They were very careful. Bucky didn't trust Stark not to spy on them so he only let himself reach for her or touch her in her room which, he figured, she'd already cleared. Tony didn't dare try to spy on Nat, so they were safe. If anyone noticed the shift between them, it went unmentioned, and the only person who no longer seemed afraid of the Winter Soldier was Clint. He'd even invited Bucky out to the sniper range with him.

But, while they were extremely careful with their relationship, Natasha was less so with the scar. Maybe he'd just been dramatic before, but the closer they got the less protective she became of the angry, red mark. No one touched it, still, because they'd been trained not to. She didn't go out of her way to dodge or hide it, though, and didn't hesitate to change in front of them or swim. One by one, they all saw it.

Clint was first. Bucky had no doubt that Natasha had purposely waited until it was just them and the archer before pulling off her shirt to reveal her bikini. She slipped soundlessly into the water, but Bucky was watching Clint. The man's eyes were grey, but they watched Natasha almost unconsciously as she moved and he could see the scrutiny there. He wasn't ogling her, he was looking for injuries. For any hint that she wasn't as okay as she insisted she was. Bucky watched his eyes drift lower, immediately pulled to the red mark. He didn't stiffen, didn't gasp, didn't even seem to react. If Bucky hadn't known him well enough to see the little tick of curiosity in his face, he would have thought Clint had missed it somehow.

But, since Clint went well, Bucky knew she would move to whoever was next on her list. Bruce, it turned out, was either her next planned victim or just the next most convenient target because he was the one who got roped into helping them. Tony had thrown Dum-E in the pool in frustration, leaving them to get him out, but he was too heavy for just Natasha. Bucky was more than content to stay on the sidelines, away from the water. Even if Natasha was comfortable in this experiment, he was not going to let each member of the team see the scars that attached the metal arm or that littered his back from beatings. If she wanted to stand their scrutiny, good for her. But he wasn't subjecting himself to it just to join her.

So, he observed Bruce as he watched the man catch sight of the scar. He stiffened. For a moment, the veins in his neck pulsed a little too fast and Bucky thought he might go full hulk on them. But, he took deep breaths, and acted as if nothing was different. Interesting. None of them questioned her, or even indicated that they'd seen it-though maybe that was why she'd chosen them as her guinea pigs?

She didn't even bother with Tony. Bucky suspected that she knew Tony had cameras everywhere and that Friday had already informed him. If she hadn't already threatened him not to ask, then she could rest easy in the fact that he hadn't pushed her for an explanation so far. It was Steve who she'd been saving for last and, honestly he couldn't blame her. He hadn't let Steve see him without a shirt yet for the exact same reason he hid black eyes and bruises from the blonde as kids. Steve loved-hard-and he could never just accept that bad things happened. Especially not to people he cared about.

But, Natasha did it. He wouldn't have been surprised if she backed out because he wasn't even the one doing it and he was scared shitless. She did it, though, and made sure all of them were there with her. Normally, when they journeyed down to the pool, she stayed with Bucky by the side and merely watched the others but, this time, she stripped with them. As expected, Clint and Bruce merely glanced and looked away. Tony didn't even look, confirming that he already knew, but Steve…

Steve stared. Natasha pretended not to notice but Bucky openly observed them all so he didn't bother looking away from Steve's face. He still wasn't quite used to that chiselled face or broad jaw, but he knew those baby blue eyes very well and he recognized immediately when they darkened. Steve was upset-clearly. His whole face gradually fell into confusion and hurt, but he just stared at Natasha's lower back.

"Nat?" Even his voice was choked. She turned, but neither her nor Bucky were surprised to see that Steve was the one who was affected by it. They'd known he would be, which was why he was saved for last. She turned, though, with a smile as if nothing was wrong, and threw the ball. It hit Steve's chest and fell, untouched.

"Something wrong, Cap?" But Steve ignored Clint, ignored the hint to drop it and move on. He stared, clearly hurt though Natasha wasn't.

"Who hit you?" Natasha turned again, slightly less smiley. Steve wasn't taking the hint and, while Bucky could have guessed it would turn into an issue, Natasha was still less than amused.

"Which time?" Steve stiffened, but was undeterred.

"The handprint on your back." Natasha's smile disappeared. She cocked her head to one side, dangerously, like a cat sizing up its prey, but Bucky knew that look. Quickly, he stood and moved to the edge of the pool, both so he could observe and so he was close enough to stop Natasha if he needed to. She was on edge, now, watching Steve like a predator. Steve didn't sense the danger.

"Natasha, who did that to you?" But she wasn't really listening anymore, and Bucky could see that. Her shoulders were back and her feet were planted, even under the water, so that she could lunge at him or run the second she felt the need to. Bucky could almost feel her heart beating faster and faster the longer Steve looked at her. Steve didn't realize but that pitying look was very easily turned into fire under their skin and his concern was even faster to ignite. After so long, him caring felt fake. No one else had ever meant it-they didn't understand, and couldn't-so why would Steve not just be fucking with them?

"Tal…" He didn't go as far as to call her Talya, knowing that would give too much, but she jolted a bit regardless. She didn't shake the tension, though. Bucky moved closer. He could feel the entire group, even Tony's AI, watching them and cataloguing every movement, every breath, and it felt horribly scientific. Like cold blades and steel tables. Like leather restraints and muzzles. He didn't even think as he watched her face twist how bad this idea was because he couldn't see anything but her fear. Couldn't focus on anything but her expression. So, without blinking, he slid down into the pool fully clothed.

It spoke volumes about the current situation that he didn't even draw eyes. They were all so focused on Natasha that the sight of him, fully dressed, moving in the water wasn't even worth looking. She stiffened, feeling the ripple through the water, but he just moved closer. He tried to take some of the pressure off, drawing some of the eyes onto him, but it didn't work. Bruce and Clint and Tony were all clearly curious and, now that Steve was bold-or stupid-enough to push her they wanted to know just as badly. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

"Drop it, Steven." But Steve didn't drop it. He just stared at Natasha, pleading her with his eyes, begging her to tell him who'd hurt her so he could do something about it. Bucky knew her. He knew every curve of her body, every dip of his skin, and he knew exactly what she looked like just before striking. Poised, like a ballerina, the epitome of grace and dignity and calm. Too calm. He could feel the tension in her muscles and he could see her starting to panic. She was bouncing back and forth between fighting or running and Bucky, of all people, knew that she almost always chose the fight. Always.

"Talya…" She heard him, but it didn't make a dent in the fire he could see crawling on her skin. She felt like a specimen, like a widow, and the longer Steve looked at her the more she could convince herself that none of them actually cared. They were just curious, not worried. Interested, if anything, in her weaknesses so they could exploit them. He didn't know what to do because the nicknames weren't working and he couldn't just touch her when she was like this but he needed to get the eyes off of her before she snapped and he just…

Did it.

Something compelled him, but he couldn't have named it if he tried. He reached and pulled his own shirt over his head. Immediately, every set of eyes went to him. They seared into his scars and burned into his skin, taking in the gnarled flesh that met metal and the countless whip marks on his back. But they weren't looking at her.

She breathed, finally, and he felt the tension seep out of her into the air, grabbing for any little crook or cranny in his body it could latch onto. He stiffened, but refused to panic. Not when she was here, not when he knew her and trusted her. She watched him, too, but it was with something like awe rather than disgust or horror and he didn't mind her eyes on his flesh. She'd seen the scars a hundred times, she wasn't looking at them. She was looking at him. Just him.

"James." He was too focused on breathing, though, and making sure he didn't turn this into an even worse situation by slipping into a full blown panic attack. She stepped back, though, and closer to him. He could feel Bruce and Tony scrutinizing him with that scientific edge. They saw injuries, history, mapped out on his skin in a way that they could decode as if he was just another experiment. Clint looked at him with something like disappointment. But Steve…

Again, Steve was the worst. There was a very good reason Bucky hadn't let him see the scars and that reason was staring him in the face. Warm, baby blue eyes welled with tears. Steve looked so fucking shattered by the mere sight of him that Bucky almost gagged. This was Steve. Steve Rogers, the skinny little blond from Brooklyn who always had so much fight in him. So much love, for anyone and everyone who would let him care. To watch that love fade into disgust and revulsion was quite possibly the worst thing Bucky could ever imagine. It was his nightmare, his hell. And here it was, staring right back at him. Steve didn't even seem to recognize him and damn if that wasn't fucking familiar in all the wrong ways.

"James." He was stopped, instantly, by a touch. In any other circumstance, it would have made him seize and defend himself but it didn't. Because it was a warm, gentle touch from raised, welted skin. A scar. And it fit his hand perfectly, even as the metal shifted and realigned into place. He breathed.

"Something wrong, Steve?" His own voice felt foreign as it hit his ears but it was there and it was stronger than he felt. There was so much steel in those words that Steve flinched. Had Bucky not been still teetering on the edge of a panic attack, he would have felt bad but, as it was, he was just glad they'd backed off.

"No, not at all." The blond sounded less than convinced and, if anything, more worried about them but Natasha was scary on her own. Bucky knew he was scary too-he'd been told so-but together? Together they were the most deadly Soviet assassins to ever surface and everyone, especially Steve, knew it. He backed off, scared.

"I'm… gonna go make lunch." Quickly, Steve dismissed himself and disappeared into the elevator. They stood there, together, like a silent challenge to anyone else who wanted to press for information. Tony and Bruce both mumbled about an experiment and drifted away, though slightly less fearfully than Steve. Clint stayed. When they continued to look at him, he just shrugged.

"I'm not gonna ask, if that's what you're waiting for." Natasha accepted that and moved away but Bucky didn't quite believe him. It seemed too good to be true.

"Why not?" Clint flashed him a little smile and went for the ball as Natasha got set up on the other side of the net.

"One, because it's none of my business." He tossed the ball but didn't let his smile fade. "And two, there are much more interesting things to talk about-like your choice to wear black jeans in a chlorinated pool." Bucky looked to Natasha, confused as to why that would matter, but she just rolled her eyes and threw him the ball.

"He's fine, James. Don't be the reason we lose this match." He set the ball and Clint dived, complaining all the while that he was only one person against two of them.

"Stupid Soviet reflexes!" Natasha laughed. Her voice was suddenly free of tension and her relaxing let him relax. They'd won, he realized, while he was zoning out. And if Clint was anything, he was a sore loser and, suddenly, their biggest problem was dealing with the archer's fractured ego. It was worth it, though. As Clint stormed off to pout about unfair rules and double-teaming him, Natasha turned to him. She slid easily into his arms, pressing her face into his soaked chest, but she smiled and shifted so his palm fit over the scar again.

"Missed you, James." He realized, then, that she didn't mean him as much as the security. Someone having her back, someone protecting and shielding her when she was so used to defending herself. She leaned into him and sighed deeply. Like, finally, she could relax. And he remembered that feeling, of her chest sinking from her exhale and her muscles finally relaxing into him. He knew that feeling. Knew her.

"Missed you too, Talya."