"Yeah, I get that." Recovering his memories has been a slow process, but he's managing. He remembers his his mother and how hard she had to work after their father died. He had a sister.
While he was the Winter Soldier they gave him the nutrients they felt he needed. He didn't enjoy food. He couldn't. He remembers that too. But like Natasha, he doesn't want to get into the dark thoughts.
"Fish eggs... damn. My ma- she used to make eggs and flapjacks. I remember that."
"Right. Caviar is gross, I don't care what anyone says." She actually shuddered this time, in memory. "Pepper tried to get me to eat it, but I always managed to duck out on those elaborate spreads.
But this," she gestured at their small table, "is very good." Natasha went for more of the fruit, biting into a plump strawberry and sighing happily. "Mmm, the best. We should check out the local places, too. I'm sure they'll be as good as this, if not better."
"I don't think I'd ever eat caviar. Way too fancy for me- and it's pointless as a food. Doesn't fill you up." Pepper. He can't quite place her, but he thinks maybe she's connected to Stark since he was the one with these dishes.
It's nice to remember his mother, but he tucks that aside for another time. They're far too into the food right now. "I could live on this alone, I think. But- yeah. We can check out the local places."
He tries to be casual about it. He knows they need to get out there. He doesn't want to keep them holed up in here. "Maybe we can walk around a little tonight? Maybe they've got it all set up nice at night."
"That sounds like a good idea. A walk would help shake off the jet lag."
So, after dinner and after a quick but thorough shower and a change of clothes, Natasha emerged in jeans, a comfortable sweater and short jacket, pocketing the room key and holding out a hand for Bucky to take as they headed downstairs for the "night life" and whatever the rest of the evening had to offer.
The hotel, at least, was getting crowded; the bar and restaurant no doubt busy until closing time, but thankfully it wasn't far to the main plazas and city markets. "Ten blocks," Natasha mused, checking the map on her phone. "Think we can make it there and back again?"
The time it takes Natasha to change and get ready, Bucky tries to get his head into this. It was his suggestion, so it's only fair he works through his paranoia about being out and about like this. He's always cagey these days, when headed to a new place. He feels he has every reason and right to be.
But he wants this to be different. This needs to be different.
It already is, when she holds her hand out and he takes it without hesitation. A far cry from that first night they spent together.
"I can make it." But he remembers how she handled the stairs. "We can go slow."
Natasha rewarded him with a smile. "Sounds good to me." So they went slow. She played the part of a tourist largely because that's what she was; she'd never spent any significant time in Romania before this. But never think that she wasn't armed and dangerous at all times; no, training had made sure of that.
Regardless, the former Black Widow didn't abandon her hold on her companion as they perused through the street bazaar, pausing here and there to look at this or that, with Natasha actually purchasing a few knickknacks, if only to commemorate the occasion.
About half an hour into the sojourn, she'd shifted from holding Bucky's hand to looping her right arm casually in the crook of his left, not at all bothered by ripple of metal plates beneath his sleeve, nor the whisper of gears and servos beneath the steel.
The area he's been staying has a lot of the same kinds of outdoor markets, so he feels a little more comfortable once they get there. He seems to be blending in alright, even next to someone who stands out as beautifully as Natasha does.
He still eyes the place with sharp eyes though, senses always alert, but he tries to relax into it as well, as they walk around. He takes note of the little knickknacks that she buys, because he wants to get to know her and what she likes. He also would never think to buy little things like that- or anything really, but he's been so far removed from life for so long, it's like he wants to relearn how to be a human being again. Not just a ghost.
He only tenses a little when she holds on to his left arm, watching her face, but her expression doesn't change. She really is such a wondrous person.
"Yes." He answers far too bluntly, still looking at her. She's the main thing that has caught his eye, but then he realizes what he's said and he ducks his head down a bit and glances away, toward one of the small shops. "Uh- over there." He has no idea what they're selling, but he has to save face now.
She wanted him to feel natural. To be relaxed, eventually, even in such a crowded place as this. They blended well, the mix of cultures, styles, peoples, and even music serving them well. Just a happy couple on vacation. One of thousands. Right.
And Natasha Romanoff was an expert chameleon. She always became whatever was necessary for the mission, and the mission this time was "Introduce Bucky Barnes to the Modern World". The easiest way to do that was to do exactly what she was doing: gain his trust, show him new things, educate him at every turn.
Maybe later she'd realize that a guise wasn't really necessary, because deep down, she wanted to do this. Just for herself. Hmm.
But after he'd answered her question, looking down at her with the oddest expression, Natasha then followed his gaze and her eyebrows lifted. "...you want one of those hand-carved Romanian wooden spoons?" Weird, but, "All right. Let's go look."
She's good at making him feel that way. It's so much easier with her around. Just a happy couple on vacation- he'd never dare to think of them that way, but- it would be nice.
At least Bucky doesn't think of it as a mission, not anymore. He wants to stay far away from anything like that, even if that's how she sees it. Or how she thinks she sees it.
Maybe she's not such an expert after all though, if she doesn't catch what Bucky is putting down. Even trying to redirect, he wasn't exactly being to subtle about it. He knows how to be subtle about everything else but this. And yet- "They're beautifully painted. I just wanna look."
"They are." And they really were, once they approached the cart and actually looked. She nodded at one with diamond-shaped carvings, set with tiny blue and gold stones. "I like that one."
Natasha hadn't missed "that look" in Barnes' eye a second ago, but she'd absolutely refused to let herself have it. Because it would just complicate everything, and God knew the man had more than enough complications as it was. She was also more than familiar with the psychology of cleaving to someone, anyone, that who wasn't perceived as a threat; it was a common symptom of such intense trauma.
She'd run that particular gauntlet before, herself.
So, even though the warmth in formerly cold blue eyes sparked a certain reciprocity way down below her stomach, and the quiet little smile on a formerly stern mouth prompted a certain tingle beneath her skin, Natasha just let it pass right on by, praying that it would and she could just get through this as she always did. Immaculately, and with one hundred percent mission success.
"Want to buy a couple?" She held up her shopping bag. "There's room."
Once they're at the cart he notices they really are beautiful. Not anything he'd ever even think of getting for himself, but that pretty much goes for almost everything.
He gets a closer look at the one she points out, smiling a little. Even he can appreciate something like this.
And for the rest of it-- she's probably right. It's why he would never even attempt anything. Not even a little bit. He knows it's not his place, he doesn't have the right, and he sure as hell doesn't deserve someone like her. Whatever stirs up inside of him is something he can't help- but he knows how to push it down and away. These kinds of emotions are no longer for someone like him.
He runs his fingers down along the one with diamond- shaped carvings, then shakes his head and pulls his hand back. "No. They'd be wasted on me. I wouldn't even know what to do with them." Like so many other things that might present themselves in his life now, he feels.
"They're keepsakes," Natasha told him, smiling softly as she examined the rest of those on offer. "A reminder of what you were doing when you bought it." She went ahead and purchased the one with the blue and gold stones, nodding politely when the vendor offered to wrap it in protective paper.
Once she had it in her hands and they'd stepped away a pace or two, Natasha turned and handed it to Bucky almost reverently, solemn but with a twinkle dancing in her eyes.
"My gift to you," she intoned, then couldn't help a small laugh. "May it ever remind you of our vacation in Romania," the redhead remarked, placing the wrapped keepsake in his large hands. Then rose on her tiptoes to very, very lightly kiss his cheek, whispering softly, "Good memories, James."
Back on her feet, before she could scold herself for even daring to do that, Natasha once more looped her arm in Bucky's and stalwartly resumed their strolling pace through the marked, ignoring the flush on her cheeks and the sudden tightness in her throat.
Keepsakes. He wonders if he ever had any of those. Reminders of what he was doing. He can't remember if he had anything like that from his life before. Maybe he won't ever, but these new memories he can keep.
He manages to only feel a little bad when she buys it, but there's a small smile on his face as well. He takes the gift from her, ducking his head a little, and he'll swear forever that he didn't blush, but he does, when she leans up to kiss his cheek. Reminders are all he can hold on to right now. Memories are the most important thing- but maybe not the only thing anymore.
"Thank you." There's a tightness in his voice when he says those words, a softness in them as well. He continues walking with her, but again it's hard to take his eyes off of her.
"You're welcome." It was a quiet response as they strolled, with Natasha keeping a light hold on Bucky's left arm just as any lover might. They painted a pretty picture, at least.
Another vendor was selling snowballs, and Natasha veered them in that direction, attracted by the shaved ice and sweet syrups. "These are amazing, even back in the States," she told Bucky, watching the girl behind the cart prepare a set of brightly colored treats for the family in front of them.
"It's warm enough out. We should get one. Ooh, they have lime and pineapple!"
It paints a pretty picture in Bucky's head too, though he knows he has to let it go. For now though, at least- it's nice. He hasn't had nice in a very long time. Not since before he met her.
His eyes do light up a. little at the sight of shaved ice as well, and he actually smiles more fully this time. "I remember these." It's odd, the random things he remembers from before. "They had these in Brooklyn. Let's get one. Any flavor you want."
Natasha chose a mix of lime, pineapple, and coconut, saying with a grin that the flavors were as close to the beach as she could get. The ice was soft and cloud-puffy, soaking up the syrup deliciously. The cups were plastic, and stamped with colorful symbols and brand logos; more keepsakes after finishing off the yummy treat.
"You'll end up with a suitcase just for souvenirs," Natasha joked as they moseyed on through the market, eating their sweet, sticky treats. "That's a good start, huh?"
The flavors are different than what he used to get. He was more of a cherry kind of guy, as was Steve. He remembers in vivid detail, and it makes him go quiet as he watches the man prepare it for them. He's lost in thought, in memories. He can almost feel the sweet beach air roll over him, even as they walk away from the booth.
She doesn't ask, so he doesn't say, but the memory stays with him, and he hopes he can write it down once they get back.
They brought three bags of bric-a-brac back to the hotel, Natasha having spent more on souvenirs in a few short hours than she had in the previous decade, but she was smiling and happy when Bucky piled the spoils on the small kitchen island and she began to riffle through them. It was nice, being on vacation.
"I may have to buy another suitcase to bring everything back," she joked, but continued her methodical inventory without pause. "You hungry?" There were still remnants of the room service order in the suite's small fridge.
It feels normal- all of this, every little thing they do. It feels like two people away on a trip, even if they're still in Romania. It's no so bad here, especially with Natasha here. He could get used to this- though he knows he can't. It's just a small respite. Something that compelled her to come here for a short while, and he'll revel in that for as long as he can, before she has to go back.
He gives her a small smile, but he doesn't want to think about her going back just yet. She just got here. "I could be hungry, sure." And she has to keep her strength up, so he leaves her with the souvenirs and goes to the fridge to start pulling things out. "How're you feeling?"
It didn't take her long to have everything sorted to her liking, some unknown system privy only to her, but Natasha did leave Bucky plenty of room to spread out their leftovers.
"I'm okay," she assured him, smiling at the query. She rinsed out their snowball cups and refilled them with cold ginger ale, and nibbled at a few of the grapes and strawberries still left with the cheese plate.
"That was fun," she told him, sincere and green eyes bright, then reached over, picked up the wrapped painted spoon, and placed it beside his left arm. "But that one's yours. I insist."
He sets the food on the counter, glancing over at her souvenirs. It feels nice that she wants to remember this place. Maybe even him- though, that might be wishful thinking. He's still so unsure about himself, about her, about his place in the world, even aside from what it has to do with her.
"It was," he says quietly, picking at some cheese as well, taking the snowball cup to sip from it. He needs to write these memories down as soon as he can. He doesn't ever want to forget.
When she places the spoon beside his arm, he looks at her, then down at the spoon. He reaches over with his right hand to lift it up. "Thank you. I'll keep this with me always."
"Good." It's a true smile, and a bit later she has the rest squared away, ready to be packed whenever they decide to part ways. But not just yet. It also doesn't take long to eat the rest of the leftovers, and Natasha tidied up afterwards, refilling their cups so they might settle on the couch or head off to bed; she was getting a little tired.
But she was also determined to spend as much time as she could with her skittish companion, thus when Bucky headed for the couch, Natasha was right behind him, taking the middle seat so she could slump against his side, half-full cup held in both hands, a comforting prop.
"Bed's big enough for the both of us," she told him, an observation, "and this couch seems comfy, but please, James, promise me you won't sleep on the floor?"
He helps tidy up, then goes to grab his bag from its hiding spot and places the spoon inside, then takes out a notebook and shoves it in his back pocket before he joins her on the couch. He doesn't expect her to slump against him the way she does, but he's glad for it. It feels nice.
He doesn't expect her to comment on the bed either. "...I like sleeping on the floor."
"Really?" Flat, deadpan. Then a mildly exasperated sigh. And Natasha dropped her head to Bucky's shoulder, trying not to roll her eyes in fond frustration. "But it's the floor, James. There are other options, you know."
Part of her self-initiated objective was to help him cultivate at least two new habits while they were here. Sleeping somewhere other than the carpet was her main one. Natasha shifted a little, chin coming to rest atop his shoulder.
"Will you at least try it? For me?" She was even ruthless enough to flutter her lashes a bit comically.
"I know, but-" He breathes out slowly, licking his lips, closing his eyes as her head lands on his shoulder. He can hear the frustration in her tone. He knows that she's only trying to help him.
When she shifts so that she's looking up at him, chin on his shoulder, he realizes how weak he is for her. She's anything but comical. She has a sway over his heart, it seems. "...Alright." For her. He's finding, little by little that he'd do a lot for her. "But- I need to do something first."
Hesitating for a moment, he pulls his notebook out of his back pocket, along with the pen. "I have to write things down."
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maskirovka) wrote2021-07-20 01:46 am
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While he was the Winter Soldier they gave him the nutrients they felt he needed. He didn't enjoy food. He couldn't. He remembers that too. But like Natasha, he doesn't want to get into the dark thoughts.
"Fish eggs... damn. My ma- she used to make eggs and flapjacks. I remember that."
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But this," she gestured at their small table, "is very good." Natasha went for more of the fruit, biting into a plump strawberry and sighing happily. "Mmm, the best. We should check out the local places, too. I'm sure they'll be as good as this, if not better."
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It's nice to remember his mother, but he tucks that aside for another time. They're far too into the food right now. "I could live on this alone, I think. But- yeah. We can check out the local places."
He tries to be casual about it. He knows they need to get out there. He doesn't want to keep them holed up in here. "Maybe we can walk around a little tonight? Maybe they've got it all set up nice at night."
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So, after dinner and after a quick but thorough shower and a change of clothes, Natasha emerged in jeans, a comfortable sweater and short jacket, pocketing the room key and holding out a hand for Bucky to take as they headed downstairs for the "night life" and whatever the rest of the evening had to offer.
The hotel, at least, was getting crowded; the bar and restaurant no doubt busy until closing time, but thankfully it wasn't far to the main plazas and city markets. "Ten blocks," Natasha mused, checking the map on her phone. "Think we can make it there and back again?"
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But he wants this to be different. This needs to be different.
It already is, when she holds her hand out and he takes it without hesitation. A far cry from that first night they spent together.
"I can make it." But he remembers how she handled the stairs. "We can go slow."
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Regardless, the former Black Widow didn't abandon her hold on her companion as they perused through the street bazaar, pausing here and there to look at this or that, with Natasha actually purchasing a few knickknacks, if only to commemorate the occasion.
About half an hour into the sojourn, she'd shifted from holding Bucky's hand to looping her right arm casually in the crook of his left, not at all bothered by ripple of metal plates beneath his sleeve, nor the whisper of gears and servos beneath the steel.
"Anything catch your eye?"
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He still eyes the place with sharp eyes though, senses always alert, but he tries to relax into it as well, as they walk around. He takes note of the little knickknacks that she buys, because he wants to get to know her and what she likes. He also would never think to buy little things like that- or anything really, but he's been so far removed from life for so long, it's like he wants to relearn how to be a human being again. Not just a ghost.
He only tenses a little when she holds on to his left arm, watching her face, but her expression doesn't change. She really is such a wondrous person.
"Yes." He answers far too bluntly, still looking at her. She's the main thing that has caught his eye, but then he realizes what he's said and he ducks his head down a bit and glances away, toward one of the small shops. "Uh- over there." He has no idea what they're selling, but he has to save face now.
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And Natasha Romanoff was an expert chameleon. She always became whatever was necessary for the mission, and the mission this time was "Introduce Bucky Barnes to the Modern World". The easiest way to do that was to do exactly what she was doing: gain his trust, show him new things, educate him at every turn.
Maybe later she'd realize that a guise wasn't really necessary, because deep down, she wanted to do this. Just for herself. Hmm.
But after he'd answered her question, looking down at her with the oddest expression, Natasha then followed his gaze and her eyebrows lifted. "...you want one of those hand-carved Romanian wooden spoons?" Weird, but, "All right. Let's go look."
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At least Bucky doesn't think of it as a mission, not anymore. He wants to stay far away from anything like that, even if that's how she sees it. Or how she thinks she sees it.
Maybe she's not such an expert after all though, if she doesn't catch what Bucky is putting down. Even trying to redirect, he wasn't exactly being to subtle about it. He knows how to be subtle about everything else but this. And yet- "They're beautifully painted. I just wanna look."
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Natasha hadn't missed "that look" in Barnes' eye a second ago, but she'd absolutely refused to let herself have it. Because it would just complicate everything, and God knew the man had more than enough complications as it was. She was also more than familiar with the psychology of cleaving to someone, anyone, that who wasn't perceived as a threat; it was a common symptom of such intense trauma.
She'd run that particular gauntlet before, herself.
So, even though the warmth in formerly cold blue eyes sparked a certain reciprocity way down below her stomach, and the quiet little smile on a formerly stern mouth prompted a certain tingle beneath her skin, Natasha just let it pass right on by, praying that it would and she could just get through this as she always did. Immaculately, and with one hundred percent mission success.
"Want to buy a couple?" She held up her shopping bag. "There's room."
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He gets a closer look at the one she points out, smiling a little. Even he can appreciate something like this.
And for the rest of it-- she's probably right. It's why he would never even attempt anything. Not even a little bit. He knows it's not his place, he doesn't have the right, and he sure as hell doesn't deserve someone like her. Whatever stirs up inside of him is something he can't help- but he knows how to push it down and away. These kinds of emotions are no longer for someone like him.
He runs his fingers down along the one with diamond- shaped carvings, then shakes his head and pulls his hand back. "No. They'd be wasted on me. I wouldn't even know what to do with them." Like so many other things that might present themselves in his life now, he feels.
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Once she had it in her hands and they'd stepped away a pace or two, Natasha turned and handed it to Bucky almost reverently, solemn but with a twinkle dancing in her eyes.
"My gift to you," she intoned, then couldn't help a small laugh. "May it ever remind you of our vacation in Romania," the redhead remarked, placing the wrapped keepsake in his large hands. Then rose on her tiptoes to very, very lightly kiss his cheek, whispering softly, "Good memories, James."
Back on her feet, before she could scold herself for even daring to do that, Natasha once more looped her arm in Bucky's and stalwartly resumed their strolling pace through the marked, ignoring the flush on her cheeks and the sudden tightness in her throat.
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He manages to only feel a little bad when she buys it, but there's a small smile on his face as well. He takes the gift from her, ducking his head a little, and he'll swear forever that he didn't blush, but he does, when she leans up to kiss his cheek. Reminders are all he can hold on to right now. Memories are the most important thing- but maybe not the only thing anymore.
"Thank you." There's a tightness in his voice when he says those words, a softness in them as well. He continues walking with her, but again it's hard to take his eyes off of her.
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Another vendor was selling snowballs, and Natasha veered them in that direction, attracted by the shaved ice and sweet syrups. "These are amazing, even back in the States," she told Bucky, watching the girl behind the cart prepare a set of brightly colored treats for the family in front of them.
"It's warm enough out. We should get one. Ooh, they have lime and pineapple!"
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His eyes do light up a. little at the sight of shaved ice as well, and he actually smiles more fully this time. "I remember these." It's odd, the random things he remembers from before. "They had these in Brooklyn. Let's get one. Any flavor you want."
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Natasha chose a mix of lime, pineapple, and coconut, saying with a grin that the flavors were as close to the beach as she could get. The ice was soft and cloud-puffy, soaking up the syrup deliciously. The cups were plastic, and stamped with colorful symbols and brand logos; more keepsakes after finishing off the yummy treat.
"You'll end up with a suitcase just for souvenirs," Natasha joked as they moseyed on through the market, eating their sweet, sticky treats. "That's a good start, huh?"
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She doesn't ask, so he doesn't say, but the memory stays with him, and he hopes he can write it down once they get back.
"Maybe you'd wanna keep them instead."
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"I may have to buy another suitcase to bring everything back," she joked, but continued her methodical inventory without pause. "You hungry?" There were still remnants of the room service order in the suite's small fridge.
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He gives her a small smile, but he doesn't want to think about her going back just yet. She just got here. "I could be hungry, sure." And she has to keep her strength up, so he leaves her with the souvenirs and goes to the fridge to start pulling things out. "How're you feeling?"
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"I'm okay," she assured him, smiling at the query. She rinsed out their snowball cups and refilled them with cold ginger ale, and nibbled at a few of the grapes and strawberries still left with the cheese plate.
"That was fun," she told him, sincere and green eyes bright, then reached over, picked up the wrapped painted spoon, and placed it beside his left arm. "But that one's yours. I insist."
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"It was," he says quietly, picking at some cheese as well, taking the snowball cup to sip from it. He needs to write these memories down as soon as he can. He doesn't ever want to forget.
When she places the spoon beside his arm, he looks at her, then down at the spoon. He reaches over with his right hand to lift it up. "Thank you. I'll keep this with me always."
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But she was also determined to spend as much time as she could with her skittish companion, thus when Bucky headed for the couch, Natasha was right behind him, taking the middle seat so she could slump against his side, half-full cup held in both hands, a comforting prop.
"Bed's big enough for the both of us," she told him, an observation, "and this couch seems comfy, but please, James, promise me you won't sleep on the floor?"
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He doesn't expect her to comment on the bed either. "...I like sleeping on the floor."
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Part of her self-initiated objective was to help him cultivate at least two new habits while they were here. Sleeping somewhere other than the carpet was her main one. Natasha shifted a little, chin coming to rest atop his shoulder.
"Will you at least try it? For me?" She was even ruthless enough to flutter her lashes a bit comically.
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When she shifts so that she's looking up at him, chin on his shoulder, he realizes how weak he is for her. She's anything but comical. She has a sway over his heart, it seems. "...Alright." For her. He's finding, little by little that he'd do a lot for her. "But- I need to do something first."
Hesitating for a moment, he pulls his notebook out of his back pocket, along with the pen. "I have to write things down."
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