The final chapter of this tale. What better way to end it than by hearing from Bucky ;).
Thanks for all the support with this fic. You've all made my writers' block worth struggling through. And if you want more Bucky then please feel free to check out my other stories. He tends to feature quite heavily...
Bucky's drawn back to reality, and out of the Natasha-centric haze he's been happily basking in by an insistent and incessant beeping. What the hell...?
Natasha groans beneath him and annoyingly this time it's not from the motion of his fingers that are still happily buried deep inside her, stroking and soothing her as she comes down from her latest orgasm. He doesn't even care any more that they're his metal ones, Nat's managed to drive that hang-up right out of him in almost no time flat. She seems to like them, even if he doesn't.
"It's my alarm clock, can you spot it?" She waves a hand, gesturing towards the bed from their current spot on the floor. "It was on the side table, but, you know..."
He doesn't until he looks over and sees that the aforementioned side table is now on its side. He spots the blinking lights of a digital alarm clock flashing 8:15 over by the skirting board across the floor, and points it out to her while he takes in the state of the rest of the room. It's a wreck. He doesn't even honestly remember how they ended up on the floor again, but at least they'd managed to grab the sheet now draped over them on their way down this time. That was nice. His eyelids fall half-closed as she eases herself off his fingers and snuggles in closer to his chest. "I think we broke your lamp."
Nat picks up a book that's just in reach and hurls it from her prone position at the still-blaring time piece, and misses. She snorts, "Screw the lamp, I think we broke me". He opens his eyes again fully and looks down to see if she's being serious, and automatically starts scanning her for injuries, focusing in on the series of rapidly darkening bruises now littering the pale skin of her arms. She must catch the concern in his eyes as her hand instantly rises up to capture the side of his face and redirect his eyes to her own. "Hey you didn't hurt me." She gifts him that sweet, crooked smile of hers. "You should see yourself mister," she traces the fingers of her other hand over what he assumes is a fairly impressive hicky on his collar bone if the slight sting he feels across his skin is any indication, "I think I won this round".
She drops the arm down in order to prop her head up and enable herself to look past him, but instantly picks up the gentle caresses with the thumb of the hand still resting on his cheek as she gazes over his shoulder. "I think the wall got the worst of it though."
Oh yes, the wall, that's how they'd ended up down here. His legs had temporarily given out after she'd slammed him against it and ridden him so hard he'd almost blacked-out. No wonder it was all a little hazy.
He gently gathers her hand in his own, lifting it so that he can roll onto his back and see what she's seeing. There's an unmissable dent in the dry wall, not to mention a huge web of cracks radiating out from the impact zone. "Crap."
Natasha repositions herself on top of him with her chin resting gently on his chest so she can look down at him. He wonders what she sees. "I don't suppose Hydra put anything as useful as home repair in that head of yours did they?"
He pauses, pretending to think deeply about it "Nope. Murder, infiltration, 12 or 13 languages, assorted martial arts and, weirdly, origami, but no dry-walling. Maybe I can get a refund."
She laughs and he finds himself joining in. Joking about his programming wasn't something he'd known he was capable of until this very moment. It felt wonderful. Not, getting his brains fucked out by the beautiful woman on top of him wonderful, but a pretty close second. The things she did to him.
He should really be fighting for every scrap of self-determination he can get his mismatched hands on, what with having gone from being a virtual wind-up murder machine for the past 70-odd years, to now being a glorified prisoner who's fate was currently being hashed out by some top secret tribunal of world leaders and legal experts, but he thinks he'd pretty much do anything Natasha asked of him.
It's a little warped, but then again so is he now.
He's still not the leading authority on his own abnormally long and destructive life, that'd be Steve, but he's pretty sure he's never felt this way about anyone, ever. Not before the war, and after, well from what he can remember, that sort of emotion wasn't something they allowed him to be capable of. He has some vague memories of being shoved into the chair at the slightest sign that he'd advanced to thinking anything far beyond point, shoot, kill.
He doubts there's anything even vaguely pleasant hiding away in those burned out synapses of his brain. It's why he's not trying as hard as he maybe should be to speed up his recall, as much as he knows his glaring memory gaps pain Steve, and that they could harm his defence if and when he needs one. He's even stopped taking the supplements the psychiatrists and doctors have forced on him. They'll come back, the memories, given time he knows. Every excruciating detail of them, thanks to the fabulous recall that was also part and parcel of Hydra's unwanted gift.
Return to sender please.
"Oh Jesus Christ!" The world's leaders shouldn't worry about having to deal with him, at this rate Natasha and his own libido will finish him off before they've even agreed a location for his trial. She's just performed a full-body stretch while lying right on top of him, and while he thought he was done for the day his dick obviously disagrees. It's apparently trying to make up for 70 years of inaction all in one go. And, as Natasha wriggles so that his rapidly rising erection slips snugly between her toned thighs, it's clear who's side she's on.
She smirks at him. "You were moping."
He tries to look offended but it's almost impossible to do when she's now oh so slowly rocking up and down on top of him, causing her wet heat to just ever so slightly begin to envelope him before pulling off after just the barest of contact. "I was not moping."
His half-hearted protests evaporate as she spreads her legs marginally wider so that the tip of him slips right into her unfathomably hot and tight entrance and all he can do for the moment is gasp. He doesn't know what he's done to deserve the incredible woman currently driving him crazy, but it must have been something damn good in a past life, because it sure as hell wasn't anything he's done in this one.
She places a gentle kiss over his rapidly beating heart. "Yes," another one on his sternum, "you," and then he shudders as sharp teeth unexpectedly latch on to his left nipple, "were". And before he has time to respond she's pressed her whole body down until he's buried in her up to the hilt. He's gone, almost. He finds enough coherence to gasp out "Again? Are you sure? Broken?"
She laughs again and it's a beautiful sound. "Not that broken. And you're clearly good to go. But let's do this slow and easy huum? Or else I might really pull something." She's up on her knees and bracing herself on his shoulders for leverage as she starts a leisurely circular motion that grinds her clit against his pubic bone and drives them both slowly to distraction. He's so captivated by the view of her moving above him, scarlet locks in disarray, soft, full, rounded breasts crying out for his touch, that he doesn't even react to the knock that suddenly makes her cease all proceedings.
She dips down and gives him an almost incongruous peck on the lips. "Hold that thought." And the next moment she's pulling up and away, leaving him feeling bereft and then totally exposed as she stands up wrapping her self in the sheet as she continues towards the door. It takes him a moment to register that she's actually going to open it, with him bare as the day he was born in direct line of sight behind her. "Shit!"
He has all of two seconds to scramble and vault behind the bed before the door draws back revealing Wanda. Only his enhanced reflexes have saved her from viewing the full monty. Yet leaning unabashedly in the doorway, draped fetchingly in her stolen sheet, Natasha somehow still manages to look totally composed and decidedly dangerous. She's evil, he's glad he's learning this now.
"Hey Wanda, what can I do you for?" she asks the rapidly blushing and honestly terrifying young woman. The fact that she could pin The Winter Soldier to the floor with her mind is probably the main reason Steve had managed to get him under his current 'house arrest'. More horrifyingly he likes the kid. This was worse than his sisters walking in on him and a date...Oh fuck, he had sisters. How did he forget that.
He's mostly tuned out of the conversation Nat and Wanda are having just feet away as images of dark-haired, vivacious girls explode into his mind. Three sisters. He'd braided their hair for fuck's sake. The name Becca came to him instantly, but the other two he couldn't recall and damn if that didn't hurt.
"Bucky, are you okay?"
It's Wanda's distinctive, velvety eastern European lilt that drags him out of his newly recovered memories.
He throws up a hand so it's visible above the bed and offers what he hopes is a jaunty wave "I'm good Wanda, thanks." He can do blasé.
"Okay." She doesn't sound convinced, but Natasha starts discussing some rescheduled munitions training session and they wrap it up between them without asking for any more of his very, very, naked input.
Nat closes the door and returns to stand above him for a moment, the sheet making her look more Greek goddess than dishevelled, and everything's forgiven. She gazes down at him, all patience and compassion, a vision of sex and fire, and simply says "Anything you want to tell me?"
He tries to keep it together, he really does, but as he forces out the words "Turns out I have three sister, had three sisters", his voice cracks and the sobs that have been building in his chest surge forwards and suddenly he's falling to pieces.
The make-shift gown billows around her as it falls to the floor only a moment ahead of the rest of her as she gathers him into her embrace. Cradling his head against her chest. "Oh James, I'm so, so sorry."
He doesn't deserve it, but god does he need it. He grasps onto her with all his strength and soaks in every ouch of compassion this incredible woman is willing to send his way. And he needs to tell her. He bites back on the tears and impatiently swipes away the ones currently forming. "Nat, thank you. I heard what you said to Steve," she tries too shush him but he won't be stopped. "You're brilliant, you're compassionate, you're too damn caring for your own good. Powerful, daring, funny as hell, loyal, fierce. Indescribably sexy," he tried to flash her an equally sexy grin as he said that, but knew it was lacking a little in the delivery, "you're -".
She looks at him and lowers herself to straddle his waist. He's no longer quite up to the challenge of continuing on from where they left off, but if she minds at all she doesn't let on. "You forgot beautiful." She says it with a strange, fixed half smile on her face.
"That goes without saying", he means it, beautiful used to be top of his list but she's made it seem meaningless in comparison to her other attributes. He wraps all 10 fingers in her silky hair and drags her down for a tear-stained kiss. And breathes into her mouth, "Natalia Alianovna Romanova, you are too damned good for a no-good lunk like me."
The noise she lets out is halfway between a sob and a laugh and as she crumbles forward onto his chest and he can't tell if happy or sad is the predominant emotion guiding her actions. Her nose and hair tickles his skin and she ghosts them over his torso. "You're beautiful, you're brilliant," she pauses to kiss her way slowly up his rib cage, "you're so unbelievably strong, you're compassionate, you're definitely too damn caring for your own good-Steve will attest to that-you're-"
"Nat,-" She ignores him, and with each gentle kiss she plants on his chest his will to protest the turn-around grows weaker and weaker.
"You're powerful, you're daring, you're surprising and unexpected," her lips trail a path of wet heat down his navel, and just like that he's hard and desperate for her again. His dick was most definitely on her side. "You're funny as hell, pretty much the American definition of loyal-I'll show you the reference books if you don't believe me, fierce," she pauses and dips her head to slowly lick up his now rigid shaft, her gentle hand on his hip keeping him pinned as firmly to the floor as a 10 tonne weight, "indescribably sexy" is followed by a wink, "and far too much of a gentleman to contradict the woman about to blow you senseless." And with that she descends on him with a skill and enthusiasm that renders him mute for a good few minutes before the feel of her throat muscles constricting around him pushes him over the edge and deep into her mouth once again, and even then all that manages to escape him is her name writ large on his lips.
After a few moments reprieve she kneads her head cat-like into his stomach. "Now that was music to my ears."
His eyes are struggling to stay open, but he needs to know she's all right. "Do you want?"
"Nu-uh, all good here. But when I wake up I'm going to need some serious stretching, a couple of Advil, and most likely a massage. Sadly in that exact order as I have to take Wanda to the range at 10. Meant to be doing it now, but, y'know, priorities."
The still flashing but now blissfully silent alarm clock shows 8:45 AM on its red LED lit display. "It's almost 9 now" he informs her.
"Be a champ and wake me up in 60." With a jaw-cracking yawn that sends a totally understandable-considering what she's just been using that mouth for- shudder straight down his spine, she nods off on top of him in just a few brief moments.
He stays as still as his sniper training and Hydra programming enable him to be, which is virtually motionless. As he watches her, totally relaxed in sleep he finally realises just what he's done to himself. He's gone. He'll fight now, not for his own sake, to regain some life long lost to him, but simply for the chance to be with her. He loves Steve, he does, but it's a sepia-tinted, nostalgic love when compared to the visceral, surround sound onslaught of emotion that Natasha's triggered in him. She's a punch to the guts in the best possible way. He can feel her in every inch of him from his head to his feet, and her very presence seemingly obliterates the hard, transparent and brittle protective shell he's fought to build up around himself. She's terrifying and yet oh so worth it.
He watches the red-lit minutes tick away in a state of almost mindless, half-dozing contentment. And when 9:45 finally appears on the display he gently slides out from under her, excavates his soft cotton pants from the wreckage of her room and heads towards the door. He's stopped in his tracks by the feeling of his wadded-up t-shirt hitting his lower back. He hadn't even heard her breathing change. Sneaky girl. And her eyes aren't even open. Is it good or bad that he knows for a fact that her pinpoint aim making him hot under his non-existent collar is very much a Bucky Barnes and not a Winter Soldier thing?
Nat lazily opens one of her leaf-green eyes and gives him a top-to-toe appraisal that would entice him back to join her on floor (how did they keep missing the bed?) if he wasn't already totally tapped out. The Black Widow could outdo even the effects of a supersoldier serum it would seem. She's undeniably the winner. She may have cheated (he's never had a partner willing to return the favour before), but that's all part of the game.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"Black coffee one sugar, water and a couple of Advil right?" he checks.
She gives him a long look, "Okay I'm definitely keeping you. But you should put that on" she gestures towards the shirt with just her eyes, "as much as I'm enjoying the view, if anyone else sees you in the next few hours I'm probably going to be accused of Bucky battering" she scrunches up her delicate features "or desecration of a national monument at the very least."
He looks down at the scratches, bite marks and hickies marring his scarred body and feels nothing more than a vague sadness that they'll be completely gone from his skin in just a few short hours. Screw anyone else's discomfort. He wishes he could keep her marks on him for longer than his accelerated healing would ever allow.
He's caught the shirt in his hand. Of course he has. And is still staring down at it 20 seconds after she's made her case. Or so he thinks. "Steve's out there and I've already given him a hard time this morning so..."
He pulls the shirt over his head. If he's going to wind up Steve it's going to entail more planning and preparation than simply wandering into the kitchen topless - that's weak by any standard. Nat hums her approval, though her next words and the accompanying wink make it seem half-hearted at best, "Of course covering up that torso is almost a crime against humanity in and of itself."
Bucky coughs to cover up the swell of embarrassment mixed with pride that her words inspire. Right, he was leaving, things to get, and god does he need that cup of coffee, even if it no longer has the effect on him it once had.
He hurries out the door and into the corridor, almost colliding with Clint coming in the other direction. Smooth Barnes, real smooth.
Clint nimbly steps to the side with a wink and a "Sarge" as he heads off to wherever he's going.
Bucky's stopped moving again. It's only Steve. But then again it's, y'know, Steve. He's not sure he's ready for this. But a pretty lady is waiting for her coffee, so here goes nothing.
He enters the kitchen to find it blissfully empty, and wastes no time in getting the coffee maker going and a pair of ceramic mugs (all Iron Man merch of course) from the cupboard above. He grabs the milk out of the fridge for himself and a water for Nat. He's been trying his coffee a number of different ways, and has discovered he can take it pretty much any which way it comes, but he's in the mood for white and hot this morning.
He digs out the painkillers from the first aid box under the sink while the jug slowly fills. As he straightens up he hears footsteps approaching, ones that are becoming more familiar by the day, and as he returns to the pot to watch the soothing plink of the last few drops of dark, aromatic liquid percolate into the pot, he's aware that Steve's lingering on the kitchen threshold, heart rate and breathing slightly elevated. He's probably just back from a run.
He picks up the water bottle he got out of Nat and half turns and without looking throws it straight at Steve, "You probably need this".
He glances over quickly and sees Steve clad in his running clothes, bottle in hand (of course) shooting him a look that says 'show off' in everything but the words.
They're not entirely comfortable with each other yet, but he thinks they might be getting close.
Steve sits down at the breakfast bar and twists open the bottle, taking a long drink. "Any of that coffee going spare?"
He shoots Steve a look, "Sure". Not that he expected Steve to launch right into it but, well actually no, that's exactly what he expected.
It takes him a second to recall how Steve takes his coffee but as he's fetching a third mug at the same time he's scouring his still hazy memories, there's no way for Steve to notice.
He pours out three cups and places one in front of Steve en route to return the milk carton to the fridge and take out a replacement water for Nat.
As he passes back, heading towards the cups next to the coffee machine, he sees Steve's mouth open and close soundlessly.
He gathers them up and reaches for the bottle of Advil with his free hand.
That's apparently all it takes to loosen Captain America's tongue. "Are you okay Buck?"
He looks up to find a furrowed forehead and 'concerned face #4', as he's christened the expression, being employed against him. Oh, hell. He'd been so close.
Steve nods towards the bottle of medication in his hand, "I have something stronger in my room if you need it."
Bucky shakes the bottle at him, he likes the sound. "No, these are for Natasha, she thinks she's pulled something."
Steve chokes on his just-sipped coffee.
He let's out an overly dramatic sigh. "Get your mind out of the gutter Rogers. It was from her mission."
Steve clears his throat, "Of course".
Bucky waits just a beat. "Though she might need a new room. We wrecked her current one."
This time the water Steve has swallowed to sooth his probably scorched mouth makes an inelegant escape through his nose.
Steve dries himself off with his sleeve. "Thanks for that Buck."
Bucky's already on his way out of the kitchen as Steve throws an "We need to talk about you and Nat" at his back.
"We just were, I was being serious", he calls back over his shoulder, "maintenance can do wall repairs right?"
He can almost hear Steve's eyes rolling from here. Maybe he'll believe him when the work order hits his desk. What would he even say to Steve anyway? That he's possibly falling in love for the first time ever with the first woman (that he can remember anyway) who's touched him since 1944. He's already so looking forward to sharing that little revelation with his team of easily-excitable court-mandated psychiatrists.
Plus it's not even like he knows what's really going on with the two of them yet, if Steve thinks much talking has been happening he really doesn't know how these things work, still.
He's clearly failed Steve as both a best friend and wingman. He'll need to add that to his list of things to make amends for. He just needs to figure out how to lure Carter Junior out to the base. Maybe Nat will help?
He's made it back to her door and taps gently, he'll leave breaking in until after at least their second date.
It slides open to reveal a (disappointingly) fully-dressed Natasha, who leans forward to briefly kiss him on the lips while artfully manoeuvring her mug of coffee out of his grip, and takes a blissful swallow before letting out a groan. Even in basic black sweats she's a vision. "Thanks I needed that."
He assumes she means the coffee, he was only gone five minutes tops, but the look she's giving him casts that assumption into doubt. Bashful has never been part of his make up, but he's also never felt this way about anyone before either. He's suddenly hyper-aware that he's standing there still wearing his rumpled bed clothes, white shirt marked with her footprint, and god knows what his hair must look like, but the way she's watching him makes him think that she's considering pulling him back to what remains of her bed and telling Wanda to find something else to do today.
He takes a mouthful of his own coffee to break the tension, and give himself a moment to stamp down on what was most certainly not a rising blush thank you very much.
She seems to take pity on him and breaks the intense gaze she's had fixed on him since he entered the room. "So how badly did you manage to mentally scar Steve?"
He holds out the pill bottle and water to her, which she takes from him with a small smile of gratitude after placing her cup down on the now righted side table. She's impressively managed to already square up or clear away most of the evidence of their previous activities.
"What makes you think anything of the sort happened?"
She shoots him an amused glance while she shakes two tablets out of the bottle, tosses them in to her mouth and proceeds to drain the bottle of water in one go. Then effortlessly throws it into her waste basket across the room. Holy cow that's hot.
"You look far too self-satisfied."
He reaches out to gently take hold of her hips and draw her towards him. She lets him. And for a brief moment it's like the past 70 years fall away along with his crushing guilt. And as he rests his forehead gently against hers, he's properly Bucky Barnes again. "I think I might have another good reason for that, unless the lady disagrees?"
Natasha smiles up at him. "No complaints here."
Then she kisses him. On the nose - Jesus. Before pulling away out of arm's reach and taking another swig of coffee. "But that was definitely an 'I've just finished messing with my best friend' smile you came in with. I thought we agreed to go easy on him."
Bucky snorts. He supposes he better get used to not getting anything past her. She's too good. "You might've. I have 70 missed years to make up for. And he was mine first, I should get eternal 'messing with' dibs or something."
He hears her mutter something resembling 'children' into her mostly empty mug a moment before a flash of pain, followed by a weird stillness passes over her face. Something happened just then, and despite their past few hours together he doesn't think it's something he has the right to enquire about. Not yet. But maybe he can ask Clint to check in with her. She's already shaken it off whatever it was, and is leaning back against the wall by the door. "Well he's gotten better at giving back as good as he gets these past few years so don't say I didn't warn you". He steps into her space to impede what is, to his eyes anyway, clearly a strategic withdrawal taking place in front of him. If she hadn't pushed her way past his barriers last night they wouldn't be here right now, clearly it's now his turn to do the same.
"Nah, Steve Rogers was always a punk. I may not remember everything but I remember that. People are just too blinded by all the patriotic, heroic razzmatazz to see it."
Natasha shrugs, "If you say so. I still think he's gotten sneakier, although that could be my bad influence".
She places her now empty cup on the table beside her and he uses the opportunity to gently intercept her hand and pull her into his embrace. "Well clearly I better sign up for some of that so I stand a chance of keeping up." He simply holds her against him, chin resting on her head until he feels her relax.
A slightly muffled "Sap" is his reply.
"And proud of it."
He loosens his hold but she seems content to stay put for the moment. "Anyway I promise I wasn't too hard on him. I figured I'd leave mentally scaring Steve to Sam this time round."
She tilts her head up to look at him and the amusement is back in her eyes. "So you know about that huh?"
"People seem to forget I have enhanced hearing and can move silently, plus Sam mutters to himself when he thinks he's alone. And I can Google. Half the internet seems to agree with him for some reason."
"If you value your sanity, stay off Tumblr."
He cringes, "Little late for that warning".
She chuckles into his chest, it's a great feeling. "Need me to kiss it better?"
"I'm not enough of a fool to ever turn down that good of an offer."
She pushes up on to her toes and plants a gentle closed-mouth kiss on his lips. "Better?"
He nods at her as she settles back down onto the ground, "Much, thank you".
Nat leans back into his embrace. "You don't mind?"
"Hell no. I know Steve loves me, but he doesn't 'wanna have my babies' love me. I don't get the whole 'all friendships getting sexualised' thing going on, but it's a brave new world, and I'm definitely not going to knock the greater acceptance, it's one of the best things about waking up in the future."
Natasha pointedly clears her throat.
"You're on the list."
She leans back and raises an eyebrow at him. "Top I'd hope if you want me back on top of you any time soon."
He laughs out loud at that one. "Top 2 definitely, Stark's coffee machine is going to be hard to displace from its position in my affections, and if I can get footage of Sam and Steve's conversation when it happens, that's going to shoot right up there." 1940s him would be alternating between shouting her status as his number one to the skies and whispering sweet nothings in her ear right now. He's pretty sure 1940s him would have struck out badly with the Black Widow.
She laughs. "I'll have to give you that one. What do you think will happen?"
"Depends how much Steve suspects what Sam's about to ask him. He has augmented hearing too you know. I think it's 50/50 he blushes head-to-toe in mortification, which is always a sight to see, or Sam gets epically trolled."
She hums her agreement into his shirt. "My money's on the second outcome. I might have to make that literal and place a wager with Clint. Good to see you're keeping up with the vernacular."
"I've always been a pretty quick study."
"I'll say." Nat runs her fingers lightly across his back, dipping them under the hem of his t-shirt and circling her thumb to apply pressure to a knotted muscle in his lower back he hadn't even been aware of until that precise moment. He bites his lip to force back the moan that attempts to escape him at the feeling of the tension being released. And then she steps away, enacting her revenge for not getting top billing despite the fact that both he and she know that's not really what she wanted in the first place. She's a cruel woman and he's unfathomably lucky that she wants him.
"You should go find Clint."
Huh, what? "Huh, what?"
If you're going to be avoiding Rogers for most of the day, you might as well go spend time with him. I'm sure he's dying to tell you all about Nate's latest babblings. And I really think talking to you helps him work through his shit too."
Bucky was pretty sure that Clint Barton was leagues ahead of him in the 'well adjusted' stakes, but at the very least it was a good cover for talking to him about Nat's hang-ups. He'd maybe been a little too obvious previously, but he's an assassin not a spy. 'Your kids', 'Nat and children'? He could make it work.
He can hear Wanda's tentative footfalls approaching and knows he's running out of time. "So you said 'this time tomorrow'...how about a little earlier?"
There's a tentative knock at the door. Nat stays put. "What were you thinking?"
"Dinner?" he says hopefully. "I'd take you out but I'm not allowed to leave the compound, so..." he peters off with a slightly embarrassed shrug as the ludicrousness of him trying to romance this woman in his current situation hits him in the face.
She steps into him and holds his gaze for a long moment. "One second Wanda!" she yells through the door at her waiting protégé without shifting any of her focus from him. "Can you cook?"
He pastes his best approximation to the old half-smile that used to get James Buchanan Barnes his way with the fairer half of Brooklyn's population more often than not. "Guess we'll find out won't we. 8pm?"
Natasha reaches up to stroke the side of his face with her hand. "I'll look forward to it Sergeant Barnes." And a highly charged beat later, "Sharon". Of all the responses he's imagined in just the last few seconds, this hadn't been one of them. His confusion's clearly evident on his face.
She smirks. "We should call Sharon in for a consult on your imprisonment and deployment effectively being a result of SHIELD and Government negligence. After all Zola did what he did on their watch and on their dollar no less. No one knows more SHIELD history than Sharon Carter. And she'll distract Steve, double win."
Yes this could definitely be love.
She slaps the door release revealing a nervous, and again slightly embarrassed looking Wanda, standing uncomfortably on the threshold. "Just no Russian food. I hate that."
She winks at him just before the door slides shut behind her.
He stands there simply staring for a moment or two before he wanders over to sit on the bed and promptly flops back onto it with a heartfelt groan. Now he's truly gone and done it.
Until this point all his positivity has been feigned. He'd been resigned. All his show of belief that beyond the 'unique' trial currently being planned for him, there was anything lying in his future better than life-long incarceration with occasional visits from Steve (when the Avenger allowed him to fit them in) has been, he hopes, a well-sold sham. It's what he deserves. No amount of heart-felt mitigations from Steve, or well-meaning platitudes from his therapists, or even the numerous and humorously ill-tempered variations on 'They made you do it, stop hogging all the drama man' that Sam has throw his way have made any real impact. But Natasha, damn her, has actually given him hope. Because maybe, one-day, he can be like her. Be worthy of her. Be strong enough to swallow down this gut-churning guilt, and start working on making amends instead of just drowning in regrets for things even he is rational enough to know he had no real control over. She's inspiring, and captivating, and she makes him feel human, and whole, and Bucky again.
And he's pretty sure he can make spaghetti. Everyone likes spaghetti right?
