Thank you so much for all the love & support throughout the last year. I just wanted to make a quick note (that will appear on all WIP updates, so everyone has the chance to read it) about how I've organized the updates. Aside from Love Like Blood (which I'd finished & completed posting before moving onto the other updates so the story is complete & out of the way), the updates will be posted in the order of furthest back date of 'last update' to most recent.
I know some of you are really anxious for updates on specific fics & would like to ask for your continued patience as I move through this process. Literally every open fic in my story list has an update ready to go, so whatever story you've been waiting for will have a new chapter in the coming days/weeks.
Chapter Four
"Huh," was all Nat said upon reaching the foot of the staircase the next morning.
She'd woken to find Bucky'd already gotten out of bed—not too unusual—then she had walked down the corridor, the path taking her past the guest room. Finding the door open, but the curious site of the stripped mattress with the witch's wand resting atop it greeting her when she peered inside, she decided a little investigation might be in order.
Tiptoeing across the floor—avoiding the same loose floorboard that had been Bucky's mistake a handful of hours earlier—she peeked around the bed. There on the floor the bed covers had been collected into what could only be considered a nest. Well, she'd already been aware it would likely be a long time before Hermione was comfortable enough to sleep on anything as comparatively soft as a mattress for longer than an hour or two.
It still seemed a miracle the witch had gotten any sleep at all back at their hotel in Moscow.
Okay. Nodding to the empty room, Natasha'd turned on her heel to walk back out. Then her gaze landed the scorch mark in the wall beside the door.
Brows pinching upward in question, she had once more looked to the wand set upon the bed.
Clearly they'd not killed each other—Hermione must've sincerely believed she'd been in danger or the restrictions on her wand would've kicked in, preventing her from loosing an offensive spell. She could only guess Bucky'd popped his head in to check on her, aware of her struggling through these first early stages of trauma recovery, and inadvertently startled the sleeping witch.
Okay, she'd thought again, nodding. Then she made her way downstairs.
A scatter of documentation was spread out on the coffee table, along with two empty mugs—sans coasters, she noted with the upward flick of one eyebrow. Bucky sat on the sofa, his head tipped back as he snored just a little. Hermione, apparently having taken a seat on the floor across from his position, appeared to have just tipped over and fallen asleep right there.
Her lips folding inward, Nat just barely held in a snicker.
Creeping across the living room, she barely glanced at the file. She didn't need to look, even if not for the fact that from a distance she recognized some of the papers, there was the reality that the Stark file was the only one Hermione and Bucky would have any reason to be perusing. She dropped a delicate kiss on Bucky's forehead—just a quick, feathery brush, not enough contact to actually wake him—and used that same gentle touch as she absently tucked a wayward lock of Hermione's wild hair behind the witch's ear while she slipped past her.
Snatching up their mugs, Natasha continued to the kitchen on silent footfalls to brew a fresh pot of coffee and start some breakfast.
The pair in the living room had been delighted—after being woken safely—to find fresh coffee and plates of bacon and eggs waiting for them on the table. Nat sat on the sofa, opposite Bucky, as she dug into her own plate.
After mumbled good mornings and thank yous, the witch and the super-soldier each started in on their own food. As Natasha predicted while she'd been preparing meal, Bucky started by scarfing down the meat, and Hermione with long, grateful sips of the beverage.
With a speculative half-grin, the former double-agent sat back, reaching for her own mug. "So, who wants to tell me why we need to repaint the guest room?"
Setting down his fork, Bucky turned his head to look at Hermione. Hermione met his eyes, taking in his lifted brows that fairly screamed You did it, you explain it.
The sound of her forcing a gulp of coffee down her throat was audible before she uttered a sheepish laugh and relayed what had led to the aforementioned paint-ruining.
Happy to know she'd read the situation perfectly—once Hermione got accustomed to her new surroundings and her new living conditions, there wouldn't be any more such incidents, barring a few possible relapses—Nat sank a little more firmly into the sofa cushion at her back and nodded. At the very least, it seemed to have gotten Hermione past her initial bout of attraction-induced mutism, and the resulting release of tension had been good for their still very new little team's camaraderie, she thought.
Until Hermione's face fell.
Setting down her mug as she stared at her as of yet untouched plate of food, the witch asked, "Are you going to take away my wand?"
Nat exchanged a sudden, troubled look with Bucky. Though she supposed it shouldn't be a surprise that Hermione Granger didn't fully understand the company in which she'd found herself.
Natasha only understood a little of Wizarding culture, but she felt rather certain that taking away the other woman's wand would be akin to crippling her, or taking Bucky's arm. It was a part of her, and taking it away after only just having returned it to her would be unnecessarily cruel.
Hermione needed to feel safe again before she could allow herself the vulnerability of not having access to a wand. That she'd set it down earlier had been a deliberate show of proving that she wasn't a danger after a potential incident.
Nat and Bucky both comprehended clearly that sort of decision. Both comprehended that the act of willingly setting down something that gave you strength—that made you feel secure—was distinctly different than having it forced from your possession.
"Of course not," Natasha answered, waving dismissively with her free hand before taking a sip of her coffee. "When I said you're not to try and use it on us, I meant in an active attempt to harm or subdue us. Or, well, anything that could be viewed as an attempt to break the terms of your release."
After a second hard swallow, Hermione forced herself to relax a little. She hadn't realized until just then how terrified she'd been of that prospect. "Oh." She nodded. "Thank—thank you."
With a shrug, Nat set down her mug and sat forward, letting her gaze sweep over the paperwork on Tony's disappearance before snapping her attention up to lock on Hermione's face. "Don't thank me. It's not a favor I'm doing for you; it's a necessity. We need to talk about the elephant in the room."
Hermione's brows lifted in question.
"Look, I know how intelligent you are, I've read your file, remember?"
Darting her gaze about, Hermione still had no idea what obvious thing Natasha was supposed to be getting at. "Vividly. Like it was only three days ago."
Bucky exhaled a snicker that he just as quickly smothered. By the time Nat glanced over at him barely a heartbeat later, he appeared perfectly preoccupied as he looked over the papers before him with pursed lips.
Sighing, Natasha gave her head a shake and chose to ignore him for the moment. Most times she adored that he could relax with her and be just Bucky Barnes—so far a privilege granted to her and his best friend Steve Rogers, the one and only Captain America—but this was really a moment she could use his more serious side. Even around her or Steve, though, he tended to be more reserved when they were in the presence of others.
At least it seemed she was right earlier. The incident between him and Hermione had fostered a certain comfort between them, allowing him to feel at ease enough around her to let Natasha's proximity coax him into being just Bucky Barnes.
God, they really were all a mess.
"While we can't know precisely what you've been through," Nat said, her words deliberate and carefully enunciated, "having read your file notwithstanding, because I'm positive there are probably some details your wardens conveniently forgot to include, we can relate. Your imprisonment was more traumatic than it had any right to be, and you'd been through plenty before that, too."
"Pragmatically," Hermione offered with a shrug and a nod, "it won't help your investigation if I'm balled up in a corner every time something that makes me feel unsafe happens."
Natasha frowned. She knew what the other woman was saying, what she was getting at—that this was nothing more than an arrangement and that was precisely how they were treating this, precisely how they would treat her—and something in the starkness of that didn't sit right with her.
Standing from the sofa, she rounded the table and settled on the floor beside Hermione. She waited for the witch to shift around to face her directly.
"Okay, yes, there is that," Natasha admitted, shaking her head. "But it was also just to say … we do understand what its like to deal with a … bad past. So, whatever you need to do to cope—barring murder and mayhem and unnecessary law-breaking—we're not going to hold it against you. We might not be exactly able to help, but we'll try." Making a judgment call, she reached out, catching one of Hermione's hands in her own, though her fingers clasped Hermione's as though the witch were made of spun glass. "Okay?"
Hermione looked at Nat's hand around hers for a long, silent moment, cognizant of the weight of Bucky's gaze on them. She wanted to tell them it wasn't necessary to coddle her.
Wanted to tell them it was best they not be friendly and instead remain impersonal, respecting that this was only an arrangement. That she'd only accepted for the eventual prospect of freedom.
That in a sense, she was still a prisoner, only now they were her wardens.
But she didn't feel any of those things. Blinking a few times and ignoring that it was because her eyes were tearing—she hadn't permitted herself to experience loneliness when she'd been in Deathlock, hadn't let herself bemoan her circumstances, because the hopelessness would've only made it all more interminable—Hermione became distinctly, excruciatingly aware of those thing she'd not permitted herself to recognize during her incarceration.
She was bitterly lonely.
She longed for laughter and warmth and a kind face.
She needed an end to the numb emptiness of this last handful of years, this chunk torn out of her life that she could never get back.
Hermione didn't want to come to expect anything of Natasha Romanov and James Buchanan Barnes—didn't want to take even a single step that would make it impossible to move on once they completed this mission. But she couldn't help herself.
Lifting her gaze to Natasha's, a small smile full of self-consciousness and doubtful sort of hope curving her lips, Hermione nodded. "Okay."
Nat's expression brightened. They were a mess, but at least none of them were alone.
"Now," the redhead started, turning toward the table and the scattered papers covering its surface. "Were you two able to find out anything new?"
"I looked at everything," Hermione said, shaking her head. "This is everything, isn't Bucky?"
To say Bucky ignored that Natasha hadn't relinquished her hold on the other woman's hand wouldn't quite be correct. He noticed, and deliberately chose not to bring it up. There was a connection there already, and he wasn't going to interfere with that or make it about him.
"Yup," he said with a pensive frown, his gaze dropping back the varied documents. "I wish there were more, but … well, it's exactly as we said. He just vanished."
Hermione exhaled long and low as she toyed with the two notions that popped immediately into her head. The first of course being that he'd somehow happened upon a lost Portkey—it wouldn't be the first time some Muggle accidentally ended up somewhere unexpected with absolutely no idea how they'd gotten there beyond well, I saw this out of place little object, I just had to pick it up.
The second was Apparition, which would only be possible if witch or wizard had grabbed him and dragged him side-along.
Withdrawing her hand from Natasha's, Hermione shuffled through the papers. "This is no good. You definitely need to take me to the site if I'm going to pick up anything. I was hoping the file would help, but …."
"But?" Bucky and Nat echoed in unison.
"It's possible but unlikely that he just vanished on his own—"
"Possible he vanished on his own?"
Hermione nodded, shrugging as she glanced at Nat. "Possible but unlikely, as I said. The probable conclusion is that this was deliberate. Someone took him."
"Which we already suspected, but why do you look so confused?"
Frowning, the witch shrugged once more. "Because I can't imagine what one of 'my people' would hope to gain by kidnapping Iron Man."
