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?"
"She is." Bucky didn't feel inclined to tell Natasha—or anyone, really—that since being a guest at the Wilson home, he'd put on the weight he'd lost while under the thumb of Hydra. His appetite was still shit, but Sarah kept feeding him like he was her personal taste tester. Bucky hardly minded.
He didn't push off from the wall for a moment, eyeing Natasha. It didn't feel like the whole story. For someone like her, it felt too simple—far too mundane. There were means to get Sharon's number if she really, really wanted it. Bucky was hardly a superstar at technology, but even he knew that S.H.I.E.L.D. had tech no one else had.
If Peggy's niece was in trouble, he wanted to know about it. After what Peggy did for him with Rebecca, it was the least he could do.
Easily turning on his foot and stepping into the kitchen, he smiled as Sarah who stood at the kitchen counter with her deep blue oven mitts on and was slicing into a pie in a tray.
Sarah lifted her head and smiled. "Peach cobbler." With a glance at Bucky, she shook her head kindly. "One of his favourites. You're gonna turn into one of these one days."
Bucky shrugged, moving into the kitchen to grab plates, utensils and glasses, and easily set the table like it was a part of the routine. "You say that like it's meant to be a bad thing."
Sam returned just then, his cell in hand, and he texted Natasha the number with her grateful thanks. Then it was time for supper, and all talk of Sharon Carter and SHIELD quietly evaporated, which was exactly what Natasha wanted. She smiled at Sarah, saying that peach cobbler was one of her favorite desserts too, because it was.
"The last time I had it was out at Barton's place," she told them. "His wife makes amazing desserts, too. I think I gained ten pounds the last time I visited."
Sam laughed, teasing her that it couldn't be so, and Natasha kept to the side of the kitchen as the family went about their normal routine, her eyebrow lifting in mild curiosity that Barnes seemed to fit right in. But that was a good thing, all told.
Sarah brought an extra chair for their guest, placing it right beside Bucky's, on his right. Then everyone was invited to take their seats, the kids included, and Natasha slid into hers, automatically putting her napkin in her lap as Sarah and Sam brought the dishes to the table. Fried chicken, greens with sausage and potatoes, green beans, and sweet cornbread; the table nearly groaned.
It really shouldn't surprise him that Natasha was seated next to him. It seemed to be the flavour of the evening. He felt like he'd make progress of moving two steps ahead to only take several of them back. It would've been better suited if she sat beside Sam so they could catch up, not him, but Bucky wasn't going to complain.
He took a seat beside her, grateful she wasn't on his left. Relaxing back into his seat, he kept his hands on his lap as he watched Cass and AJ immediately lean over and begin plating their food. AJ sat next to Bucky and almost tipped over into him, his hands immediately curling into Bucky's left arm. He always enjoyed trying to squeeze the metal of his bicep.
"Be careful, be careful," he said with a light laugh, gently taking the tongs from AJ's clumsy fingers and helping him pick out the right sausage for him. AJ regarded all of them with a slight curl to his lip, scrunching up his face and shaking his head as Bucky pointed to each individual sausage. Once AJ claimed his, he wordlessly pointed to the fried chicken, which Bucky then served for him.
"You need to save some food for everyone else, you know."
AJ shrugged. "You snooze, you lose!" Sitting on his heels, he arched his back so he could peer over Bucky's head at Natasha. Regarding her with a toothy smile, he cocked his head towards the table. "I can pick your sausages for you. I pick the best sausages in the house."
Natasha watched the dinner show with comfortable amusement; yet even more evidence that Barnes had rehabilitated well down here in the South. When AJ offered to help her pick out her meat, she shrugged and gave a slight nod. "Sure. Go right ahead."
Sarah, coming to the table with the rest of the full glasses, thumped her youngest son on the top of his head and told him to get his rear in his chair and behave, and she also eyed Bucky a little sternly. "Try not to encourage him, Bucky," was all she said, giving him a Motherly Look before taking her own seat.
Sam chortled and started passing around the dishes, indicating that everyone should serve themselves, and Natasha did so with pleasure; the food smelled great. The chicken was lightly spicy and delicious; she actually ate another piece after the first. Talk centered mostly around the kids, school, and their other activities, AJ chiming in how awesome it was that Bucky was there to help with soccer practice, and also got them out of helping their Uncle Sam with the boat, since he had a much stronger partner to lug parts and fetch tools.
Natasha then inquired what the boat was primarily used for, and both Wilson siblings regaled her with a brief history of the Wilson family, how their family had long been bayou fishermen, the growth of their community and their family's part in it, and the redhead listened with the innate curiosity that made her the very best in her field. In fact, her listening was only broken now and again by the accidental bump of her left hand against Barnes' right as they ate, a mild distraction.
Even though he'd heard this story countless times before, Bucky still sat back comfortably in his chair and listened. He didn't pile on his plate like he'd done so for AJ, who often preferred to be served based on the fact his arms were too short and Bucky was right there with his big metal arm that was two times bigger than his head.
Every couple of minutes, it seemed as though his hand would bump into Natasha's. Even when he pulled his hand into his lap (something that felt awkward at the Wilson family table), he still managed to either bump or be bumped by her. Glancing at her from the corner of his eye, he ignored it, reached over the table to get seconds—still piling on a small amount of food, particularly favouring the sausages—and happened to bump into her hand once more when he reached for his fork.
Despite the chatter between the Wilsons, he still offered a quiet, "Sorry."
It was a little awkward, having to navigate thus around the table, especially when neither of them were obviously used to sitting so close to someone else, particularly another person of the opposite leading hand.
Glancing over at Barnes at his muttered apology, Natasha offered a quiet smile and forgave him, saying, "Vse v poryadke," in low Russian, It's fine. It was one of the languages she knew they shared, and unlikely to draw too much attention with everyone else talking all at once.
She'd have scooted her chair over to give them both a little more room, but there genuinely wasn't much left to share, what with all of the dishes in the middle of the table, and six people gathered around all four sides. She and Barnes weren't sitting exactly shoulder to shoulder, but close enough. Still, it was fine. It was definitely fine.
Given how big his own family had been, he should be used to knocking elbows and even accidentally kicking someone sitting across from him beneath the table. But it'd been a long, long time since he had sat around a table—slightly smaller than this one—and had been almost been sitting on top of another person. Despite preferring the quiet life, he did like it. There was a reason why he liked being at the Wilson home—it was noisy, but not overly so. Even when Sarah gently reprimanded him for encouraging AJ's little habit of being particular and letting other people do things for him, he knew it wasn't unwelcome.
All he did was hum, something low and hopefully noncommittal. The Russian was slightly unsettling; he was still trying to tame that natural instinct to flinch whenever someone spoke to him in that language, but he knew the moment she spoke the first word it wasn't going to be an utterance of his trigger words. Natasha was still someone he was trying to figure out. Steve trusted her, but Steve would also trust a bee after it stung him.
He remained hunched over and tilted his head toward her. Quietly, he joked, "I'm going to end up with a bruised arm."
Another little test; to see if the language triggered him in any way, and she was quietly pleased when it didn't seem to have much effect. Good. Natasha knew the Wakandans had healed his conditioning, rendering him unable to be controlled by his programming again, and the world had breathed easier for it.
And other than the whole grouchy, old-man-leave-me-alone façade, Barnes seemed to be doing...pretty well. Natasha didn't doubt for a moment that being here with the Wilson family had so much to do with that, and despite herself, she was glad for him. Even if he could be a jackass sometimes.
Instinctively leaning in when he tilted towards her, she chuckled to his little quip, then twinkled back one of her own, saying, "Oh, that's all right. I'll kiss it and make it better, da?"
Bucky rolled his eyes and looked away. He really should've seen that one coming. Although he thought to lift his elbow up and ask her to do just that, see if she'd follow through, he knew where he was, and the last thing he needed was for Sam to call out across the table and give him some lecture about harassing his friend.
Turning back to her, he gave her a shrug, one that said That's too bad. "I have a feeling that would just hurt it even more."
Natasha's little smirk indulged the customary sarcasm; it didn't surprise her in the least. The last time Barnes had flirted with anyone was when dinosaurs roamed the planet. Sadly, the man was more than likely dead from the waist down, anyway.
She shrugged back as she ate a bite of chicken, licking her lips for its spicy sweetness. "Mmm," she murmured back, in the same low, whiskey tone, "sometimes a little pain makes the pleasure that much better." To drive home that particular point, Natasha deliberately licked her fingers, putting down the half-eaten chicken wing to pick up her fork again.
He really didn't want to roll his eyes again, so he gave her an unimpressed look. Did she talk to Steve like that? He was pretty sure that if she did, he'd be blushing and a bumbling mess. They could take the scrawny, sick kid away, but they couldn't take away the inexperience and lack of personal confidence.
Luckily for Bucky, he had some of it left. Just a little drop of it. His own insecurities were easy to push down in the face of someone trying to purposefully get a rise out of him.
He drawled, "Hot."
He watched her, keeping his gaze on her eyes, having a little gut feeling that she was trying to get him to fall into a trap. Natasha was an attractive woman who he would've easily have tried to court seven decades ago, but he knew better. This was all just a game.
He purposefully—and gentle enough not to do any serious damage to her, aware of his own strength—elbowed her arm. "Oops. Sorry, I just couldn't help myself."
Yes, wasn't it. Interesting, that he'd choose to up the game with her, knowing how she liked to play. But then again, maybe he didn't. Well, Natasha didn't mind being the first to educate him in the Battle of the Sexes - Modern Version. So she met his gaze steadily, not at all fazed by those lovely, little-boy-blue eyes. She knew her own were just as dark, emerald as new spring grass, and sultrily amused.
It was definitely all just a game.
When he hit her arm, however, causing her to drop her fork, and, by sheer dint of will, not give in to her first reflex and stab him in the side with the knife concealed at her waist, Natasha forced a low, little laugh, giving both Sarah and Sam an apologetic look, and a murmured apology, but slipped her left hand below the table, not turning a hand to run her fingers over a muscled thigh next to hers, nails rather brazenly running along the inseam of those comfy jeans.
"Huh," she mused, giving the hard muscle a tight squeeze, "neither could I."
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maskirovka) wrote2021-07-20 01:46 am
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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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He didn't push off from the wall for a moment, eyeing Natasha. It didn't feel like the whole story. For someone like her, it felt too simple—far too mundane. There were means to get Sharon's number if she really, really wanted it. Bucky was hardly a superstar at technology, but even he knew that S.H.I.E.L.D. had tech no one else had.
If Peggy's niece was in trouble, he wanted to know about it. After what Peggy did for him with Rebecca, it was the least he could do.
Easily turning on his foot and stepping into the kitchen, he smiled as Sarah who stood at the kitchen counter with her deep blue oven mitts on and was slicing into a pie in a tray.
Sarah lifted her head and smiled. "Peach cobbler." With a glance at Bucky, she shook her head kindly. "One of his favourites. You're gonna turn into one of these one days."
Bucky shrugged, moving into the kitchen to grab plates, utensils and glasses, and easily set the table like it was a part of the routine. "You say that like it's meant to be a bad thing."
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"The last time I had it was out at Barton's place," she told them. "His wife makes amazing desserts, too. I think I gained ten pounds the last time I visited."
Sam laughed, teasing her that it couldn't be so, and Natasha kept to the side of the kitchen as the family went about their normal routine, her eyebrow lifting in mild curiosity that Barnes seemed to fit right in. But that was a good thing, all told.
Sarah brought an extra chair for their guest, placing it right beside Bucky's, on his right. Then everyone was invited to take their seats, the kids included, and Natasha slid into hers, automatically putting her napkin in her lap as Sarah and Sam brought the dishes to the table. Fried chicken, greens with sausage and potatoes, green beans, and sweet cornbread; the table nearly groaned.
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He took a seat beside her, grateful she wasn't on his left. Relaxing back into his seat, he kept his hands on his lap as he watched Cass and AJ immediately lean over and begin plating their food. AJ sat next to Bucky and almost tipped over into him, his hands immediately curling into Bucky's left arm. He always enjoyed trying to squeeze the metal of his bicep.
"Be careful, be careful," he said with a light laugh, gently taking the tongs from AJ's clumsy fingers and helping him pick out the right sausage for him. AJ regarded all of them with a slight curl to his lip, scrunching up his face and shaking his head as Bucky pointed to each individual sausage. Once AJ claimed his, he wordlessly pointed to the fried chicken, which Bucky then served for him.
"You need to save some food for everyone else, you know."
AJ shrugged. "You snooze, you lose!" Sitting on his heels, he arched his back so he could peer over Bucky's head at Natasha. Regarding her with a toothy smile, he cocked his head towards the table. "I can pick your sausages for you. I pick the best sausages in the house."
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Sarah, coming to the table with the rest of the full glasses, thumped her youngest son on the top of his head and told him to get his rear in his chair and behave, and she also eyed Bucky a little sternly. "Try not to encourage him, Bucky," was all she said, giving him a Motherly Look before taking her own seat.
Sam chortled and started passing around the dishes, indicating that everyone should serve themselves, and Natasha did so with pleasure; the food smelled great. The chicken was lightly spicy and delicious; she actually ate another piece after the first. Talk centered mostly around the kids, school, and their other activities, AJ chiming in how awesome it was that Bucky was there to help with soccer practice, and also got them out of helping their Uncle Sam with the boat, since he had a much stronger partner to lug parts and fetch tools.
Natasha then inquired what the boat was primarily used for, and both Wilson siblings regaled her with a brief history of the Wilson family, how their family had long been bayou fishermen, the growth of their community and their family's part in it, and the redhead listened with the innate curiosity that made her the very best in her field. In fact, her listening was only broken now and again by the accidental bump of her left hand against Barnes' right as they ate, a mild distraction.
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Every couple of minutes, it seemed as though his hand would bump into Natasha's. Even when he pulled his hand into his lap (something that felt awkward at the Wilson family table), he still managed to either bump or be bumped by her. Glancing at her from the corner of his eye, he ignored it, reached over the table to get seconds—still piling on a small amount of food, particularly favouring the sausages—and happened to bump into her hand once more when he reached for his fork.
Despite the chatter between the Wilsons, he still offered a quiet, "Sorry."
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Glancing over at Barnes at his muttered apology, Natasha offered a quiet smile and forgave him, saying, "Vse v poryadke," in low Russian, It's fine. It was one of the languages she knew they shared, and unlikely to draw too much attention with everyone else talking all at once.
She'd have scooted her chair over to give them both a little more room, but there genuinely wasn't much left to share, what with all of the dishes in the middle of the table, and six people gathered around all four sides. She and Barnes weren't sitting exactly shoulder to shoulder, but close enough. Still, it was fine. It was definitely fine.
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All he did was hum, something low and hopefully noncommittal. The Russian was slightly unsettling; he was still trying to tame that natural instinct to flinch whenever someone spoke to him in that language, but he knew the moment she spoke the first word it wasn't going to be an utterance of his trigger words. Natasha was still someone he was trying to figure out. Steve trusted her, but Steve would also trust a bee after it stung him.
He remained hunched over and tilted his head toward her. Quietly, he joked, "I'm going to end up with a bruised arm."
As if anything could bruise him these days.
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And other than the whole grouchy, old-man-leave-me-alone façade, Barnes seemed to be doing...pretty well. Natasha didn't doubt for a moment that being here with the Wilson family had so much to do with that, and despite herself, she was glad for him. Even if he could be a jackass sometimes.
Instinctively leaning in when he tilted towards her, she chuckled to his little quip, then twinkled back one of her own, saying, "Oh, that's all right. I'll kiss it and make it better, da?"
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Turning back to her, he gave her a shrug, one that said That's too bad. "I have a feeling that would just hurt it even more."
He pulled a short, quick smile.
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She shrugged back as she ate a bite of chicken, licking her lips for its spicy sweetness. "Mmm," she murmured back, in the same low, whiskey tone, "sometimes a little pain makes the pleasure that much better." To drive home that particular point, Natasha deliberately licked her fingers, putting down the half-eaten chicken wing to pick up her fork again.
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Luckily for Bucky, he had some of it left. Just a little drop of it. His own insecurities were easy to push down in the face of someone trying to purposefully get a rise out of him.
He drawled, "Hot."
He watched her, keeping his gaze on her eyes, having a little gut feeling that she was trying to get him to fall into a trap. Natasha was an attractive woman who he would've easily have tried to court seven decades ago, but he knew better. This was all just a game.
He purposefully—and gentle enough not to do any serious damage to her, aware of his own strength—elbowed her arm. "Oops. Sorry, I just couldn't help myself."
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It was definitely all just a game.
When he hit her arm, however, causing her to drop her fork, and, by sheer dint of will, not give in to her first reflex and stab him in the side with the knife concealed at her waist, Natasha forced a low, little laugh, giving both Sarah and Sam an apologetic look, and a murmured apology, but slipped her left hand below the table, not turning a hand to run her fingers over a muscled thigh next to hers, nails rather brazenly running along the inseam of those comfy jeans.
"Huh," she mused, giving the hard muscle a tight squeeze, "neither could I."
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