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."
Bucky regarded her with a furrowed brow before his gaze moved to Sam. That's not something he'd ever expect from Natasha—and a part of him wondered if she was trying to pull his leg.
He smiled at the two of them, even though it wasn't overly bright or wide. Sam looked like he belonged in that suit. The shield belonged to him in or out of it, but that suit really complimented the new phase he was entering as Sam Wilson, Captain America.
Slowly standing, he took a step but maintained his space, not needing to step any closer to either of them. He'd seen that suit long before Sam had opened that case and finally slipped into his new skin.
"I mean, it's a little pudgy around the stomach..." With his face scrunched up, he gestured with his hands towards his belly.
Sam rolled his eyes, cocking his hand towards Bucky and asking if Natasha really believed this shit. "I look good, don't I?" With his hands on his hips, Sam tilted his chin upward in a superhero pose. "Real good. Belly area especially. It's nice and tight."
Natasha agreed that yes, everything looked nice and tight and appropriately superhero-y, then it really was time for getting back into town and settling down to do something about her jetlag. Once more she picked up the folder and put it right into Sam's hands, reminding him to keep it under wraps along with everything else they'd discussed.
"Meet you for lunch?" Sam of course inquired, making Natasha hesitate, but acquiesce in the end. She had no idea where, but Sam naturally promised to take care of that.
"Walk her out, Buck," Wilson suggested then, "I gotta go change back outta this."
Natasha was about to say she didn't need a chaperone to go from the house to her car, but Sam of course wouldn't hear of it, and after nice-to-meet-yous and thank-you-for-dinner and see-you-tomorrows, Wilson once more directed Bucky to Walk-her-out-Buck through lightly clenched teeth, then vanished again, leaving a nonplussed Natasha Romanoff and Bucky Barnes staring after him, chagrined.
Natasha recovered first. "It's fine," she told Barnes, shouldering her bag. "I can find my way to my car, promise."
"And give him a reason to annoy the shit out of me for an entire week?" He scrunched up his face and shook his head. "No." Sam would refuse to believe Natasha had wanted to walk to her car by herself, even though anyone who had a moment with Natasha would know she'd much prefer to walk to her car by herself. Anyone would believe she would prefer to walk to her car alone than be escorted by him.
Rather than let her lead the way or dig her heels in and refuse, he slid his fingertips into the pockets at the front of his jeans and walked casually to the front door, flicked on the porch light, and opened the door wide. With a gesture of his left hand, he quietly invited her to go first.
Until he yelled out sarcastically, "Please, Natasha—come with me because you clearly can't walk to your car by yourself!"
If Sam snickered, he didn't hear it. Didn't need to.
She was halfway across the porch when she heard Barnes yell, and Natasha just lifted her eyes with an exasperated sigh, huffed to herself, and continued on without stopping or slowing down. She didn't need a chaperone, let alone this mutton-headed five year old.
Thankfully she was wearing sandals, so that her heavy, irritated steps didn't sink down in the soft ground, but she reached the SUV, started it with the remote, and opened the driver door to toss her satchel across the console into the passenger seat. Was there no end to the childishness? But then, that juvenile mentality was probably that saved Barnes from being a mindless vegetable, so.
At least she didn't have to deal with him day in and day out.
Now that he was out of earshot from Sam, Bucky's playfulness disappeared. It was fun to tease Sam, but when Sam wasn't around to be teased, it wasn't worth it. He went back to being surly. It was comfortable and very much him—and he sincerely doubted Natasha enjoyed any of the teasings now that Sam wasn't here to be his target.
Slowly approaching the SUV, he crossed his arms against his chest. Weighing up what he wanted to ask, he decided the blunt approach (or his usual way of going about things) was appropriate now.
Bucky regarded Natasha with a serious look. "What's going on with Carter?"
She'd slipped into the driver's seat, was about to pull the door closed and leave, when of course Barnes appeared in the dim lighting from the overhead bulb. Natasha sat back in the seat, put both of her hands in her lap, and gave him a mildly exasperated look.
"Business," she finally said, clipped. "And it's strictly need-to-know. You don't." She smiled at him, a light mockery of the grin he'd been giving her all evening long. "So I really can't tell you about it, now can I?"
Reaching for the door again, she pulled it enough that it knocked against his back, trying to get him out of the way so she could leave.
"No," he said, shaking his head. Ignoring the back of the door hitting against him, he peered down at her. "I don't know if Steve accepted that shit, but I'm not Steve."
That much was clear. Bucky was never Steve. He never wanted to go to war, never wanted to be some impossible hero. Where Bucky would've been content to pull a little red wagon behind him, Steve wasn't. When he had the Serum, he spun in the complete opposite direction of Steve. Steve was lightness while Bucky wasn't. The only person who ever compared him to Steve was himself.
"She's the niece of one of my oldest friends. If she's in trouble, I want to know."
He was going to make this difficult, wasn't he. Natasha briefly considered kicking him out of the way and slamming the door in his face, but that would be impolitic, wouldn't it? And she didn't really want to start a ruckus here in the Wilson's front yard.
But she would, if she had to.
Taking a breath, mostly for calm, Natasha didn't reply right away, but finally said, "She's not in trouble, I can tell you that. But there are some things she knows that I need to know, and immediately. It's sort of a priority."
She let him digest that for a moment, then smacked him with the door again. "Now, move, please. I'm tired and I'd like to get a hot shower and some sleep."
While Bucky glanced at the door in acknowledgement, he wasn't done—not yet. Still didn't budge when hit with the door. Considering he'd been hit with a lot worse over the last eight decades—Rebecca packed quite a punch for a girl ten years his junior—he wasn't going to so much as shift against a door.
Natasha gave him an inch and he intended on taking a mile. If Sharon was going to be in trouble—and it seemed like a good possibility, given the fact he knew how it usually went when someone knew something other people wanted to know—he wanted to help. Sharon, not Natasha.
His brows furrowed. "And you think she's going to tell you?"
He hoped his implication was clear. Bucky liked to think Sharon would confide in him a little more willingly than she would with Natasha.
Could he man be any more annoying? She honestly didn't want to know the answer to that one. Rather than try to elaborate any more, Natasha just sat back in the seat, crossed her arms, and waited. She wasn't about to divest all of her secrets right out here in the yard, so Barnes could go back and tell Wilson, and Wilson would no doubt call Carter for verification, which would send the Power Broker so deep underground again Natasha would never be able to smoke her out.
She wasn't looking for Sharon to help her out of trouble. She was looking for Sharon to bring her to justice, to find out exactly what Carter had had her hands in these last five years. Because, despite everyone else's belief to the contrary, Natasha didn't believe Sharon Carter had been snapped along with half of the world's population. No, she'd been lying low somewhere, amassing her power base, and once she had enough leverage, she'd made her move.
Impressive, but the gig was now up.
The redhead tapped fingers against her arm, gazing solidly up at the super soldier blocking her door.
A non-answer was an answer all the same, and it didn't provide Bucky with anything other than the obvious indication that Sharon was in trouble. What sort of trouble was left to be defined. Natasha didn't strike him as the type to be interested in someone's number for pleasure rather than business. In that way, they were similar. It shouldn't surprise him; a Carter getting into trouble was like water being wet.
He stared at her for a moment longer, knowing that it wouldn't unnerve her like it often did to anyone else on the receiving end of it. Natasha was capable of convincing someone water was dry; he knew that if she really wanted to, she'd feed him a bullshit answer and make it convincing.
"Great talk."
Ironic coming from him, he knew. With a push against her car door, he gave her a little mock salute before making his way to the porch.
She didn't need the last word, so Natasha just let Barnes have it. Thankfully it wasn't that far back into town, and her general ire had evaporated to be replaced with a residual overall weariness. But, she still had work to do. After getting settled in her motel room, Natasha set her traps - a spy never slept without at least four set nearby, as well as a weapon beneath her pillow - and took a hot shower, then settled down at the small table with her laptop.
Then she went to work on the number Wilson had given her, a contact number for Carter. Two hours later, she had a good bit of information, but nothing as concrete as she would have liked. Either way, it was time to knock off for the night; Wilson would probably be ringing her cell sometime around mid-morning or so. Natasha turned off her laptop, double-checked all of her little warning systems, and tiredly crawled into bed, the last thoughts crossing her mind before she drifted off, surprisingly enough, was how damned good James Barnes looked in that blue shirt and those too-small jeans.
Rather than ask Sam too many questions about Natasha that even a rock would be able to determine he had a so-called problem with her, Bucky did what he always did and riled up the kids and put them to bed with the promise that only the cool kids go to bed when their mom asked them to. As tempted as he was to call Sharon before midnight, he didn't. Something told him he couldn't pull a Steve and act like a boulder smashing into the side of a building about it. (It never worked, anyway.)
With Sarah's desire to do a little barbecue for Carlos down by the docks, Bucky was unsurprised that Sam wanted to extend an invitation to Natasha. He'd mentioned it a couple of times after Natasha had left, and he'd mentioned it ad nauseam as if Bucky suffered from selective hearing (he wished) and hadn't heard him the first seven times over breakfast.
By mid-morning, Sam finally leant against the kitchen counter and purposefully looked at Bucky, paused with his fingers ready to press buttons on his phone in an almost dramatic fashion. Bucky didn't give him any notion of a protest. If he wanted to invite Natasha to Carlos' little surprise barbecue, so be it. He had other things to do there. Other than help Sarah carry and unload what she needed, he had a few dancing dates he needed to uphold. The older ladies of Delacroix had stories that Bucky loved hearing about—and they were better storytellers than Sam.
He ignored Sam's overly bright and loud voice. Perhaps he didn't need a phone at all. All Sam had to do was yell at the top of his lungs, and wherever Natasha was, she'd be able to hear it as if he was standing outside of her hotel room.
She'd more or less promised to attend whatever gatherings Sam had planned for the duration of her stay in Louisiana, so Natasha was, unfortunately, stuck accepting the invite to the barbecue for Carlos, whoever that was. Arriving fashionably early, comfortable in breathable casualwear, Natasha calmly greeted everyone in the Wilson household - Barnes included, even if he glowered like a gator with a sore tooth - and offered to help Sarah with whatever she needed.
Although Agent Romanoff had never made potato salad in her life, it didn't turn out horrible, and she and the other 'adopted' member of the family assisted the Wilson siblings in carting everything over to the picnic area on the docks, setting up tables, chairs, plates, silverware; a buffet surely worthy of a Stark catering event. Natasha had to admit, the food smelled wonderful.
There were dishes, however, that she was unfamiliar with, such as boiled crawfish (claws, eyes, and all, oh my God), jambalaya (she could smell the hot seasoning in it), gumbo (a strange-looking soup with suspicious lumps floating around beneath its oily surface), but the beignets, covered in powdered sugar, looked and smelled absolutely delicious. And the tables held enough to feed a battleship, all told.
Sam handed her a beer, grinned, and ushered her around to meet a few of the locals, and the redhead switched on her charm and good graces, smiling, nodding, and laughing with the ease of a born diplomat. Her whiskey-voice blended well with the native dialect, and she floated along with Wilson, letting down just a smidgen of her guard and actually beginning to enjoy herself.
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maskirovka) wrote2021-07-20 01:46 am
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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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He smiled at the two of them, even though it wasn't overly bright or wide. Sam looked like he belonged in that suit. The shield belonged to him in or out of it, but that suit really complimented the new phase he was entering as Sam Wilson, Captain America.
Slowly standing, he took a step but maintained his space, not needing to step any closer to either of them. He'd seen that suit long before Sam had opened that case and finally slipped into his new skin.
"I mean, it's a little pudgy around the stomach..." With his face scrunched up, he gestured with his hands towards his belly.
Sam rolled his eyes, cocking his hand towards Bucky and asking if Natasha really believed this shit. "I look good, don't I?" With his hands on his hips, Sam tilted his chin upward in a superhero pose. "Real good. Belly area especially. It's nice and tight."
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"Meet you for lunch?" Sam of course inquired, making Natasha hesitate, but acquiesce in the end. She had no idea where, but Sam naturally promised to take care of that.
"Walk her out, Buck," Wilson suggested then, "I gotta go change back outta this."
Natasha was about to say she didn't need a chaperone to go from the house to her car, but Sam of course wouldn't hear of it, and after nice-to-meet-yous and thank-you-for-dinner and see-you-tomorrows, Wilson once more directed Bucky to Walk-her-out-Buck through lightly clenched teeth, then vanished again, leaving a nonplussed Natasha Romanoff and Bucky Barnes staring after him, chagrined.
Natasha recovered first. "It's fine," she told Barnes, shouldering her bag. "I can find my way to my car, promise."
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Rather than let her lead the way or dig her heels in and refuse, he slid his fingertips into the pockets at the front of his jeans and walked casually to the front door, flicked on the porch light, and opened the door wide. With a gesture of his left hand, he quietly invited her to go first.
Until he yelled out sarcastically, "Please, Natasha—come with me because you clearly can't walk to your car by yourself!"
If Sam snickered, he didn't hear it. Didn't need to.
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Thankfully she was wearing sandals, so that her heavy, irritated steps didn't sink down in the soft ground, but she reached the SUV, started it with the remote, and opened the driver door to toss her satchel across the console into the passenger seat. Was there no end to the childishness? But then, that juvenile mentality was probably that saved Barnes from being a mindless vegetable, so.
At least she didn't have to deal with him day in and day out.
She'd have to get Sam a sympathy card.
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Slowly approaching the SUV, he crossed his arms against his chest. Weighing up what he wanted to ask, he decided the blunt approach (or his usual way of going about things) was appropriate now.
Bucky regarded Natasha with a serious look. "What's going on with Carter?"
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"Business," she finally said, clipped. "And it's strictly need-to-know. You don't." She smiled at him, a light mockery of the grin he'd been giving her all evening long. "So I really can't tell you about it, now can I?"
Reaching for the door again, she pulled it enough that it knocked against his back, trying to get him out of the way so she could leave.
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That much was clear. Bucky was never Steve. He never wanted to go to war, never wanted to be some impossible hero. Where Bucky would've been content to pull a little red wagon behind him, Steve wasn't. When he had the Serum, he spun in the complete opposite direction of Steve. Steve was lightness while Bucky wasn't. The only person who ever compared him to Steve was himself.
"She's the niece of one of my oldest friends. If she's in trouble, I want to know."
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But she would, if she had to.
Taking a breath, mostly for calm, Natasha didn't reply right away, but finally said, "She's not in trouble, I can tell you that. But there are some things she knows that I need to know, and immediately. It's sort of a priority."
She let him digest that for a moment, then smacked him with the door again. "Now, move, please. I'm tired and I'd like to get a hot shower and some sleep."
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Natasha gave him an inch and he intended on taking a mile. If Sharon was going to be in trouble—and it seemed like a good possibility, given the fact he knew how it usually went when someone knew something other people wanted to know—he wanted to help. Sharon, not Natasha.
His brows furrowed. "And you think she's going to tell you?"
He hoped his implication was clear. Bucky liked to think Sharon would confide in him a little more willingly than she would with Natasha.
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She wasn't looking for Sharon to help her out of trouble. She was looking for Sharon to bring her to justice, to find out exactly what Carter had had her hands in these last five years. Because, despite everyone else's belief to the contrary, Natasha didn't believe Sharon Carter had been snapped along with half of the world's population. No, she'd been lying low somewhere, amassing her power base, and once she had enough leverage, she'd made her move.
Impressive, but the gig was now up.
The redhead tapped fingers against her arm, gazing solidly up at the super soldier blocking her door.
"Are we done?"
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A non-answer was an answer all the same, and it didn't provide Bucky with anything other than the obvious indication that Sharon was in trouble. What sort of trouble was left to be defined. Natasha didn't strike him as the type to be interested in someone's number for pleasure rather than business. In that way, they were similar. It shouldn't surprise him; a Carter getting into trouble was like water being wet.
He stared at her for a moment longer, knowing that it wouldn't unnerve her like it often did to anyone else on the receiving end of it. Natasha was capable of convincing someone water was dry; he knew that if she really wanted to, she'd feed him a bullshit answer and make it convincing.
"Great talk."
Ironic coming from him, he knew. With a push against her car door, he gave her a little mock salute before making his way to the porch.
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Then she went to work on the number Wilson had given her, a contact number for Carter. Two hours later, she had a good bit of information, but nothing as concrete as she would have liked. Either way, it was time to knock off for the night; Wilson would probably be ringing her cell sometime around mid-morning or so. Natasha turned off her laptop, double-checked all of her little warning systems, and tiredly crawled into bed, the last thoughts crossing her mind before she drifted off, surprisingly enough, was how damned good James Barnes looked in that blue shirt and those too-small jeans.
Ugh.
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With Sarah's desire to do a little barbecue for Carlos down by the docks, Bucky was unsurprised that Sam wanted to extend an invitation to Natasha. He'd mentioned it a couple of times after Natasha had left, and he'd mentioned it ad nauseam as if Bucky suffered from selective hearing (he wished) and hadn't heard him the first seven times over breakfast.
By mid-morning, Sam finally leant against the kitchen counter and purposefully looked at Bucky, paused with his fingers ready to press buttons on his phone in an almost dramatic fashion. Bucky didn't give him any notion of a protest. If he wanted to invite Natasha to Carlos' little surprise barbecue, so be it. He had other things to do there. Other than help Sarah carry and unload what she needed, he had a few dancing dates he needed to uphold. The older ladies of Delacroix had stories that Bucky loved hearing about—and they were better storytellers than Sam.
He ignored Sam's overly bright and loud voice. Perhaps he didn't need a phone at all. All Sam had to do was yell at the top of his lungs, and wherever Natasha was, she'd be able to hear it as if he was standing outside of her hotel room.
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She'd more or less promised to attend whatever gatherings Sam had planned for the duration of her stay in Louisiana, so Natasha was, unfortunately, stuck accepting the invite to the barbecue for Carlos, whoever that was. Arriving fashionably early, comfortable in breathable casualwear, Natasha calmly greeted everyone in the Wilson household - Barnes included, even if he glowered like a gator with a sore tooth - and offered to help Sarah with whatever she needed.
Although Agent Romanoff had never made potato salad in her life, it didn't turn out horrible, and she and the other 'adopted' member of the family assisted the Wilson siblings in carting everything over to the picnic area on the docks, setting up tables, chairs, plates, silverware; a buffet surely worthy of a Stark catering event. Natasha had to admit, the food smelled wonderful.
There were dishes, however, that she was unfamiliar with, such as boiled crawfish (claws, eyes, and all, oh my God), jambalaya (she could smell the hot seasoning in it), gumbo (a strange-looking soup with suspicious lumps floating around beneath its oily surface), but the beignets, covered in powdered sugar, looked and smelled absolutely delicious. And the tables held enough to feed a battleship, all told.
Sam handed her a beer, grinned, and ushered her around to meet a few of the locals, and the redhead switched on her charm and good graces, smiling, nodding, and laughing with the ease of a born diplomat. Her whiskey-voice blended well with the native dialect, and she floated along with Wilson, letting down just a smidgen of her guard and actually beginning to enjoy herself.
For the moment.
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