Thankfully, Natasha Romanoff was more adept at navigating social awkwardness than James Barnes - mainly because she didn't get socially awkward - so she obligingly followed Bucky into the living room, casually placing her satchel down on the end of the couch. Barnes' hesitant aloofness didn't bother her; Natasha took advantage of his reticence to gaze around, meandering through the room absently examining snippets of the Wilson's life and family history.
It was a lot like Barton's, actually; knickknacks here and there, framed family photos, throw pillows on the couch and chairs, coasters for drinks on the furniture. All the little things that made a house a home, things someone like her could appreciate most than most, mainly because she'd never had anything like it before. Her apartment back in New York was tasteful, expensively furnished, but still...sterile.
"Sam asked me for some information a few weeks after receiving his new job title," she explained, turning from a perusal of photos on the mantle. "I finally managed to compile everything, and told him I'd bring it in person, given the..." an eyebrow arched, "intimate nature of what turned up." That's classic spy language for highly classified shit, Barnes, remember?
"So I don't mind waiting."
The pillows on the couch, however, caught her eye and she gave them a brief glance, then looked back at Bucky. "Been holding down the couch, have you?" No censure, no judging, just natural curiosity - innate, in her case. A spy always needed to know everything.
no subject
It was a lot like Barton's, actually; knickknacks here and there, framed family photos, throw pillows on the couch and chairs, coasters for drinks on the furniture. All the little things that made a house a home, things someone like her could appreciate most than most, mainly because she'd never had anything like it before. Her apartment back in New York was tasteful, expensively furnished, but still...sterile.
"Sam asked me for some information a few weeks after receiving his new job title," she explained, turning from a perusal of photos on the mantle. "I finally managed to compile everything, and told him I'd bring it in person, given the..." an eyebrow arched, "intimate nature of what turned up." That's classic spy language for highly classified shit, Barnes, remember?
"So I don't mind waiting."
The pillows on the couch, however, caught her eye and she gave them a brief glance, then looked back at Bucky. "Been holding down the couch, have you?" No censure, no judging, just natural curiosity - innate, in her case. A spy always needed to know everything.