Non-work stuff? "Like what? Crochet pillows or needlepoint?" Okay, she took it back; Barnes trying to do small talk was terrifying. Mainly because she didn't have a good enough answer to the question, because, as she realized now, thinking about it, there was damn little that she did other than work.
To buy a little time, Natasha stepped back a few paces to look around the edge of the house towards the driveway, ensuring that the family hadn't yet returned, and looked back at the ladder just in time to see Barnes shoving at the gutter pipe, apparently trying to bend it into shape through sheer force of will alone.
"Well...I watch Netflix, I cook," sometimes, when she was too tired for takeout, but then, Door Dash was amazing, "I read, and I watch cat videos on Tiktok." There. That was...about it. Pretty pathetic, from a social standpoint. She tapped her fingers against her arm.
"Don't know if you've realized, Barnes, but all of the friends that I have left are sort of scattered across the globe. Doesn't really make it easy to hang out very often."
The memories of Steve and Tony flashed in front of her, unbidden, but Natasha resolutely shoved them away.
Without looking down at her, he said casually, "Mine are dead." Kind of obvious, given his age. He shrugged easily. "Killed some of them, too."
Bucky bore the death of Howard Stark heavily. It was one of the few that he remembered in such vivid detail that he sometimes wished for the selfish easy way out of a memory wipe. But remembering Howard meant that he was himself. James Barnes was still there, even if he couldn't look himself in the mirror sometimes.
But he said it to make a point. He didn't want her to feel sorry for him; he wanted her to realise how pathetic that excuse was, especially to him. He was the Hermit Soldier these days.
Curling his hands around the gutter lightly, he looked down at her in amusement. "If I can have a hobby, I'm sure you could have two." Returning to the gutter, he said playfully, "That's kind of pathetic. Old man Barnes is outdoing you in the being normal department."
Shaking his head, he chuckled to himself. Guess looks really were deceiving. Natasha Romanoff seemed like she had her shit sorted, and yet, here she was, admitting her shit was not sorted at all.
Pity wasn't a word with which she associated. Natasha didn't waste her time feeling sorry for others; she had enough problems of her own to handle. She met Barnes' amused look with a saturnine expression of her own. Was he really daring to call out her lack of a social life? She knew she could blow enough holes through that veneer of togetherness he tried to hard to project in about five seconds, but, she chose otherwise.
Her life wasn't any of his business, now was it? And if he insisted on hammering down on that pressure point, then she'd sweetly remind him how much her shoulder ached in damp weather. Like here. In Louisiana.
But just to remind him that her personal life wasn't a viable subject for Show and Tell, she replied easily, though her voice did hold enough of an edge, "I never said I didn't. I'm just not going to share my real personal life with you." Her smile was pleasantly false, a mask she'd perfected over the decades.
Thankfully, the crunch of tires on gravel alerted her to a new arrival, and a quick glance proved it to be an older model pickup, with a woman, two kids, and Sam Wilson piling out of it. Wilson spied the SUV, looked around, and spied her at the back corner of the house. Giving a hale, Sam started jogging over, prompting Natasha to meet him halfway, exchanging greetings all around.
Perhaps it was in her best interests that the Wilsons had the impeccable timing of arriving just now. It didn't work for him—he hadn't quite finished his task at hand, but he knew that when Sarah eventually found him at the top of the ladder, she'd only reprimand him for not understanding the concept of being a guest.
Bucky didn't descend the ladder, watching as Sam smiled brightly at what he presumed to be a smile in return. He returned to his task at hand, trying to manipulate the gutter so that he didn't have to replace it with anything else. Natasha's comments didn't upset him. It was clear that he struck a nerve. It was clear she didn't want to talk to him about who she truly was either out of worry he'd flip a switch and become the Soldier again or she simply didn't like him. It was easier to stomach the latter.
"I didn't give her the grand tour," he drawled loudly, only glancing at the two of them from the corner of his eye. "I know I give shit tours."
He knew Sam was nodding vigorously, telling Natasha that was damn right.
Naturally Sarah and her kids joined in the fray, and Natasha smiled appropriately and shook hands when offered, allowing Sarah to take her back inside while Wilson eyed Barnes up on the ladder. He didn't say anything, for once, only shook his head with a roll of his eyes and went in the back door.
Natasha suffered being a guest while the woman of the house went about her domestic chores; getting the kids situated with homework and their other household duties, Sam pitching in to put away their groceries, and Sarah also insisting the Natasha stay for supper, which the redhead knew she'd be hard put to refuse.
"C'mon," Sam urged, passing by and ribbing her lightly. "You need real food down here, authentic. Won't get it anywhere else in the world, I promise ya." And of course she agreed, wondering if she'd ever have a quiet moment to give Sam the information he'd requested. Probably not until the rest of the house retired for the night.
Seven minutes later, Bucky tried to sneak through the back door. Quietly opening it and trying to silently close it, he gestured with a hand across his neck for Cass not to say a word despite pulling his shoulders down in his usual expression of excitement whenever he saw Bucky. Thankfully, he obeyed this time, pretending to look down at his homework while his gaze was glued to Bucky trying to tiptoe into the kitchen.
It was no use trying to sneak in. Sarah's head immediately snapped to him; with her hands on her hips, she shook her head. "How many times have I told you not to touch my house? You're just as bad as Sam—you don't listen."
"Hey, hey, hey," Bucky held his hands up, a lopsided smile on his face. Sam's brows furrowed as he appeared offended by this accusation, peering at Bucky and then settling his gaze on Natasha to express his incredulity. "There's no need to get nasty."
After a moment of stern glaring, her Sarah's broke into a smile. "Thank you." She walked behind Cass and gripped his shoulders gently, kissing the top of his head almost impulsively.
Bucky made his way to the kitchen sink to wash his hands. As he did so, he heard Sam say to Natasha, "I listen." Hand to heart, he told her as seriously as he could, "I'm a listener. I'm a damn good listener. Unlike grandpa here, I don't need a hearing aid."
"I think his hearing's more selective than non-existent," Natasha casually told Sam. "It's a sign of lower intellect, to be sure, but advancing age can exacerbate the condition." Wilson snorted a laugh, the kids giggled under their breath, and even Sarah chuckled, shaking her head.
"It's good to see you, Red," Sam then told Natasha sincerely. He went for a hug, which she returned, then went on. "Been too long, that's for sure. How's everyone on your end?"
Natasha had brought her water glass inside, and Sam obligingly took it for a refill as she replied, "Oh, about as well as they can be, I guess. Barton's back at his place with Laura and the kids. Pepper and Morgan are both doing well. I...haven't heard from Bruce or Thor, but I imagine, or I hope, they're both staying out of trouble."
She leaned a casual hip against the counter as Sam returned with the water glass. "Wanda is off with the Vision somewhere. She usually texts me every couple of weeks, but I haven't heard from her this month. Wakanda is still negotiating with the UN to allow their representatives visiting rights, but so far T'Challa has been able to keep them out."
Sam shook his head a little gravely. "Man, I hope that place stays off the radar. Last thing they need is politicians in there demanding rights to what ain't theirs."
Wiping his hands on the dish towel, Bucky stilled and furrowed his brows at the mention of Wakanda. Out of all the people listed, they were the ones who meant something to him other than Sam's family. He owed Shuri and Ayo everything. At least they were okay—Shuri tended to avoid telling him about any of the issues she might have been facing as the princess of Wakanda. Something about his need to come in and help.
"And Romanoff's been busy with her crocheting," he said, then tilted his head to the side as he feigned confusion. "Or was it needlepoint? Can't remember—low intellect and all that."
He shrugged in a mock apology as he moved past them to sit at the kitchen table. It was very clear that she had come for Sam and Sam alone, and that was fine by him. But he and Sam were partners—or co-workers, or just two idiots who had people in common and tended to rely on one another—and he wasn't going to leave the kitchen for Sam to take more on his shoulders like the martyr he sometimes tended to be. He had a pair that could help carry the load, too.
Sam muttered loudly, "He's overdue for his grandpa nap."
Cass feigned a yawn. "So am I." He began to lift himself up and out of his chair, but Sarah was quick to gently push him back into his seat.
"Pillow making, actually," Natasha returned, deadpan. To Sam, she said, "I've actually been working for the government, helping reestablish their intelligence network."
Before Wilson could reply, AJ piped up from the table, "You mean like spy stuff?" Cass immediately seconded this, "Yeah, spy stuff?"
Natasha turned to the boys in amusement, caught Sarah's eye, saying, "Umm...something like that." She gave a chuckle, explaining, "It's really more like sitting at a computer, typing names, numbers, and addresses all day long. Not very exciting."
"Oh." Both of the boys' faces fell, and they reluctantly returned to their homework.
Sam, however, knew a little better than that, because he said, "That's why I called you last week, well, the second reason." He laughed good-naturedly, amending, "The first 'cause I did wanna catch up, and get you outta the office for a little R and R."
Sarah spoke up, asking, "Yeah, how long are you staying?"
"Just through the weekend," Natasha replied. "I have to be back in the office on Monday, so I'll fly out Sunday evening."
The "office". Bucky had to wonder where that even was. He wasn't an Avenger like Sam or Natasha. He was Steve's childhood friend, a kid from Brooklyn who fell off a train in the middle of the war and ended up having his life torn to pieces. If he was anything to the Avengers, it was a pain in the ass. Maybe that's better than being an adversary.
Resting his arm against his chair so he could twist around to peer at Sam and Natasha, he licked his bottom lip and turned back to AJ and Cass. He knew Sam and Natasha's conversation didn't exactly have room for him.
"Natasha works with the people who make cool stuff for superheroes like your uncle." They peered up at him with a slight crinkle to their brows, then their eyes widened. Bucky rested his left arm against the table and leaned closer to them on the opposite side. In a mock loud whisper, "If you do your homework, she might put a good word in with the people who made Cap's shield."
AJ gasped and comically picked up his pencil and began scribbling on his piece of paper.
Cass was a touch sceptical. "Really?"
"Really," Bucky nodded, leaning back against his chair. He kept his arm along the back of it. "Don't you want to find out if I'm telling the truth?"
Cass narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips thoughtfully before he nodded and returned to his homework, although not with the same excitement as AJ.
"Well," Sarah was telling Natasha, "we're having a big local dinner this Saturday, and of course you're welcome to join us." She smiled at the other woman as she began washing potatoes in the sink.
"Yeah," Sam piped up, seconding this. "Tomorrow's Friday, so we'll be cookin' all day, so you gotta hang out. We can get our...'other stuff' taken care of, too, and have the entire weekend to party."
The offer sounded very sweet to Natasha, but since the loss of Steve and Tony, not to mention what had been her life, she hadn't really felt the desire to 'party' much anymore. "That's really nice, but--"
Sam paused on the way from the fridge, putting down the milk jug to place his hand on her shoulder, giving it a warm squeeze. "C'mon, Red. Do it for me, huh?" He rubbed her shoulder then, adding in a lower voice, "I miss those days, y'know. It'd be really great t'have you for a while, at least."
Well, there wasn't much of a way to get around that; she couldn't ignore the sincerity in her old friend's request. "...all right." Natasha reached up and clasped his hand warmly. "Since you insist."
"I'll bring cake," he said brightly. Bucky rolled his shoulders back as Sarah chuckled. While he was still trying to learn how to fit in with the Wilsons and be a help rather than a hindrance, he had quickly found with the community cookout that he was very good at buying store bought cakes.
He twisted in his seat, tapping the fingers of his flesh hand against the back of the wood. He smiled at Natasha, but it wasn't something overly bright. "You'll love it. Might even pick up another hobby to go with your pillow making."
Sam shook his head. "Didn't take much for cyborg grandpa to come around to it." He smiled brightly at Natasha. "If he can enjoy himself, you'll have a fun time. But be prepared for him to be smiling a lot. It's a frightening sight. Nightmare-inducing."
James Barnes bringing dessert to a community dinner...wonders never ceased. Natasha laughed dutifully at Sam's commentary, realizing that the mild little insults were part of their dynamic, probably how each of them kept from driving the other insane. She'd heard a few tales of their previous exploits - Bucky jumping out of a plane without a parachute was a favorite - and even she had to admit that neither of them could have had a better partner against what they'd faced.
And it was good, she decided, to see Barnes' actually smiling, even if it did look as if he needed more practice, and also in total control of his faculties. Clean-cut, clean clothes - the last time she'd seen him, he'd been rocking the "Hobo Chic" look, God - and a lot of the haunted look had vanished from those blue eyes. He seemed...self-possessed, thankfully. Steve would have been pleased. And definitely proud.
The Wilson siblings fell into dinner prep, and the kids hunkered down to finish their homework, and Natasha excused herself to make a trip to the bathroom, washing her hands and dabbing a wet washcloth to her neck before stepping back out; this humidity was ridiculous. In the living room, she fished her cell out of her pack and moved to a window for optimum signal, making a quick check of her email and text messages. All quiet so far, but she was never unreachable, at least by those who knew how.
It was the usual time when Bucky would call his sister and check in to see what trouble she had gotten into. Sometimes, he thought that Rebecca made up stories just to hear him laugh. He hardly minded. Hearing Rebecca speak so loudly and with warmth in her tone was something he resented not having more memories of.
But he uncharacteristically hesitated walking into the living room with Natasha being inside. He didn't want to be thought of as an eavesdropper, but he'd left his cellphone either on the coffee table or tucked between the pillows and had forgotten to pluck it out before taking to his self-tasked assignment outside.
Rather than linger on the outskirts and wait for her like he was even more unsure of his skin, he stepped in, glanced at her, and kept his gaze low as he walked with long strides to the couch. Fetched his cellphone out from between the couch cushions (turned out, he hadn't left them behind the pillows), and easily slid his thumb across the screen.
"Don't worry, I'm going outside." He won't be needing the room or her needing to vacate it since it seemed to be her comfortable spider's web. Sometimes, it was a little overwhelming to be at the Wilson home. They were always so warm and kind and inviting, especially when they had already so much on their plate. He wouldn't blame Natasha if she felt like she was imposing by being in the kitchen where most of the ruckus was taking place.
She'd opted to take station in the corner near the fireplace - although when did they ever use it in this climate? - and Natasha glanced up briefly as Barnes came into the living room, retrieving his own cell phone. Hearing him speak, she looked up again just in time to see him heading out of the back door, presumably to do his own checking in with whoever he checked in with. Or whatever.
The household noises from the kitchen were nicely familiar, reminding her of dinnertime at Barton's place, although with younger (and more) children, the noise level was definitely higher there, but it was still a moderate comfort, easing her inherent trepidation of being in a completely new place.
Sam drifted in a few minutes later, drying his hands on a dishtowel, and Natasha gave him a polite smile. He gestured to the couch and she took a seat near the far end, opposite the stacked pillows. "I should probably give you this now," she told him, opening her bag and removing a closed manila envelope. "Everything I could find is there, surprisingly nothing's redacted. Well, yet."
Sam reached over for the packet as Natasha said, "It's possible they just hadn't gotten around to it yet, or there's no one in the office who knows how, anymore."
It was when Bucky spoke to Rebecca that he often felt homesick. Delacroix was a welcoming town, but he knew that it wasn't his. The Wilson family home couldn't be his home on a permanent basis. One of these days, he'd have to sling his duffle bag over his shoulder and find a place to call his own home, possibly make some friends, get a semblance of a life in order. It was a scary thought, and one that he felt was tiptoeing against the edges of his mind the longer Natasha stayed. He liked that it had been him and Sam. It felt like a nice, cosy bubble where he could kid himself into believing the outside world not existing.
Although his conversations with Rebecca often went long enough for him to be able to crack a joke about ageing during the time he picked up the phone to the moment he got to hang up, she kept it short, requesting pictures of his exploits and that of the fixed gutter so she could rate his work. After she had pestered him to get his ass back inside and off the porch of the Wilson house, he—once again—quietly entered through the back door and stepped into the kitchen, keeping an ear out to hear whether or not the conversation between Natasha and Sam was one that he was welcome to interrupt.
Since Sam was his person-who-knew-Bucky's-person person, Bucky came to lean against the frame of where the living room and kitchen connected, arms crossed against his chest and his head bowed as he listened. If Sam was going to get into trouble, he needed to know what that trouble was.
He should be used to feeling on the outside, but without Steve to act as some buffer or a link that often pulled Bucky into the fray, he often felt like he was simply floating without a life raft. Maybe that was the whole point of being free—no one knew what the fuck to do.
Sam opened the packet, pulled out a few sheets to scan the top lines, and Natasha glanced up as Barnes reappeared in the doorway. She didn't give any indication that he wasn't welcome to listen; if Sam wanted this to be exclusively private, he'd have said so.
Looking back over at Sam, Natasha said, "He's been having a lot of trouble dealing with Hoskins' loss. I do know he's been committed more than once, but has always shown enough progress for early release, then something snaps and he's right back where he started again. I did hear a rumor of a divorce in the works, but wasn't able to find any confirmation. It doesn't seem like Olivia would abandon him now, but then you never really know."
She sat back into the couch and crossed her knees, hands laced together in her lap.
"There's something else you should know about him, Sam," Natasha told him, eyes serious. "Results from his blood test. They show...anomalies." Her green gaze flicked to Barnes, in the doorway, then back to Wilson. "Familiar...anomalies." A pause. "All indications point to him now having somehow injected the super soldier serum." Natasha shook her head slightly. "I can't be a hundred percent sure, but it's the only explanation that fits." She gave a small sigh, indicating the folder.
"And there's more. Isaiah Bradley wasn't the only other soldier to be given this stuff. There are six more profiles in there, and not just stemming from the United States military. I...didn't expect to stumble across this, but maybe it's a good thing that I have unrestricted access to most of the world's secrets. At least, for now."
Bucky remained leaning against the frame and didn't once move at the news. He glanced at Sam and kept his gaze down.
It was unsurprising to him that Walker would have the Serum. The way his hand had bent backwards by the force of Sam's wing would've made any man almost pass out from the sheer agony. The way he clung to the notion of needing to be America's next—and better—Super Soldier... He'd seen that kind of passion before but in a scrawny, sickly Steve. He'd been so angry at Bucky for having the Serum and seemingly doing nothing at all to live up to its reputation that it wouldn't surprise Bucky if he had found access to the Serum. If you want it bad enough...
He wondered if Natasha had found the identities of the now-deceased Winter Soldiers from the program. Once again, Bucky was the last man standing. It didn't particularly make him want to puff out his chest with pride.
He sighed, lifting his gaze with a furrowed brow. "Where? Russia?"
Natasha glanced up, met Bucky's gaze. "Two," she replied. "One also in Britain. MI6, thirty years ago. Another in Berlin, German KSK. Less than ten years ago." She turned back to Sam. "The other two, mercenaries that caught the attention of combined world intelligence but have since gone underground. Very recently. And in no way affiliated with Morgenthau's group."
She leaned forward, hands propped on her knees. "There's something bigger in play here, I think. It wasn't just the Broker who had hands on this stuff. I know you guys destroyed Nagel's lab and Zemo neutralized him, and that he was part of the Snap, but who was working in his lab during those five years? Someone had to be, and split off right after everyone returned."
Pausing a moment, Natasha let all of this sink in, then her eyes sharpened just a touch, and she fixed the both of them with that stern gaze. "Now I have a question for you two: where is Sharon Carter?"
Bucky furrowed his brows, sharing almost a mirrored look with Sam. While Bucky didn't know Sharon as well as Sam might have (who did Bucky know?), Steve had vouched for her. (It wasn't overly surprising to know why Steve had vouched for her once he learned she was Peggy's niece.) Because of that one fact, Bucky trusted her—not implicitly, but enough to know he could at least call her for help if he ever needed it.
"Washington," Sam said, a slight crease to his brows. It was almost like he wasn't sure himself. "She let me know she finally got pardoned." His face seemed to brighten a touch as he said, "But I can call in a favour if we need her."
Always the one to look for the bad news in everything, Bucky watched Natasha, brows still furrowed, eyes narrowing in thought. "Why?"
As tempting as it was - and it was tempting - to have Sam make that phone call, Natasha shook her head, smiling in polite refusal. If Carter did show up, it wouldn't avail her much right now; she didn't have the necessary proof to nail that bitch to the nearest wall. And Madripoor was a dead end; the Power Broker would have definitely liquidated everything and erased all traces there.
But now, according to Natasha's intel, Sharon Carter had been given a full pardon and reinstated back into the CIA, but her presence in Langley had been brief. She'd been immediately sent off on assignment, and alas that the former Black Widow didn't have a large enough web throughout all of the government alphabet to catch all the flies.
Yet.
Natasha offered her polite smile again, subtly relaxing her posture and shaking her head. "Nothing serious. I'd just like to catch up with her sometime. I haven't seen her in a while, and we were sort of close back in SHIELD. Maybe I'll give her a call, if you'll forward me her number."
Bucky's eyes narrowed as he watched Natasha. The sternness to her gaze seemed to soften rather quickly at their answers. There were benefits to the whole staring thing he'd become known for. While most people squirmed beneath the rather unattractive gaze, Bucky got to see a lot more than what most people let themselves witness. His escape from the Winter Soldier program hadn't been successful due to his inability to notice some things about people.
"How about you go get your phone, Sam?" He glanced at Sam and shrugged a shoulder. "There's a good chance you'll forget. Wouldn't want to prolong that reunion, right?"
While Sam frowned and seemed to hesitate, often like how AJ or Cass did when they were asked to go fetch something that would take them right out from the middle of an intriguing conversation, he did reluctantly rise to his feet. Sam could never help himself when it came to helping people, even if it was something as simple as passing on a phone number. Clicking his fingers, he looked between them and said, "No gossiping about me behind my back. Whatever he says, salt. Take it with so much salt."
It was with long strides that gave away his impatience—and excitement, if Bucky really let himself believe Sam was excited to have an old friend in his house—that he exited the living room. Bucky peered over his shoulder and waited for the sounds of his footsteps to fade away before turning back to Natasha.
"You couldn't get her number while you were accessing all of these files?"
Natasha laughed at Sam's quips, waving her hand in agreement as he headed out of the room and deeper into the house. She wasn't too surprised to find the Winter Soldier's gaze directly on her once Wilson was out of the immediate vicinity, but the Black Widow was a master of interrogation, herself.
"Not one that was current, no." An easy answer, given freely, with no outward stress attached. It wasn't any of Barnes' business what she wanted with the former SHIELD agent, just as it wasn't any of anyone else's business what Natasha was going to do once she did get her hands on Margaret Carter's great-niece.
"A lot of people have had to change carriers and numbers since the world has repopulated," she reminded him, gesturing to the phone on his own hip. "And we're still playing catch-up, getting databases and servers realigned. Which," she added, "doesn't make my job any easier."
Natasha glanced over when Sarah appeared in the doorway beside Barnes, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Supper's almost done, y'all," she reported with a smile. "Be about fifteen more minutes."
Bucky didn't flinch when he felt Sarah's hand on his shoulder. A very small change to how he used to behave. Touch was more welcome by those he trusted. He turned his head, gave her a small smile, and said, "Thanks."
But his gaze went back to Natasha. That was a bullshit answer if he ever heard one—and he had, many times, over many, many stupid lies that Steve felt he was confident enough to deliver. While Steve didn't have a bone in his body that let him easily deceive anyone around him, he did give it his all when it came to Bucky. Something about wanting to prove to him that he could do it, he could enlist, get into the war, make a difference, stop it.
Bucky was used to people lying. Others would call him paranoid for believing people kept things from him on purpose, but eight decades of history taught him otherwise.
He waited for Sarah to go.
"You couldn't have asked him to send you her number when he originally contacted you?"
She shrugged, casual. "I didn't think about it. I wasn't even aware she was back on the radar until just a few days ago. I thought she was still on the run from the feds, considering events back in Berlin. Then I'd heard she'd been Snapped with half of the world population, and lost all track of her then. But I happened across a list of federal revocation cases a week or so ago, and her name was on the list. By the time I got in touch with the right department, she'd been sent out on assignment."
And ironically, that was the truth. Or, most of it. She wasn't about to just spill the beans about how she'd heard through her underground contacts that the Power Broker had cut all ties to Madripoor and booked it out of the tropics, disappearing somewhere stateside, only to find Sharon Carter herself at the end of that tangled web. Wilson considered Sharon an ally. And Natasha was content to let him keep believing so. For now.
Barnes' opinion didn't matter, either way.
"It smells good," Natasha remarked, getting to her feet with a small stretch. "I imagine she's a wonderful cook, too. What are we having, anyway?"
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maskirovka) wrote2021-07-20 01:46 am
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To buy a little time, Natasha stepped back a few paces to look around the edge of the house towards the driveway, ensuring that the family hadn't yet returned, and looked back at the ladder just in time to see Barnes shoving at the gutter pipe, apparently trying to bend it into shape through sheer force of will alone.
"Well...I watch Netflix, I cook," sometimes, when she was too tired for takeout, but then, Door Dash was amazing, "I read, and I watch cat videos on Tiktok." There. That was...about it. Pretty pathetic, from a social standpoint. She tapped her fingers against her arm.
"Don't know if you've realized, Barnes, but all of the friends that I have left are sort of scattered across the globe. Doesn't really make it easy to hang out very often."
The memories of Steve and Tony flashed in front of her, unbidden, but Natasha resolutely shoved them away.
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Bucky bore the death of Howard Stark heavily. It was one of the few that he remembered in such vivid detail that he sometimes wished for the selfish easy way out of a memory wipe. But remembering Howard meant that he was himself. James Barnes was still there, even if he couldn't look himself in the mirror sometimes.
But he said it to make a point. He didn't want her to feel sorry for him; he wanted her to realise how pathetic that excuse was, especially to him. He was the Hermit Soldier these days.
Curling his hands around the gutter lightly, he looked down at her in amusement. "If I can have a hobby, I'm sure you could have two." Returning to the gutter, he said playfully, "That's kind of pathetic. Old man Barnes is outdoing you in the being normal department."
Shaking his head, he chuckled to himself. Guess looks really were deceiving. Natasha Romanoff seemed like she had her shit sorted, and yet, here she was, admitting her shit was not sorted at all.
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Her life wasn't any of his business, now was it? And if he insisted on hammering down on that pressure point, then she'd sweetly remind him how much her shoulder ached in damp weather. Like here. In Louisiana.
But just to remind him that her personal life wasn't a viable subject for Show and Tell, she replied easily, though her voice did hold enough of an edge, "I never said I didn't. I'm just not going to share my real personal life with you." Her smile was pleasantly false, a mask she'd perfected over the decades.
Thankfully, the crunch of tires on gravel alerted her to a new arrival, and a quick glance proved it to be an older model pickup, with a woman, two kids, and Sam Wilson piling out of it. Wilson spied the SUV, looked around, and spied her at the back corner of the house. Giving a hale, Sam started jogging over, prompting Natasha to meet him halfway, exchanging greetings all around.
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Bucky didn't descend the ladder, watching as Sam smiled brightly at what he presumed to be a smile in return. He returned to his task at hand, trying to manipulate the gutter so that he didn't have to replace it with anything else. Natasha's comments didn't upset him. It was clear that he struck a nerve. It was clear she didn't want to talk to him about who she truly was either out of worry he'd flip a switch and become the Soldier again or she simply didn't like him. It was easier to stomach the latter.
"I didn't give her the grand tour," he drawled loudly, only glancing at the two of them from the corner of his eye. "I know I give shit tours."
He knew Sam was nodding vigorously, telling Natasha that was damn right.
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Natasha suffered being a guest while the woman of the house went about her domestic chores; getting the kids situated with homework and their other household duties, Sam pitching in to put away their groceries, and Sarah also insisting the Natasha stay for supper, which the redhead knew she'd be hard put to refuse.
"C'mon," Sam urged, passing by and ribbing her lightly. "You need real food down here, authentic. Won't get it anywhere else in the world, I promise ya." And of course she agreed, wondering if she'd ever have a quiet moment to give Sam the information he'd requested. Probably not until the rest of the house retired for the night.
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It was no use trying to sneak in. Sarah's head immediately snapped to him; with her hands on her hips, she shook her head. "How many times have I told you not to touch my house? You're just as bad as Sam—you don't listen."
"Hey, hey, hey," Bucky held his hands up, a lopsided smile on his face. Sam's brows furrowed as he appeared offended by this accusation, peering at Bucky and then settling his gaze on Natasha to express his incredulity. "There's no need to get nasty."
After a moment of stern glaring, her Sarah's broke into a smile. "Thank you." She walked behind Cass and gripped his shoulders gently, kissing the top of his head almost impulsively.
Bucky made his way to the kitchen sink to wash his hands. As he did so, he heard Sam say to Natasha, "I listen." Hand to heart, he told her as seriously as he could, "I'm a listener. I'm a damn good listener. Unlike grandpa here, I don't need a hearing aid."
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"It's good to see you, Red," Sam then told Natasha sincerely. He went for a hug, which she returned, then went on. "Been too long, that's for sure. How's everyone on your end?"
Natasha had brought her water glass inside, and Sam obligingly took it for a refill as she replied, "Oh, about as well as they can be, I guess. Barton's back at his place with Laura and the kids. Pepper and Morgan are both doing well. I...haven't heard from Bruce or Thor, but I imagine, or I hope, they're both staying out of trouble."
She leaned a casual hip against the counter as Sam returned with the water glass. "Wanda is off with the Vision somewhere. She usually texts me every couple of weeks, but I haven't heard from her this month. Wakanda is still negotiating with the UN to allow their representatives visiting rights, but so far T'Challa has been able to keep them out."
Sam shook his head a little gravely. "Man, I hope that place stays off the radar. Last thing they need is politicians in there demanding rights to what ain't theirs."
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"And Romanoff's been busy with her crocheting," he said, then tilted his head to the side as he feigned confusion. "Or was it needlepoint? Can't remember—low intellect and all that."
He shrugged in a mock apology as he moved past them to sit at the kitchen table. It was very clear that she had come for Sam and Sam alone, and that was fine by him. But he and Sam were partners—or co-workers, or just two idiots who had people in common and tended to rely on one another—and he wasn't going to leave the kitchen for Sam to take more on his shoulders like the martyr he sometimes tended to be. He had a pair that could help carry the load, too.
Sam muttered loudly, "He's overdue for his grandpa nap."
Cass feigned a yawn. "So am I." He began to lift himself up and out of his chair, but Sarah was quick to gently push him back into his seat.
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Before Wilson could reply, AJ piped up from the table, "You mean like spy stuff?" Cass immediately seconded this, "Yeah, spy stuff?"
Natasha turned to the boys in amusement, caught Sarah's eye, saying, "Umm...something like that." She gave a chuckle, explaining, "It's really more like sitting at a computer, typing names, numbers, and addresses all day long. Not very exciting."
"Oh." Both of the boys' faces fell, and they reluctantly returned to their homework.
Sam, however, knew a little better than that, because he said, "That's why I called you last week, well, the second reason." He laughed good-naturedly, amending, "The first 'cause I did wanna catch up, and get you outta the office for a little R and R."
Sarah spoke up, asking, "Yeah, how long are you staying?"
"Just through the weekend," Natasha replied. "I have to be back in the office on Monday, so I'll fly out Sunday evening."
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Resting his arm against his chair so he could twist around to peer at Sam and Natasha, he licked his bottom lip and turned back to AJ and Cass. He knew Sam and Natasha's conversation didn't exactly have room for him.
"Natasha works with the people who make cool stuff for superheroes like your uncle." They peered up at him with a slight crinkle to their brows, then their eyes widened. Bucky rested his left arm against the table and leaned closer to them on the opposite side. In a mock loud whisper, "If you do your homework, she might put a good word in with the people who made Cap's shield."
AJ gasped and comically picked up his pencil and began scribbling on his piece of paper.
Cass was a touch sceptical. "Really?"
"Really," Bucky nodded, leaning back against his chair. He kept his arm along the back of it. "Don't you want to find out if I'm telling the truth?"
Cass narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips thoughtfully before he nodded and returned to his homework, although not with the same excitement as AJ.
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"Yeah," Sam piped up, seconding this. "Tomorrow's Friday, so we'll be cookin' all day, so you gotta hang out. We can get our...'other stuff' taken care of, too, and have the entire weekend to party."
The offer sounded very sweet to Natasha, but since the loss of Steve and Tony, not to mention what had been her life, she hadn't really felt the desire to 'party' much anymore. "That's really nice, but--"
Sam paused on the way from the fridge, putting down the milk jug to place his hand on her shoulder, giving it a warm squeeze. "C'mon, Red. Do it for me, huh?" He rubbed her shoulder then, adding in a lower voice, "I miss those days, y'know. It'd be really great t'have you for a while, at least."
Well, there wasn't much of a way to get around that; she couldn't ignore the sincerity in her old friend's request. "...all right." Natasha reached up and clasped his hand warmly. "Since you insist."
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He twisted in his seat, tapping the fingers of his flesh hand against the back of the wood. He smiled at Natasha, but it wasn't something overly bright. "You'll love it. Might even pick up another hobby to go with your pillow making."
Sam shook his head. "Didn't take much for cyborg grandpa to come around to it." He smiled brightly at Natasha. "If he can enjoy himself, you'll have a fun time. But be prepared for him to be smiling a lot. It's a frightening sight. Nightmare-inducing."
Bucky rolled his eyes.
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And it was good, she decided, to see Barnes' actually smiling, even if it did look as if he needed more practice, and also in total control of his faculties. Clean-cut, clean clothes - the last time she'd seen him, he'd been rocking the "Hobo Chic" look, God - and a lot of the haunted look had vanished from those blue eyes. He seemed...self-possessed, thankfully. Steve would have been pleased. And definitely proud.
The Wilson siblings fell into dinner prep, and the kids hunkered down to finish their homework, and Natasha excused herself to make a trip to the bathroom, washing her hands and dabbing a wet washcloth to her neck before stepping back out; this humidity was ridiculous. In the living room, she fished her cell out of her pack and moved to a window for optimum signal, making a quick check of her email and text messages. All quiet so far, but she was never unreachable, at least by those who knew how.
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But he uncharacteristically hesitated walking into the living room with Natasha being inside. He didn't want to be thought of as an eavesdropper, but he'd left his cellphone either on the coffee table or tucked between the pillows and had forgotten to pluck it out before taking to his self-tasked assignment outside.
Rather than linger on the outskirts and wait for her like he was even more unsure of his skin, he stepped in, glanced at her, and kept his gaze low as he walked with long strides to the couch. Fetched his cellphone out from between the couch cushions (turned out, he hadn't left them behind the pillows), and easily slid his thumb across the screen.
"Don't worry, I'm going outside." He won't be needing the room or her needing to vacate it since it seemed to be her comfortable spider's web. Sometimes, it was a little overwhelming to be at the Wilson home. They were always so warm and kind and inviting, especially when they had already so much on their plate. He wouldn't blame Natasha if she felt like she was imposing by being in the kitchen where most of the ruckus was taking place.
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The household noises from the kitchen were nicely familiar, reminding her of dinnertime at Barton's place, although with younger (and more) children, the noise level was definitely higher there, but it was still a moderate comfort, easing her inherent trepidation of being in a completely new place.
Sam drifted in a few minutes later, drying his hands on a dishtowel, and Natasha gave him a polite smile. He gestured to the couch and she took a seat near the far end, opposite the stacked pillows. "I should probably give you this now," she told him, opening her bag and removing a closed manila envelope. "Everything I could find is there, surprisingly nothing's redacted. Well, yet."
Sam reached over for the packet as Natasha said, "It's possible they just hadn't gotten around to it yet, or there's no one in the office who knows how, anymore."
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Although his conversations with Rebecca often went long enough for him to be able to crack a joke about ageing during the time he picked up the phone to the moment he got to hang up, she kept it short, requesting pictures of his exploits and that of the fixed gutter so she could rate his work. After she had pestered him to get his ass back inside and off the porch of the Wilson house, he—once again—quietly entered through the back door and stepped into the kitchen, keeping an ear out to hear whether or not the conversation between Natasha and Sam was one that he was welcome to interrupt.
Since Sam was his person-who-knew-Bucky's-person person, Bucky came to lean against the frame of where the living room and kitchen connected, arms crossed against his chest and his head bowed as he listened. If Sam was going to get into trouble, he needed to know what that trouble was.
He should be used to feeling on the outside, but without Steve to act as some buffer or a link that often pulled Bucky into the fray, he often felt like he was simply floating without a life raft. Maybe that was the whole point of being free—no one knew what the fuck to do.
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Looking back over at Sam, Natasha said, "He's been having a lot of trouble dealing with Hoskins' loss. I do know he's been committed more than once, but has always shown enough progress for early release, then something snaps and he's right back where he started again. I did hear a rumor of a divorce in the works, but wasn't able to find any confirmation. It doesn't seem like Olivia would abandon him now, but then you never really know."
She sat back into the couch and crossed her knees, hands laced together in her lap.
"There's something else you should know about him, Sam," Natasha told him, eyes serious. "Results from his blood test. They show...anomalies." Her green gaze flicked to Barnes, in the doorway, then back to Wilson. "Familiar...anomalies." A pause. "All indications point to him now having somehow injected the super soldier serum." Natasha shook her head slightly. "I can't be a hundred percent sure, but it's the only explanation that fits." She gave a small sigh, indicating the folder.
"And there's more. Isaiah Bradley wasn't the only other soldier to be given this stuff. There are six more profiles in there, and not just stemming from the United States military. I...didn't expect to stumble across this, but maybe it's a good thing that I have unrestricted access to most of the world's secrets. At least, for now."
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It was unsurprising to him that Walker would have the Serum. The way his hand had bent backwards by the force of Sam's wing would've made any man almost pass out from the sheer agony. The way he clung to the notion of needing to be America's next—and better—Super Soldier... He'd seen that kind of passion before but in a scrawny, sickly Steve. He'd been so angry at Bucky for having the Serum and seemingly doing nothing at all to live up to its reputation that it wouldn't surprise Bucky if he had found access to the Serum. If you want it bad enough...
He wondered if Natasha had found the identities of the now-deceased Winter Soldiers from the program. Once again, Bucky was the last man standing. It didn't particularly make him want to puff out his chest with pride.
He sighed, lifting his gaze with a furrowed brow. "Where? Russia?"
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She leaned forward, hands propped on her knees. "There's something bigger in play here, I think. It wasn't just the Broker who had hands on this stuff. I know you guys destroyed Nagel's lab and Zemo neutralized him, and that he was part of the Snap, but who was working in his lab during those five years? Someone had to be, and split off right after everyone returned."
Pausing a moment, Natasha let all of this sink in, then her eyes sharpened just a touch, and she fixed the both of them with that stern gaze. "Now I have a question for you two: where is Sharon Carter?"
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"Washington," Sam said, a slight crease to his brows. It was almost like he wasn't sure himself. "She let me know she finally got pardoned." His face seemed to brighten a touch as he said, "But I can call in a favour if we need her."
Always the one to look for the bad news in everything, Bucky watched Natasha, brows still furrowed, eyes narrowing in thought. "Why?"
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But now, according to Natasha's intel, Sharon Carter had been given a full pardon and reinstated back into the CIA, but her presence in Langley had been brief. She'd been immediately sent off on assignment, and alas that the former Black Widow didn't have a large enough web throughout all of the government alphabet to catch all the flies.
Yet.
Natasha offered her polite smile again, subtly relaxing her posture and shaking her head. "Nothing serious. I'd just like to catch up with her sometime. I haven't seen her in a while, and we were sort of close back in SHIELD. Maybe I'll give her a call, if you'll forward me her number."
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"How about you go get your phone, Sam?" He glanced at Sam and shrugged a shoulder. "There's a good chance you'll forget. Wouldn't want to prolong that reunion, right?"
While Sam frowned and seemed to hesitate, often like how AJ or Cass did when they were asked to go fetch something that would take them right out from the middle of an intriguing conversation, he did reluctantly rise to his feet. Sam could never help himself when it came to helping people, even if it was something as simple as passing on a phone number. Clicking his fingers, he looked between them and said, "No gossiping about me behind my back. Whatever he says, salt. Take it with so much salt."
It was with long strides that gave away his impatience—and excitement, if Bucky really let himself believe Sam was excited to have an old friend in his house—that he exited the living room. Bucky peered over his shoulder and waited for the sounds of his footsteps to fade away before turning back to Natasha.
"You couldn't get her number while you were accessing all of these files?"
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"Not one that was current, no." An easy answer, given freely, with no outward stress attached. It wasn't any of Barnes' business what she wanted with the former SHIELD agent, just as it wasn't any of anyone else's business what Natasha was going to do once she did get her hands on Margaret Carter's great-niece.
"A lot of people have had to change carriers and numbers since the world has repopulated," she reminded him, gesturing to the phone on his own hip. "And we're still playing catch-up, getting databases and servers realigned. Which," she added, "doesn't make my job any easier."
Natasha glanced over when Sarah appeared in the doorway beside Barnes, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Supper's almost done, y'all," she reported with a smile. "Be about fifteen more minutes."
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But his gaze went back to Natasha. That was a bullshit answer if he ever heard one—and he had, many times, over many, many stupid lies that Steve felt he was confident enough to deliver. While Steve didn't have a bone in his body that let him easily deceive anyone around him, he did give it his all when it came to Bucky. Something about wanting to prove to him that he could do it, he could enlist, get into the war, make a difference, stop it.
Bucky was used to people lying. Others would call him paranoid for believing people kept things from him on purpose, but eight decades of history taught him otherwise.
He waited for Sarah to go.
"You couldn't have asked him to send you her number when he originally contacted you?"
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And ironically, that was the truth. Or, most of it. She wasn't about to just spill the beans about how she'd heard through her underground contacts that the Power Broker had cut all ties to Madripoor and booked it out of the tropics, disappearing somewhere stateside, only to find Sharon Carter herself at the end of that tangled web. Wilson considered Sharon an ally. And Natasha was content to let him keep believing so. For now.
Barnes' opinion didn't matter, either way.
"It smells good," Natasha remarked, getting to her feet with a small stretch. "I imagine she's a wonderful cook, too. What are we having, anyway?"
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