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."
Quietly delighted at Bucky's acquiescence, Natasha hid her grin in a soft smile, giving ground as he fished out the notebook and pen. "Sure," she agreed amiably, shifting so that he could do just that.
She was content to just lightly lean against him and sip her ginger ale, gazing off into nothing as he worked. So seldom did she ever have the chance to just be still, doing so this way was...so nice. Comforting. Soothing.
And she knew better than to pry into his private thoughts, so she kept her gaze averted from the pages, even though the spy in her burned to read what was between those simple covers. But even Natasha understood that some secrets needed to be kept.
He decides it's alright. That it doesn't have to be such a private thing anymore, especially around her- which is the only reason he's so out in the open about it now. He trusts her. Even if she looks, he trusts her.
But even if she looks away, it's alright with him. He writes pages of notes, memories, everything he wants to keep track of very meticulously, pausing and stopping here and there as he tries to fill in every detail. He glances at her from time to time, writing it down till the very last moment.
When he's done, he closes the notebook and sets it aside, and before he can stop himself, he leans in and kisses her shoulder. "Thank you."
She looked back when she heard the notebook close, and started to say something, but before she could, Bucky moved faster than she, and to her surprise, pressed a small kiss to her bare shoulder. It was so unexpected that for a series of heartbeats, Natasha's mind absolutely went blank.
Thankfully, she recovered quickly, though her cheeks were hot, and she gave a soft nod. "...welcome," was all she managed. And she took the license to once more resume her comfortable lean against Bucky's side, this time going right ahead and squirming her way beneath his left arm to curl close.
"That's a good idea," she heard herself muse, arms loosely winding around the soldier's solid torso. "Writing everything down." Rather than let the subject get heavy, she lightly inquired, "Did you write about your new spoon?"
He catches it, because how can he not? The slight warmth in her cheeks, the quick heartbeat. It's what he's trained to do, after all. But he doesn't want it to be about that. So instead he smiles softly, lifting his arm when she tries to squirm under it, feeling a little more comfortable with moving it around her this time.
He feels more comfortable when it comes to everything about her now.
Even if he's taken a little off guard himself, that she knew what he was writing about. He's okay with it, though. "I did. I wrote down all the details, and everything you said to me.... and every way you made me feel."
Natasha gave a soft smile to Bucky’s answer, absently making slow, lazy circles across his chest with one small hand as she listened. And had to chuckle softly.
“I hope it was all good things,” she quipped lightly. But surely it was, else he wouldn’t be here, that she knew. The world’s skittish stray cat: Bucky Barnes.
Though she couldn’t help but ask afterwards, “…how do I make you fee, James?” Because honestly, what woman wouldn't want to know?
The motions of her hand moving along his chest make him feel some kind of way. He's not sure what the feeling is, but it's deep. It almost feels like it's burning inside of him. Her touch seems to wake up something inside of him that has long been dead.
"All good things," he confirms quietly, trying to keep his voice steady and calm, despite his heart beating harder now. At the same time, he lets his fingers brush lightly against her shoulder, because it feels right. It feels nice.
At her question he bites at his lip, feeling warmth crawl up his neck. Surely she can hear his heart beating by now, it feels like it's going to beat right out of his chest. "You make me feel-- warm. Real. Not just a ghost, but a living, breathing person who can feel."
As predicted, Natasha’s hand slowed then paused to rest right over Bucky’s heart, her brows furrowing at its increased rhythm. But it was only a momentary concern, because then he explained, and it all rather neatly clicked together.
Frown fading, the redhead couldn’t hide a soft, shy little smile, ducking her chin slightly.
“Well,” she heard herself say after a beat, “that’s progress, right?”
God, she hoped so. For reasons she refused to let herself rationalize, it hurt Natasha’s heart to know how Bucky still saw himself. But then, who had bothered to show him otherwise?
She can feel it. He knows she can feel his heart beating so hard for her, and he wonders what she thinks. Maybe it's a terrible thing that will make it all uncomfortable between them, and he doesn't want that.
But if he can keep it simple- progress, then it can be alright, right? He hopes so. "It is." He chews at his lip again, trying to calm his heart. "I hope that's alright." The way he feels.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
maskirovka) wrote2021-07-20 01:46 am
no subject
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."
no subject
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."
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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!"
no subject
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."
no subject
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?"
no subject
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."
no subject
"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.
no subject
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?"
no subject
"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."
no subject
"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."
no subject
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?"
no subject
He doesn't expect her to comment on the bed either. "...I like sleeping on the floor."
no subject
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
She was content to just lightly lean against him and sip her ginger ale, gazing off into nothing as he worked. So seldom did she ever have the chance to just be still, doing so this way was...so nice. Comforting. Soothing.
And she knew better than to pry into his private thoughts, so she kept her gaze averted from the pages, even though the spy in her burned to read what was between those simple covers. But even Natasha understood that some secrets needed to be kept.
no subject
But even if she looks away, it's alright with him. He writes pages of notes, memories, everything he wants to keep track of very meticulously, pausing and stopping here and there as he tries to fill in every detail. He glances at her from time to time, writing it down till the very last moment.
When he's done, he closes the notebook and sets it aside, and before he can stop himself, he leans in and kisses her shoulder. "Thank you."
no subject
Thankfully, she recovered quickly, though her cheeks were hot, and she gave a soft nod. "...welcome," was all she managed. And she took the license to once more resume her comfortable lean against Bucky's side, this time going right ahead and squirming her way beneath his left arm to curl close.
"That's a good idea," she heard herself muse, arms loosely winding around the soldier's solid torso. "Writing everything down." Rather than let the subject get heavy, she lightly inquired, "Did you write about your new spoon?"
no subject
He feels more comfortable when it comes to everything about her now.
Even if he's taken a little off guard himself, that she knew what he was writing about. He's okay with it, though. "I did. I wrote down all the details, and everything you said to me.... and every way you made me feel."
no subject
“I hope it was all good things,” she quipped lightly. But surely it was, else he wouldn’t be here, that she knew. The world’s skittish stray cat: Bucky Barnes.
Though she couldn’t help but ask afterwards, “…how do I make you fee, James?” Because honestly, what woman wouldn't want to know?
no subject
"All good things," he confirms quietly, trying to keep his voice steady and calm, despite his heart beating harder now. At the same time, he lets his fingers brush lightly against her shoulder, because it feels right. It feels nice.
At her question he bites at his lip, feeling warmth crawl up his neck. Surely she can hear his heart beating by now, it feels like it's going to beat right out of his chest. "You make me feel-- warm. Real. Not just a ghost, but a living, breathing person who can feel."
no subject
Frown fading, the redhead couldn’t hide a soft, shy little smile, ducking her chin slightly.
“Well,” she heard herself say after a beat, “that’s progress, right?”
God, she hoped so. For reasons she refused to let herself rationalize, it hurt Natasha’s heart to know how Bucky still saw himself. But then, who had bothered to show him otherwise?
no subject
But if he can keep it simple- progress, then it can be alright, right? He hopes so. "It is." He chews at his lip again, trying to calm his heart. "I hope that's alright." The way he feels.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)