It was Friday evening and Bucky had wanted to go out to party. Steve had declined, claiming he had some reports to finish and some sleep to catch up on. Although the latter wasn't exactly untrue, he had made sure not to precise it was his racking his brains over Natalie's fate that kept him awake long hours at night. Bucky had first grumbled then eventually accepted, promising he wouldn't wake him when he'd come home later in the night.
Steve was sitting on the couch, channel-hopping between an old baseball game rerun and some World War II documentary.
"In 1932, Adolf Hitler won the election by one vote"
"Erroneous," he muttered to himself and sighed in exasperation. Then he switched back onto the baseball game.
A knock on the door disturbed the quietness in the apartment. He frowned, unused to such an event occurring, then rose to his feet. It had to be a mistake, probably a delivery guy again. Last week, the boy who had knocked was supposed to deliver a pizza one story below.
He opened the door wide then froze in shock at the sight before him. Romanoff, dressed in dark jeans and a leather jacket was innocently standing in the hallway of his building.
"Hey. Is Barnes here?" she asked, leaning sideways and openly snooping into the apartment.
"He's…out," he answered numbly.
Natasha pouted slightly then shrugged. "That's a drag. I guess my prank will have wait till Monday morning, then."
She showed what she was holding behind her back. "I brought some films. You have some serious catching up to do."
He opened his mouth, ready to speak but his mind was saturated with confusion. Part of him wanted to protest, as the last thing he wanted was to trade an evening of putting his thoughts together regarding Natalie for a movie evening with her doppelganger, but Natasha was already in. She swiftly walked through the door and made her way to the living room.
She headed to the TV set and knelt down. "Wow. I'm almost speechless to find you have a DVD player," she commented casually.
He stood awkwardly behind the couch, shielding himself whilst watching her with an agape mouth, slowly processing the prospect of the evening.
"I have two DVDs," she went on naturally and he surrendered to her formidable invasion. "I let you choose. One is Twelve Angry men –a must-see but quite gritty, and Some like it hot."
He arched an eyebrow and peered at her inquisitively.
She smiled.
"It's totally decent….Well, in second thought, you may find it shocking since it was quite controversial at the time it came out. But Jack Lemmon is exceptional in it. And it's indisputably Marilyn Monroe's best film."
It piqued his interest and his mind was thrust all the way back to 1942 with Natalie.
Romanoff shot him an expectant look.
"So?" she asked.
He nodded numbly. "Some like it hot."
She smiled, looking smug. "I was secretly hoping you'd answer that. Clint was the first person to show it to me and I loved it. I'm passing it on now."
He nodded in silence, biting his bottom lip slightly at the mention of Barton's name.
After putting the DVD to play, Natasha sat on the couch in the most natural way possible as if it was hers as much as it was his. Steve sat down too, intentionally leaving some big enough space between the two of them; partly because he had been raised to respect women's personal space, partly to preserve his own.
His body remained stiff for the good first twenty minutes of the film, his mind unable to shift away from the fact Natasha was in his living room.
It was one thing to get accustomed to working with her every day (although it still remained a thing he had to process continually); it was another to open up to the idea she could become more than a colleague. In fact, he was fine with them being colleagues (or correction, he had learned to be fine with it) as it implied keeping a certain emotional distance he desperately craved in order to put up with this extraordinary situation on a daily basis. But letting their working relationship develop into something less casual meant bonding intimately and this was something he felt he could never be prepared for.
Their professional status, their apparent ease which doesn't get beyond the surface, his calling her Romanoff; he liked it this way as it served one unique purpose –maintain an emotional distance to counterbalance her physical presence in his world.
Natasha seemed oblivious of his mental torment, her eyes fixed on the screen with a riveted expression. It went without saying he was going to overlook the fact she had come up with Marilyn Monroe when the first person to have (ever) brought her up was Natalie herself. Of course. Yet again another connection, another thread, and another link to the lengthy chain of coincidences he was fighting hard to ignore for the sake of his sanity.
Eventually, and for a reason he couldn't quite explain, he relaxed. Natasha would interrupt the silence with witty remarks regarding the characters and she soon entertained him just as much as the movie did.
He swallowed hard at the sight of Marilyn Monroe walking along the train platform, his mind invaded by the memory of Natalie coming up to him for the first time, watching Tony Curtis' character being shaken upside by her bewildering entrance just like he had been that night after his USO show.
He shouldn't have but his eyes slowly glanced over to Natasha, yearning to see those familiar features.
"So was she big?" he asked at some point.
"Yep. Very big."
He snorted lightly. "She was right," he murmured, barely audibly.
But not inaudibly to Natasha.
"Who was?"
He frowned and cleared his throat. "A friend of mine, back in 1942, she had said it would happen."
"Smart woman," Romanoff commented approvingly.
Marilyn Monroe's character was now performing on stage when Steve turned to Natasha.
"So what was the prank?" he asked.
Natasha averted her eyes from the TV screen to him. She raised an eyebrow.
"You said you came for Bucky. What was your plan?"
She raised her hand and waved it off. "The usual. Something devious."
He probed her inquisitively for a few seconds, somehow unsure what to think of her answer as it didn't really sound like her.
"He's gone on a date, hasn't he?" she asked, staring at the screen, the hint of a smirk playing on her lips.
"I don't know," he answered although it was very likely to be the case indeed.
"Barnes has a pattern," she smirked, taking his answer as an affirmative one. "Clean-shaven look, expensive perfume and slightly fancier hairstyle. Subtlety isn't his thing."
And it hit him. She knew. She knew all along Bucky would be out tonight and he wouldn't. She knew she would find him right here in his apartment. She had it figured all out somehow. She knew Bucky's habits and he didn't doubt she knew his just as well.
There was never any prank planned for tonight. It was nothing more than an excuse to justify her turning up here tonight. There was nothing but the sound of the trumpet and Marilyn Monroe's honeyed voice playing in the background.
I want to be loved by you, just you,
and nobody else but you.
She smiled at him knowingly as if she read in his look he had understood but she remained quiet on a truth they both wished it remained unspoken. They were aware why she was here tonight and it was enough.
I couldn't aspire
to anything higher
and to feel the desire
to make you my own.
"And why DVDs?" he asked.
"No one should have to watch Some like it hot alone," she said with a playful look, but mostly a soft voice. She made it sound like she meant it for herself when it was obvious she meant him. Her very presence tonight was for him. Somehow, for some unclear reason, his solitude didn't leave her indifferent and she had endeavored to help diminish it for tonight. Maybe because she suspected this said solitude was partly due to that woman from the past she reminded him of; maybe because she reckoned her presence could, in a manner, fill a bit the wide void left by this other woman's absence.
For the first time, Natasha showed him she cared and he appreciated the gesture certainly more than what she intended to. Probably deeper than he could discern yet.
He was gazing at her intensely, with more tenderness he had probably ever shown her. As he stared at her, he wasn't reminded of Natalie, he distinguished Natasha –for the whole individual and person she was—and he liked what he saw. A caring and selfless person, more generous and sensitive to other people's concerns than anyone would give her credit for.
Natasha pouted. "And I guess it was also an excuse to see for myself if you could manage a TV set."
He cracked a smile and snorted, watching the teasing smirk on her lips.
"We had televisions in the 1940s, you know." He answered, quite entertained.
She cocked an eyebrow. "You still need some practice with the remote control though."
She smiled, unapologetic then turned her attention back on the screen while his gaze dwelled on her for a few more seconds.
Ba-deedly-deedly-deedly-dum-ba-boop-bee-doop
Boop-boop-a-doop!
The ending credits rolled and they started to talk. Nothing deep or personal but just a dialogue that flowed naturally. The wit and confidence she showed whilst conversing should have reminded of his long chats with Natalie hadn't he been so enthralled in the moment.
When she eventually rose to her feet and headed to the door, he grinned quietly and it seemed he heard loneliness beginning to creep back in already.
"It's probably best not to tell Barnes I was here tonight …or actually you know what? You can tell him –it may be entertaining." She smirked deviously.
He smiled and opened the door for her and she stepped out into the hallway.
"Rom-…," he cut himself short as calling her by her last name felt somehow off at this exact moment. She looked over her shoulder.
He slightly pursed his lips together, more nervous than reluctant. "Thank you," he said and smiled softly.
He realized it had been easier to say than he had thought –and mostly due to the fact he trusted she would have a good reaction. And Natasha didn't disappoint. She smiled back, genuinely appreciative of his gesture but not demanding for more.
The sound of steps of someone coming up the stairs interrupted them and Natasha walked off. She went past the person who had just reached the top of the staircase and happened to be his neighbour, a nurse he had concluded from the pink overalls she wore frequently when coming home in the evening. They smiled cordially as they walked past each other. His neighbour pulled her keys out of her purse and gave him a brief, shy smile before unlocking her door and stepping in; he watched Natasha proceed down the stairs until she disappeared from his sight.
He closed the door and, still holding the knob, smiled blankly to himself.
The next day, Steve was making breakfast in the early morning –he and Bucky had gotten this habit of waking up with the first sunrays of the day. He had found the door of his best friend's bedroom closed and had gone straight to the kitchen without a noise to prepare something for when he would wake up.
He felt in a light mood although he didn't really notice and replayed some scenes from the movie in his mind. Sugar's performance was somehow the scene that stood out the most.
The front door opened slowly and Steve watched, quizzical, his best friend tip toe his way in.
"What are you doing?" he asked and Bucky jumped in surprise in the middle of the room, before flipping his head at him with a startled expression.
His slightly pale look and dark rings under his eyes revealed he hadn't slept one bit.
Bucky sighed. "Fine. I was out all night."
"Yeah, I can see that. But why were you sneaking in?"
"Because I didn't want you to give me that look."
Steve stared blankly. "What look?"
"This look!" Bucky exclaimed, pointing at him. "This judgmental look of yours that makes me question whether I'm a worthy heir of my motherland and the American Constitution."
"Yeah. Because you were sneaking in."
Bucky rolled his eyes and put his palms flat on the kitchen counter. That was his way of pressing pause with the disagreeable talk.
"How was your evening? Was it alright?" Bucky asked. He had now a brotherly, protective look. "I'm sorry I didn't drag your stubborn, goody two-shoes ass out with me."
Bucky looked like he genuinely hoped he had done it.
"Your apology is overwhelming," Steve commented sarcastically. Then he smiled. "My evening was good actually."
Bucky pouted slightly, but judging from Steve's sincere expression, gave up and smiled back.
"Hey," he said suavely, with an octave down. "I met this girl—"
Steve grunted. "Come on! I haven't had breakfast yet."
Bucky let out a long sigh of agony. "I'd have far more compelling conversations with an Orthodox mother superior."
"So do you think you're going to see her again?" he asked after rolling his eyes.
Bucky proceeded to scrape off a stain of a perfectly spotless piece of the counter. "Maybe," he said evasively. "Are you doing it again?" he asked, intentionally keeping eyes fixed in the opposite direction his friend was standing. "Giving me the judgy look."
"You know what? I might be," Steve answered. "What was wrong this time?"
"I don't know…I guess she wasn't the girl I'm looking for."
Steve showed no restraint in showing he didn't approve of his friend's behaviour. Bucky smirked deviously.
"Actually…," he started slowly, purposely letting it drag on. "I've been thinking…since you specifically said you weren't seeing her that way. What about Romanoff?"
Steve raised his eyebrow high then frowned deeply.
"I mean, Natalie was gorgeous, there is no denying that," Bucky went on and waved a hand off. "And it's true I kinda tried to hit on her-"
Steve widened his eyes. "You did what?" he shouted out.
It had happened years ago, he trusted Bucky more than anyone else on Earth but yet this revelation bothered him in a very vivid way.
"Relax," Bucky said nonchalantly, not impressed to the least. "I stepped back really quickly when I realized I wasn't the guy she had her eyes on."
Steve's agape mouth shut instantly, and soon, annoyance was replaced by relief and –should he say—content. Bucky didn't longer on the matter any further.
"Anyhow, the red hair, it adds something –some wild side and unadulterated badassery that tickle my interest. Maybe," he paused and looked up at Steve. "…I could, I don't know, ask her out."
Steve clenched his jaw. "She's off limits," he warned hardly, pointing a patronizing finger at his best friend. And here he was bothered again. "I'm serious, Buck."
Bucky's playful expression faded. "Just kidding. I haven't been thinking about it at all. It didn't even cross my mind." He said, averting his eyes away from Steve's unwavering look.
"But is she off-limits from me only or does it include the entire male population?" he asked.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Steve frowned.
Bucky looked him straight in the eye. He was calm and composed.
"You're jealous and it's fine. I get it."
Steve shook his head and he took on a stern expression. "It's not that. I don't even consider it a possibility. I don't see her like this."
Bucky walked around the counter and grabbed the toast that had just popped out of the toaster.
"Keep telling yourself that," he said in a low voice, bit into his toast and threw Steve a knowing glance before walking away to his bedroom.