He had fallen into an easy sleep, one that surprised her. Of the company she kept, few people she knew slept well, herself included.
She wished she could sleep, but she squirmed out from under his arm and sat up. The gentle motion of the ship was soothing. She grabbed a robe and quietly poured herself a drink.
Bucky. That hadn't been what she'd called him. Even when he'd remembered bits and pieces, he hadn't told her that nickname. Maybe it was too far buried, maybe it was too painful to say. You had to compartmentalize in this line of work. It was strange calling him 'Bucky' now, but it was necessary. It put distance between them, and distance was good. Of course, she hadn't talked to him directly since… since he'd started remembering.
She took a long sip of her drink and glanced back at the slumbering figure on the bed. This was not a love triangle, it was a ticking time bomb, and she hoped she'd survive the fallout. How do you explain that the relationship you had with your lover's best friend was entirely about time and place? He'd either get it immediately or not at all.
She didn't want to remember James. She didn't want to remember the stolen moments. She didn't want to remember the pain. She didn't want to think about what would happen when he finally remembered her. If Steve was to be believed, he'd already started.
What a mess. She rested her head in her hand and stared at her cut crystal glass. There were two kinds of European decor: heavy, oppressive luxury, or ultra modern cheap. She had never, not once in her entire life, had to deal with anything like this. Relationship drama was just not in her wheelhouse. A sudden thought made her sit up sharply.
For her, James was a memory. Their relationship had begun and ended over a decade ago. For her. For him, how recent was it?
"Ah, hell," she muttered. A pang of guilt surged through her. It wasn't a familiar or welcome feeling, and she took another sip from her drink. "Time to get your head straight, Natasha."
—
Sorry for the quickie — more to come!