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."
Bucky pushed his food around on his plate as Natasha gave her apologies to both Sam and Sarah. He knew that his actions wouldn't seem out of character—he was known to eat like a bird these days and he needed a distraction from the fact that Natasha, of course, would fucking retaliate.
Inhaling deeply and loudly through his nose, Bucky glared down at his plate, left elbow leaning on the table. Don't react, don't react. But it was fucking hard not to. He hadn't put himself in a position like this where anyone touched him outside from a clap on the back.
Rather than tightly press his thighs together to either trap her hand or have her withdraw quickly, he shifted ever so slightly on his seat—enough for her to feel it, if she was really paying attention—and widened his legs.
With the corner of his lips curving upward in a tight smile, he very quietly muttered, "Вредитель." That's what a spider was, wasn't she? Pest.
He deserved it. If he was going to play the game, then he'd better be prepared to handle the plays. Because once it came down to it, Natasha seldom pulled her punches. She felt Bucky shift under her hand and carefully hid her smirk - it was unseemly to gloat, after all - and discreetly withdrew her hand, returning both to the table, pushing her plate away and taking a delicate sip of her lemonade.
Round One - I win.
Barnes' muttered epithet did little to put her out of sorts, however. She wasn't at all surprised that he'd muttered something, and the adjective almost made her laugh out loud. Natasha did, however, acknowledge his defeat with a gracious, "Spasibo." Thank you, for the compliment.
Then she caught Sarah's eye, and the other woman was staring at the both of them with a peculiar, somewhat knowing little look. Natasha just gave a mild shrug and lowered her eyes, graceful in victory. At least of this round.
Bucky didn't catch Sarah's look, too busy leaning towards AJ to hear him ask if he could pass a slice of the peach cobbler to him. Perhaps luckily for him, it was to his right.
When Bucky leaned to his right to reach for the still hot peach cobbler dish with his left hand, he ensured to stretch out right in Natasha's space. Even though it was childish (he knew it was childish), if she was going to put his hand on his leg, he wasn't going to pull away and tuck himself into a corner far, far away from her.
"'Scuse me, sorry," he said, purposefully furrowing his brows so he could look the part despite the fact he didn't feel it. Once he got that tray in his left hand, he easily sat up straight and let AJ dig the cobbler out for both his plate and Bucky's.
He smiled at Natasha, tilting his body towards her. "Did you want any?"
Although it would have been so easy to just lean forward and bite Barnes' earlobe for that childish stunt, Natasha nevertheless let it pass, catching Sarah's frown and shaking her head with a mild roll of her eyes, as if to say, Children will be children. Sarah in turn rolled her own eyes and glowered over at Bucky, then at her brother as Sam snickered behind his hand and under his breath.
AJ heaped a good bit of dessert on Barnes' plate, possibly as a thanks for fetching the dish, and thankfully, the heavy pan was placed back on the table, and not across Natasha's plate this time, Sarah having made room like a polite person would do.
But Barnes, cheeky asshole that he was, had the gall to inquire if Natasha would care to have any, and without hesitation, she picked up Bucky's fork and reached over to spear a nice thick hunk of cobbler from his plate. "Ooh, thanks. I'll just share yours, da?" Before he could splutter or squawk, she took about half of the forkful into her mouth, pausing with a twinkle in her eye.
Swallowing her bite, she then turned the fork around and offered the other half. "Want a taste?"
While he smiled at her, something that wasn't overly bright but didn't seem like a grimace, he narrowed his eyes slightly as he regarded her.
"Sure." Suspecting she'd expect him to try and wrestle the fork out of her hand, he leaned forward to bite it off the fork. He hummed, shrugged a shoulder as he chewed, and when he was done, he did smile brightly at Sarah when he said, "I really am going to turn into a peach cobbler if you keep making them that good."
Even though Sarah's eyes were slightly narrowed, she did smile and duck her head like she usually did. Sometimes, Bucky wished Sarah was used to receiving compliments for everything that she did. She was a big help in him feeling comfortable in his own skin.
He sat back in his chair and rested his hands on his thighs, not looking at Natasha despite watching her from the corner of his eye.
Natasha caught Sam's raised eyebrow out of the corner of her eye, but she just lifted her own eyes ceilingward, silently telling him it was just a game and not to think too much of it. Barnes was an ass, he knew this. By now, it didn't surprise her that Barnes ate the bite she offered, and her gaze narrowed in amusement.
When he sat back and didn't try to wrestle her for his fork, the redhead gave a mental shrug and scooped another bite of his dessert, eating all of this one herself and diving back for another, opting to just eat off of Barnes' plate, since he wasn't to worried about defending it.
"Mmm," she h'mmed in delight, licking her lips while angled towards Barnes and his plate, "Sarah, this is really amazing. Best I've ever had, I'm sure."
Putting a hand on his thigh, he could tolerate. Eating his food? That was an entirely different thing altogether, especially when it was Sarah's cobbler.
Keeping his gaze away from Natasha, Bucky looked around, expecting her to drop his fork and return to her own plate, before he gently took her hand to try and pry the fork out from her fingers.
He smiled at her. "You're not eating my cobbler."
Or, at least, she wasn't going to eat all of it.
She had a perfectly good fork he could use, but that was beside the point.
And Sarah, good mother that she was, had apparently had enough. "Here you are, Natasha," she said pointedly, scooping a square out of the cobbler pan and placing it on the redhead's plate. "Now you two don't have to fight over it."
Natasha got the hint, immediately releasing Barnes' fork with a little wink at the man - checkmate - and turned to pick up her own with a gracious thanks delivered in Sarah's direction. At the far end of the table, Sam just rolled his eyes and gave a soft snort, while the boys sniggered at the silliness of it, not quite understanding the current thrumming beneath all of the snark.
And even though it wasn't Natasha's habit to be the last one to leave any battlefield, she could, in this case, refrain from any further retaliation in light of being a guest in the Wilson's household. Which was why she demurely tucked in to her dessert, again asking Sarah and Sam leading questions about growing up down here, and pointedly ignoring the overgrown child to her left.
When Sam was talking (the guy never stopped, especially when he had the spotlight and an interested audience), Bucky gave Sarah a small smile. He was often the type to either engage in conversation with the family like he didn't have so many reservations or he remained quiet as he listened. This was one of the first instances where he felt like he was back in the 1930s at his own dinner table.
With his fork, he ate his cobbler, peered over at Natasha's as if he was sizing it up to steal some, but ultimately kept to his own plate and dessert.
This time, when he went for seconds, he didn't lean over as if he was about to fall over into Natasha's lap. He didn't even lean towards her at all.
When conversation was clearly drifting toward where Natasha was staying (Sarah was only so subtle by asking if the car was hers, where she rented it from, for how long), Bucky sat back in his chair and glanced over at her. "Where are you staying?"
If she had a place, then it'd be easy to assume she had every intention of lingering around, perhaps giving Sam more intel. If she didn't, then he and Sam were really on their own again.
Natasha finished her last bite of cobbler before answering. "At the motel back in town. I don't have to be back in New York until Monday."
Sam scoffed, saying that that old place wasn't fit for a dog to live in, and Natasha only shrugged. "It's a roof and a bed, Sam. It's better than sleeping in the back of the rental."
"Yeah, but you're family, Red," he told her, picking at his own dessert. "You should stay here, we have plenty of room."
Sarah gave her brother a look. "And where would she sleep, Sam? We only have the one couch and it's occupied, in case you've forgotten."
Natasha tried to protest, to tell them she appreciated the offer but really, she'd be fine, Sam retorted back to his sister, "AJ and Cass can double up for a few days, huh? And Buck can sleep in Cass's bed, and Nat can take the couch."
"Sam!" Natasha finally broke in, laughing a little. "Thank you, really. Thank you both, but I'll be fine in town. I can handle an old, rough room for the weekend, I promise." She tilted her thumb over at Barnes. "I doubt James would be all that thrilled with me kicking him out of bed."
Rather than lift his brows up as he would've when being spoken about without being spoken to, he only furrowed them. Hearing his name—his actual name, not a childhood nickname that stuck to him throughout childhood and adulthood and ended up becoming the beginning of the end of a living nightmare—was strange. It was even stranger coming from Natasha.
He lifted his brows then, forcing himself to recover and not think about it. Dryly, "Yeah, that would suck."
There really was no point in reminding them all he was more than happy to be on the floor. Didn't need to learn that lesson twice—Sarah refused to hear it and Sam, surprisingly, didn't like it, either.
He knew what he was starting when he asked her the question. Better to get it over and done with now before Sam broke out the liquor and became of hard hearing. He still wouldn't put it past Sam to try and get Natasha a little tipsy so she couldn't drive to her hotel. He was a good guy, but he could be manipulative when it came to taking care of the people he valued the most.
"But I think you should be more worried about Cass," Bucky said, cocking his head in the direction of the younger boy sitting across the table and to his left. "He's very intense about his bed."
Cass laughed. "Yeah, you'd be sleeping on the floor, Buck." He outstretched his arms and declared, "King of the bed."
"Right," Natasha agreed, smiling softly. "I'm not here to disturb anyone's sleeping arrangements. I'll be find back in town." She placed one hand over her heart and looked directly at Sam. "Promise."
Dinner broke up soon after that, with Sarah putting away the leftovers and directing the boys to dishes, trash, and cleanup. Natasha began to think about making her excuses and heading back to that crappy little room in town, but before she could, Sam insisted on a brandy and more talk in the living room, roping Barnes into it, also.
Thankfully, there were enough chairs in the kitchen that she didn't have to share the couch with the former Winter Soldier, and Natasha only wet her lips with the potent alcohol, never one to really let any inhibitions go. Sam asked about Pepper and Morgan, more direct questions, and Natasha shared that both Starks were still living at the lakehouse in upstate New York, and that Morgan was doing very well in school, of course.
Barton and all of his clan were well, Clint preferring to stay way below the radar when it came to his family, since the government knew he was a husband and a father now, but all of their children were well and thriving, and Sam again began to hint about having a large get-together, to which Natasha smiled and agreed that it would be very nice, but probably very unlikely, given the world situation just now.
Besides, it simply wouldn't be the same without...everyone.
Bucky was a little grateful Sam hadn't decided they should all sit on the couch. While the little elbow war had been fun with Natasha, a very short moment of being a little less guarded and weighed down, he didn't particularly want to go for round two so soon. Other things had to be discussed (maybe Sharon) and other matters of conversation had to be tiptoed around (definitely Steve).
It was beneficial Bucky had set himself up not to be a talker. Sitting on the couch with his elbows resting on his thighs, he kept his head down when Sam and Natasha spoke like two old friends. He didn't know anyone. Not Clint, not Tony, not anyone who was six degrees separated. His person was Steve, and Steve was gone. The proposed get-together didn't have a place for Bucky, and he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that.
He lifted his head and looked at Sam with a small grin. "You just want to show off your suit."
Sam's smile widened as he shook his head, blushing. "Look, it's a good suit." And one that Bucky knew carried not only lightness but weight to it, too. It wasn't Steve's suit, not like the shield was, but it had a connection to Steve that not many people would understand.
Keeping his gaze on Sam, he cocked his head towards Natasha. "You should show her." At Sam's protestations—and a big smile that proved he wanted to show off his Captain America suit—Bucky grinned, shifting on the couch. "Come on. Romanoff wants to see it." He looked at Natasha, eyes a little bright. "You want to see it, right?"
"I have seen it," Natasha told them both. "I happened to catch the broadcast of the official announcement." But, she didn't miss Sam's bright gaze and his toothy smile. "But sure, in person is always better, da?" Wilson almost crowed with delight, and Natasha laughed lightly as he took off towards the back of the house.
Then her speculative gaze fell over on Bucky. "You baited him," she accused, though it was good-natured. "The two of you are like first graders, it's no wonder how poor Sarah hasn't lost all of her sanity yet."
"Sometimes I wonder!" echoed from the kitchen, and Natasha had to chuckle in agreement.
"Still," she said, gaze once more falling over on Bucky, on the couch, "it seems like a good thing. At least you two have each other, when things get tough." And she didn't just mean work-wise. "You do look much better," she told him in a low voice, accentuated with a soft smile. "The last time I saw you," at Steve's funeral, "you really did look like shit."
Self-consciously, he bowed his head and brushed a hand against the back of his head. "The beauty of a haircut."
Bucky no longer looked like he'd rolled out from The Passion of the Christ or was unwashed and unkempt. The haircut was something Sam had teased him about for at least half a day before he realised Bucky was wearing skinny jeans and that had taken the spotlight off his ribbing about his hair. It felt both embarrassing and nice to have that choice to cut off his hair accepted by someone he did value... despite finding him very, very annoying.
"And a shave." Lifting his head, he brushed his hand against his somewhat clean jawline. A little sarcastically, he said sweetly, "Apparently you can see my smile now."
"You look quite handsome," Natasha agreed, resting her head on her propped hand. "Presentable, anyway." She glanced up just then as Sam appeared in the doorway, outfitted all in white, red, and a bit of blue.
"Captain America!" he announced, brandishing the shield.
Both of Natasha's eyebrows went up, and she had to bite her lip to keep from saying something...untoward. He was obviously proud of the suit, and rightly so; he'd gone through hell and back to acquire it. But posing like that...
She dialed back her malignant humor, and said instead, "Looks great, Sam. It really does." On impulse, she rose from her chair and embraced her friend, warmly. "I'm very proud of you. So very." Another hug, and Natasha whispered, "I know Steve is, too."
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maskirovka) wrote2021-07-20 01:46 am
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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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Bucky pushed his food around on his plate as Natasha gave her apologies to both Sam and Sarah. He knew that his actions wouldn't seem out of character—he was known to eat like a bird these days and he needed a distraction from the fact that Natasha, of course, would fucking retaliate.
Inhaling deeply and loudly through his nose, Bucky glared down at his plate, left elbow leaning on the table. Don't react, don't react. But it was fucking hard not to. He hadn't put himself in a position like this where anyone touched him outside from a clap on the back.
Rather than tightly press his thighs together to either trap her hand or have her withdraw quickly, he shifted ever so slightly on his seat—enough for her to feel it, if she was really paying attention—and widened his legs.
With the corner of his lips curving upward in a tight smile, he very quietly muttered, "Вредитель." That's what a spider was, wasn't she? Pest.
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Round One - I win.
Barnes' muttered epithet did little to put her out of sorts, however. She wasn't at all surprised that he'd muttered something, and the adjective almost made her laugh out loud. Natasha did, however, acknowledge his defeat with a gracious, "Spasibo." Thank you, for the compliment.
Then she caught Sarah's eye, and the other woman was staring at the both of them with a peculiar, somewhat knowing little look. Natasha just gave a mild shrug and lowered her eyes, graceful in victory. At least of this round.
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When Bucky leaned to his right to reach for the still hot peach cobbler dish with his left hand, he ensured to stretch out right in Natasha's space. Even though it was childish (he knew it was childish), if she was going to put his hand on his leg, he wasn't going to pull away and tuck himself into a corner far, far away from her.
"'Scuse me, sorry," he said, purposefully furrowing his brows so he could look the part despite the fact he didn't feel it. Once he got that tray in his left hand, he easily sat up straight and let AJ dig the cobbler out for both his plate and Bucky's.
He smiled at Natasha, tilting his body towards her. "Did you want any?"
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AJ heaped a good bit of dessert on Barnes' plate, possibly as a thanks for fetching the dish, and thankfully, the heavy pan was placed back on the table, and not across Natasha's plate this time, Sarah having made room like a polite person would do.
But Barnes, cheeky asshole that he was, had the gall to inquire if Natasha would care to have any, and without hesitation, she picked up Bucky's fork and reached over to spear a nice thick hunk of cobbler from his plate. "Ooh, thanks. I'll just share yours, da?" Before he could splutter or squawk, she took about half of the forkful into her mouth, pausing with a twinkle in her eye.
Swallowing her bite, she then turned the fork around and offered the other half. "Want a taste?"
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"Sure." Suspecting she'd expect him to try and wrestle the fork out of her hand, he leaned forward to bite it off the fork. He hummed, shrugged a shoulder as he chewed, and when he was done, he did smile brightly at Sarah when he said, "I really am going to turn into a peach cobbler if you keep making them that good."
Even though Sarah's eyes were slightly narrowed, she did smile and duck her head like she usually did. Sometimes, Bucky wished Sarah was used to receiving compliments for everything that she did. She was a big help in him feeling comfortable in his own skin.
He sat back in his chair and rested his hands on his thighs, not looking at Natasha despite watching her from the corner of his eye.
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When he sat back and didn't try to wrestle her for his fork, the redhead gave a mental shrug and scooped another bite of his dessert, eating all of this one herself and diving back for another, opting to just eat off of Barnes' plate, since he wasn't to worried about defending it.
"Mmm," she h'mmed in delight, licking her lips while angled towards Barnes and his plate, "Sarah, this is really amazing. Best I've ever had, I'm sure."
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Keeping his gaze away from Natasha, Bucky looked around, expecting her to drop his fork and return to her own plate, before he gently took her hand to try and pry the fork out from her fingers.
He smiled at her. "You're not eating my cobbler."
Or, at least, she wasn't going to eat all of it.
She had a perfectly good fork he could use, but that was beside the point.
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Natasha got the hint, immediately releasing Barnes' fork with a little wink at the man - checkmate - and turned to pick up her own with a gracious thanks delivered in Sarah's direction. At the far end of the table, Sam just rolled his eyes and gave a soft snort, while the boys sniggered at the silliness of it, not quite understanding the current thrumming beneath all of the snark.
And even though it wasn't Natasha's habit to be the last one to leave any battlefield, she could, in this case, refrain from any further retaliation in light of being a guest in the Wilson's household. Which was why she demurely tucked in to her dessert, again asking Sarah and Sam leading questions about growing up down here, and pointedly ignoring the overgrown child to her left.
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With his fork, he ate his cobbler, peered over at Natasha's as if he was sizing it up to steal some, but ultimately kept to his own plate and dessert.
This time, when he went for seconds, he didn't lean over as if he was about to fall over into Natasha's lap. He didn't even lean towards her at all.
When conversation was clearly drifting toward where Natasha was staying (Sarah was only so subtle by asking if the car was hers, where she rented it from, for how long), Bucky sat back in his chair and glanced over at her. "Where are you staying?"
If she had a place, then it'd be easy to assume she had every intention of lingering around, perhaps giving Sam more intel. If she didn't, then he and Sam were really on their own again.
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Sam scoffed, saying that that old place wasn't fit for a dog to live in, and Natasha only shrugged. "It's a roof and a bed, Sam. It's better than sleeping in the back of the rental."
"Yeah, but you're family, Red," he told her, picking at his own dessert. "You should stay here, we have plenty of room."
Sarah gave her brother a look. "And where would she sleep, Sam? We only have the one couch and it's occupied, in case you've forgotten."
Natasha tried to protest, to tell them she appreciated the offer but really, she'd be fine, Sam retorted back to his sister, "AJ and Cass can double up for a few days, huh? And Buck can sleep in Cass's bed, and Nat can take the couch."
"Sam!" Natasha finally broke in, laughing a little. "Thank you, really. Thank you both, but I'll be fine in town. I can handle an old, rough room for the weekend, I promise." She tilted her thumb over at Barnes. "I doubt James would be all that thrilled with me kicking him out of bed."
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He lifted his brows then, forcing himself to recover and not think about it. Dryly, "Yeah, that would suck."
There really was no point in reminding them all he was more than happy to be on the floor. Didn't need to learn that lesson twice—Sarah refused to hear it and Sam, surprisingly, didn't like it, either.
He knew what he was starting when he asked her the question. Better to get it over and done with now before Sam broke out the liquor and became of hard hearing. He still wouldn't put it past Sam to try and get Natasha a little tipsy so she couldn't drive to her hotel. He was a good guy, but he could be manipulative when it came to taking care of the people he valued the most.
"But I think you should be more worried about Cass," Bucky said, cocking his head in the direction of the younger boy sitting across the table and to his left. "He's very intense about his bed."
Cass laughed. "Yeah, you'd be sleeping on the floor, Buck." He outstretched his arms and declared, "King of the bed."
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Dinner broke up soon after that, with Sarah putting away the leftovers and directing the boys to dishes, trash, and cleanup. Natasha began to think about making her excuses and heading back to that crappy little room in town, but before she could, Sam insisted on a brandy and more talk in the living room, roping Barnes into it, also.
Thankfully, there were enough chairs in the kitchen that she didn't have to share the couch with the former Winter Soldier, and Natasha only wet her lips with the potent alcohol, never one to really let any inhibitions go. Sam asked about Pepper and Morgan, more direct questions, and Natasha shared that both Starks were still living at the lakehouse in upstate New York, and that Morgan was doing very well in school, of course.
Barton and all of his clan were well, Clint preferring to stay way below the radar when it came to his family, since the government knew he was a husband and a father now, but all of their children were well and thriving, and Sam again began to hint about having a large get-together, to which Natasha smiled and agreed that it would be very nice, but probably very unlikely, given the world situation just now.
Besides, it simply wouldn't be the same without...everyone.
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It was beneficial Bucky had set himself up not to be a talker. Sitting on the couch with his elbows resting on his thighs, he kept his head down when Sam and Natasha spoke like two old friends. He didn't know anyone. Not Clint, not Tony, not anyone who was six degrees separated. His person was Steve, and Steve was gone. The proposed get-together didn't have a place for Bucky, and he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that.
He lifted his head and looked at Sam with a small grin. "You just want to show off your suit."
Sam's smile widened as he shook his head, blushing. "Look, it's a good suit." And one that Bucky knew carried not only lightness but weight to it, too. It wasn't Steve's suit, not like the shield was, but it had a connection to Steve that not many people would understand.
Keeping his gaze on Sam, he cocked his head towards Natasha. "You should show her." At Sam's protestations—and a big smile that proved he wanted to show off his Captain America suit—Bucky grinned, shifting on the couch. "Come on. Romanoff wants to see it." He looked at Natasha, eyes a little bright. "You want to see it, right?"
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Then her speculative gaze fell over on Bucky. "You baited him," she accused, though it was good-natured. "The two of you are like first graders, it's no wonder how poor Sarah hasn't lost all of her sanity yet."
"Sometimes I wonder!" echoed from the kitchen, and Natasha had to chuckle in agreement.
"Still," she said, gaze once more falling over on Bucky, on the couch, "it seems like a good thing. At least you two have each other, when things get tough." And she didn't just mean work-wise. "You do look much better," she told him in a low voice, accentuated with a soft smile. "The last time I saw you," at Steve's funeral, "you really did look like shit."
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Bucky no longer looked like he'd rolled out from The Passion of the Christ or was unwashed and unkempt. The haircut was something Sam had teased him about for at least half a day before he realised Bucky was wearing skinny jeans and that had taken the spotlight off his ribbing about his hair. It felt both embarrassing and nice to have that choice to cut off his hair accepted by someone he did value... despite finding him very, very annoying.
"And a shave." Lifting his head, he brushed his hand against his somewhat clean jawline. A little sarcastically, he said sweetly, "Apparently you can see my smile now."
Thanks Sam for that.
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"Captain America!" he announced, brandishing the shield.
Both of Natasha's eyebrows went up, and she had to bite her lip to keep from saying something...untoward. He was obviously proud of the suit, and rightly so; he'd gone through hell and back to acquire it. But posing like that...
She dialed back her malignant humor, and said instead, "Looks great, Sam. It really does." On impulse, she rose from her chair and embraced her friend, warmly. "I'm very proud of you. So very." Another hug, and Natasha whispered, "I know Steve is, too."
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