, I just realized that we haven't really been properly introduced."

Bucky's startled to realize that she's right. Go figure that the always painfully polite Steve Rogers would forget to introduce his two best friends , he thinks as he holds in a chuckle.

She leans forward and holds out a hand which he grasps tightly and shakes, completely unsurprised by the firmness of her grip. "Natasha Romanoff," she says with a small smile.

"James Buchanan Barnes," he returns with a smile of his own. "But everyone calls me Bucky." Her nose crinkles ever so slightly and his brow creases into a frown. "What?"

"Nothing," she says with a shake of her head. "Just...Bucky? Really?"

He shrugs. "Nickname stuck, what can I say?"

"Fair enough." Then she's quiet for a beat with an almost contemplative expression on her face. "You know, Steve wants me to get to know you."

"Yeah, he told me the same about you."

"Guess he figures we have some things in common."

"Probably," he agrees. And Steve's not wrong - they probably would have quite a bit in common. "But I think he is conveniently forgetting that I tried to kill you at least three times," he adds, feeling the pangs of regret. There's a lot to regret about his time as the Soldier, and trying to kill the woman who turned out to be a close friend of his best friend was high on that list.

She surprises him again by waving off the unspoken apology. "That was the Winter Soldier, not you. Believe me when I say that's a distinction I'm quite familiar with."

Right . The Black Widow. Of courseshe'd understand what it was like to not even be aware that your mind isn't your own, and then to live with the guilt of the horrors your hands had wrought when you do find out.

"You want a drink?" she offers suddenly, startling him out of his thoughts. "Because I could use some wodka ," she adds, flaunting an absolutely terrible Russian accent that was still better than Steve's.

He chuckles. "Sounds good. Unlike our mutual friend passed out down the hall, I know how to handle my liquor."

She laughs as she makes her way over to the freezer in the adjoining kitchen and pulls out a familiar bottle. She pauses for a moment by the cupboard to snag two glasses, and then rejoins him on the couch. She pours out some vodka into each glass and then pushes one over to him before holding up her own.

"What're we drinking to?" he asks.

She looks thoughtful for a moment. "Mutual friends?" she offers.

He grins and nods as he clinks his glass to hers. "To mutual friends."

An hour later they've made their way through nearly half the bottle, both electing to sip at their drinks and savour the taste rather than chase the drunkenness Steve had been so happy and eager to experience again. Most of their conversation had centred on stories about Steve, since he was the common thread between them. Bucky offered tales of their shared childhood and war stories, while Nat brought him up to speed on Steve's efforts at modernizing and tales of the Avengers. They'd covered some of the basics too, confirming some snippets of information they'd each heard from Steve about the other, and delved into some random topics like the best pizza style, where the best pretzels were from, and favourite books.

The conversation had been easy and mostly light-hearted conversation to that point, but Bucky knows that alcohol and two generally melancholy souls won't allow for that to be sustained much longer. Back before the war he'd been social and had enjoyed nights out, but being the Winter Soldier for so long had left him a bit subdued and with a preference for solitude. He guesses that having spent most of her life in the world of espionage, she's probably much the same in her preference for quiet and time alone. Still, despite the late hour and everything else...he's enjoying talking with her.

"Do you remember much of Russia?" she asks, breaking the silence and steering them into another common thread, albeit a more painful one for them both. He recognizes the olive branch though, knowing she's worded her question deliberately to offer a chance to dip their toes into a more significant topic without pushing it. He could easily shrug off the question and steer it back into safety, or he can take the branch and dive a little deeper.

He twists his wrist around, watching the liquid twirl in the glass as he mulls his answer over. "Some. Most of the time I spent there was in cryo." She nods understandingly. Okay, let's see how this goes , he thinks, deciding to delve deeper because there's just something that makes it easy to talk to her. "Did you spend much time there after joining SHIELD?"

She shakes her head. "They kept me away from most of Eastern Europe for awhile. Probably to make sure I wouldn't double-cross them and rejoin the Russians with new information."

"Or maybe to give you time to recover," he counters, because somehow in his afterlife he's become something of an optimist. Some of the time, at least. Go figure .

"Maybe both," she concedes as she pours herself a bit more vodka. "Fury was the one who made those decisions about me in my early years at SHIELD, and he wasn't a complete asshole, so yeah, maybe you're right."

He offers a fleeting smile at her half-hearted joke but then presses, "But after that?" because he gets a sense she's willing to share a bit more. Maybe even wants to. Life after death had let him relax and open up a bit more and he wonders if maybe it's done the same for her. Plus, he's curious. He knows that he'd wanted to head to Brooklyn shortly after breaking his conditioning to find some foundation to build on, and he wonders if she'd felt that same desire to go back to her roots.

"I had a few missions there over the years, and I went back once after we took down SHIELD."

"Unfinished business?" he guesses. They both had a hell of a lot of that.

She nods. "Took down some folks who thought keeping the Red Room up and running was a good idea."

He nods because he knows exactly how important that closure can be. Once his memories had begun to return, he'd wanted to hunt down every last one of his handlers from over the years and exact some serious revenge.

She hesitates for a moment, taking a long, drawn out sip from her glass. Bucky doesn't press, instead affording her some time to gather her thoughts. He doesn't know her well, but he knows enough from Steve's stories and what he's gleaned from their conversation so far that she's a private person. Sure, maybe life after death had helped her open up some, but at her core her impulse was still to keep things private. He gets that. Even if the Soldier had all but disappeared from his mind, he remembers the desire to keep things to himself at almost all costs.

She lets out a soft, almost silent sigh that pulls Bucky back out of his musing in time to hear her quiet words. "And then I tried to find my parents."

He throws back the last sip of his glass and then nods his thanks as she grabs the bottle immediately to pour him some more. He wonders if they would ever have shared secrets like this when they'd both been alive, if circumstances had allowed.

"You find them?"

She nods, and he can see shades of sadness in her eyes and her expression. "Two gravestones by a chain link fence."

"I'm sorry," he offers, because he's not sure what else to say. He'd lost the memories of his childhood for decades but had gotten them back eventually. She'd never had any to begin with - the assholes had stolen them from her before she could even have them. And there was so much that was so incredibly sad about that. "Do you know how they died?"

She shakes her head. "There weren't any details, and I couldn't find anyone who'd been around back then without raising suspicion. And besides, I don't even know if…"

He watches as she trails off, and knows that whatever this doubt is, it's been eating at her for awhile. "If…" he prompts gently, sensing she needs the push this time.

Another sigh. "If they were even my parents." His brow creases as he frowns, which prompts an explanation from her. "Did Steve tell you about the Soul stone's guardian?"

He nods. "That Red Skull bastard we fought in the war was cursed to watch over and guide others to a stone he couldn't ever get his grubby hands on."

She nods. "He greeted us by name, and with a parent's name. Clint, son of Edith. Natasha, daughter of Ivan," she recites from memory.

His frown deepens, because he knows her full name, and understands the Russian usage of patronymics. Natasha Alianovna Romanoff meant her father's name was Alian.

"I found the gravestones of Alian Mikhailovich Romanoff and his wife, Nika Petrova Romanoff."

"Because you followed the Russian naming custom."

"Exactly. But if the Red Skull said daughter of Ivan, then maybe they aren't really my parents. Or maybe they gave me up willingly and Ivan was just a part of the Red Room I don't remember."

Bucky feels a pang of sympathy. Even in death she's still tortured by pieces of her past. "Or maybe they were your parents and they didn't give you up willingly."

She shrugs and throws back the rest of her drink somewhat harshly. "Just frustrating, you know?"

He nods because in a way, he can relate. He'd spent decades as the Soldier who had no life story beyond his training and his missions, and he remembered what it was like to have a blank slate for a past. "You could find them now," he suggests.

Her expression shifts and he finds himself a little surprised by how much she's sharing and allowing him to see. They are acquaintances…not friends, despite what Steve might hope, and he's not so naïve to believe that it's the alcohol loosening her tongue. He hadn't been kidding when he said she could probably drink him under the table.

"I don't know if I'm ready for that," she admits, eyes focused on her glass as she idly rubs her thumb up and down the side. "Hell of a first conversation, don't you think? I didn't even know them."

"But they knew you," he counters, and then hesitates because he's certain they don't know each other well enough for this. But there's something about her that prompts him to press forward anyway. "And maybe this is something you can get back."

She exhales and pours herself a refill before topping his glass up as well, nearly finishing the bottle in the process. "Maybe," she acquiesces. "I just don't think I'm ready for that. Not yet."

"Well," he drawls as a grin spreads across his face in an effort to lighten the mood, "not like we have anywhere else to be, so you can take your time."

"True enough," she says with a smile. "Hey…you hungry?"

"I could eat."

"Think I've got some roasted chicken we could make some nachos with. That sound okay?"

"Okay? I think I'm falling in love with you, Natasha."

She groans and rolls her eyes. "Get your ass up, Barnes, I'm not making 'em alone."

He throws back the rest of his drink and then hops up quickly. "Yes, ma'am!" he says with a salute.

"Literally nothing has changed," she grumbles. "I'm still surrounded by idiots."

He laughs. "Hey, you chose these idiots."

"Not all of them," she counters. "I inherited you with Steve."

His laughter grows as he follows her into the kitchen. "That's just mean, Natasha."

"Nat," she corrects immediately.

"Huh?"

"My friends call me Nat."

"So we're friends, huh?"

He'd expected they would chat, and maybe reach some sort of understanding, but forming a friendship hadn't been something he thought would happen given everything in their shared past.

"Well, what else do you call the people who carry their mutual drunk friend to bed together?"

"Got me there," he says with a laugh and a wide grin.

She gives him a pointed look as she hands him the chips and a tray, and he immediately begins arranging them into an even layer. It doesn't take him long and he glances over to find her shredding the leftover chicken she'd mentioned. "Salsa?" he asks.

"Shelf on the right hand side of the fridge," she answers without looking up. "Cheese is in the drawer. It's not shredded yet unfortunately. I think the cheese grater is in that cabinet," she finishes with a vague nod toward their left.

"Copy that," he answers before beginning to pull out the ingredients.

"There might be some jalapenos in the fridge too, if you want." He hesitates, still not quite used to spicy and flavourful foods despite Sam's best efforts at introducing them into his diet. He still tended to gravitate to the meat and potatoes or pasta type meals. "Oh, come on, live a little," she teases when she notices his hesitation. "Some jalapenos aren't gonna kill ya."

He flashes a guilty smile and grabs the peppers before focusing on beginning to grate the cheese.

"It took me awhile to get used to the food too," she explains, expertly sussing out the root of his hesitation. "I was used to bland stews and oatmeal in the Red Room, and some fancier food on the occasional mission that required attendance at a party or gala. The first time Clint took me out for a proper dinner I was overwhelmed. First time Laura cooked me a proper home cooked meal and baked a homemade dessert, I could've sworn I'd died and gone to heaven."

"Sam did his best to try and show me some stuff, but there wasn't much in the way of spice growing up, and when I wasn't in cryo it was all that bland food engineered for efficiency. Tough habit to break."

"Get Steve to cook for you," she advises. "He can help you out with easing you into the flavours. He took some cooking classes, and he's not bad actually."

One eyebrow arches doubtfully. She can't be serious… "Steve took cooking classes?"

She nods. "I may have made a suggestion."

"Suggestion, or suggestion ?"

She grins. "I apologize for nothing, it was totally worth it. And he enjoyed it. He's lying if he tells you differently."

Bucky holds up his hands. "I'm not arguing, but am very much looking forward to exploiting this skill of his."

"Do you cook much?" she asks as she pushes the now completely shredded chicken aside and then starts to slice the peppers. Her incredibly fluid movements surprise him until his brain kicks in and remembers she's a trained assassin who'd made a living handling knives and other such weapons.

"Uh, I have a few recipes I used to help my ma out with that I'll make now and again, but it's not really my strength. What about you?"

"I learned some basic stuff when I finally got my own place after joining SHIELD. Never figured I'd like it, but it was oddly relaxing so I kept adding different stuff to my repertoire. And Laura was ecstatic to have someone to help her cook for the family, so she taught me a bunch too."

He tilts his head as he mulls her answer over. It's not surprising in the least to him that she enjoyed cooking, though he can't really pinpoint why.

They're quiet as they finish prepping the nachos, and once they're in the oven baking she hops up to sit on the counter while he leans his hip against it next to her.

"Do you miss the arm?"

He'd been fortunate and very thankful to wake up in the afterlife with both his arms intact. The phantom limb pain and the very real pain in his shoulder along the attachment points were not things he missed. Still, the sheer power and versatility of it…

"Not really," he answers when he realizes he hadn't said anything aloud yet. "It was painful a lot of the time, so it's nice not to have that." She hums in agreement. "I do miss being able to kick Steve's ass though. That thing was seriously powerful."

"You got a version of the serum right?"

"Yeah."

"So, train up a bit and I bet you could give him a run for his money."

He barks out a laugh. "Steve told me you were competitive. Also told me you wiped the floor with him the first time you guys sparred."

"Oh yeah," she answers with a chuckle. "Old man was way too chivalrous. I took him down in less than a minute."

"Oh, Stevie," he exhales. "He's always been terrible with dames."

"I straightened him out eventually. Taught him a few things."

He scoffs. "A few things? I watched him fight back in the war, and I fought him in D.C. - like night and day."

"He was an excellent brawler, he just lacked some finesse."

"Well, you must be an excellent teacher, 'cause he nearly got the better of me then."

"You could train with me," she offers. "I know there's no need to train bere, but I'm so used to it that it's weird not doing anything, so I still keep up with it."

He considers the offer. He'd never done particularly well with spare time or energy, and he knows she's an accomplished fighter, particularly in hand to hand. There'd be a bit of a learning curve for sure now that he doesn't have the arm, but it could be a good thing to occupy some of his time.

"Yeah, maybe," he hedges. "I'll think about it."

"Promise I won't embarrass you too badly," she says with a wink.

"Oh, I have a feeling that's not gonna be true," he laughs.

"Once you're up to par, we'll set you loose on Steve."

"Nah," he waves it off, even if the idea is appealing. "His metabolism may be back to normal, but he's still a super soldier."

"C'mon, Bucky. Now that he knows he can drink we can't let him get lost in the bottle," she goads, throwing another wink at him for good measure.

"You are ridiculous, you know that?" he says, shaking his head.

"I've been told a time or two…" she grins.

It's quiet for a beat.

"Do you remember your time as the Soldier?" she asks softly, almost hesitantly.

"Some, yeah. Think all the wipes in that damned chair scrambled my brain a bit though."

"I can't imagine…"

"You probably have a better idea than most. I know the Red Room wasn't exactly a walk in the park."

"True, but it's not exactly the same."

"Close enough," he counters. "I know they used some brainwashing techniques and some less than humane training techniques. Handcuffing girls to beds? Fights to the death between 10 year olds? That's messed up."

She frowns. "How do you know so much about the Red Room?"

He hesitates a second because he knows his answer is going to cause some waves for her. "I did some time there as a trainer."

Her expression is unreadable, but her eyes fill with questions immediately.

"Not while you were there," he expands quickly, "but I was there for a little while. I didn't know it then because I was so deep under the conditioning, but once I got my memory back…" he trails off. "What I saw there...what I did…"

"It wasn't you, Bucky," she says. Her voice is gentle and he knows she's trying for some reassurance, but he can see the conflicting emotions in her eyes. He knows that imagining him as one of the people who had inflicted the pain on the girls can't be easy.

"Doesn't make it okay," he replies, feeling the weight of the guilt on his chest.

She hops off the counter and opens the oven to check on the nachos. Apparently they're baked to her satisfaction, so she pulls the tray out and places it between them.

"Hey," she says gently, waiting for his gaze to rise and meet hers. "Stop blaming yourself for that. It was a long time ago, and you weren't in control. I know it's hard, but you have to forgive yourself for that. Believe me, there's a lot in my past that I spent a long time feeling guilty about and doing everything I could to try and make up for. But I wasn't in control then, just like you weren't in control then."

Bucky stays quiet, trying to absorb her words.

"You did good in the world too. Taking care of Steve when you were kids, everything you did in the war, saving Steve's life by fishing him out of the Potomac, fighting against Thanos twice , and then all those years with Sam… You're not a bad person, James," she finishes softly. Hearing his given name is startling but not unwelcome, and he feels a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, despite the emotional charge of the moment.

She holds his gaze for a few seconds before reaching down to snag a chip from the tray. Her words wash over him and he thinks about her story of redemption, and how firmly she seems to believe in his.

"Thanks, Nat," he says finally.

She nods and offers a reassuring smile before grabbing another chip. "Better get in here, Barnes or I'll eat them all. And I won't feel bad about it."

He smiles. Yeah, I can see why Steve likes her so much.

"And by the way, James," she adds, "I'm not calling you Bucky."

He grins. Yeah, he's okay with that.

never figured that this one would end up being one of the longer ones, but here we are.

thoughts? comments? suggestions?

I'm all ears.

more to come...