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.
With one of Carlos' barbecues down by the dock finally breathing its last breath, Bucky had spent most of the time not helping set up for the big celebration, but borrowing a truck from a gentleman named Arthur and driving over to the hardware store to pick them up another grill.
It was with ease that he picked it up from the back of the truck. He held it like he was carrying a heavy bag of groceries, except he couldn't see over the top of said bag of groceries. The grill was too large, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to carry it from the parking area all the way to the end of the dock where Sarah had set up the tent safely and without knocking someone out.
Luckily for him, AJ and Cass came to his rescue. They cleared the way through the throng of people who were gathering, helping set up, and who were bringing their own dishes to line the long tables with. Their shouts teetered on laughter as they seemed to mimic Sam's loud and commanding voice. It didn't help that every time Bucky asked if they were there yet, the boys would say the same answer of "Nearly, just a few more steps!"
"And here comes the Barbecue Soldier," Sam declared loudly. He joined AJ and Cass in telling everyone to move away, move aside, clear up so that the star of the show could be placed down within the tent.
Placing it in the space between another barbecue and a metal table, Bucky took a step back and eyed the barbecue. AJ and Cass stood beside him with their hands on their hips and a judgemental furrow to their brows as they sized up the positioning of the grill.
Looking to Sam, he glanced at Natasha before settling his attention on his friend. Bucky let out a breath despite not feeling entirely out of it. "You sure you really want it there?"
Sam didn't seem overly upset by its placement. He'd come to learn Sam was capable of beaming so brightly when someone offered to lend him a hand.
It wasn't much of a surprise to see Barnes hefting a three hundred pound barbeque grill like it weighed nearly nothing. She'd been around enough super soldiers to know just how strong they were. Steve had never liked to show it off, however. But all of that strength was useful, at times.
Beer still in her hand, Natasha turned to watch with the rest of the crowd as Barnes maneuvered along the pier, depositing the grill where directed, and she actually gave him a light little smile when she saw him glance her way. Sam, as usual, was chortling and cutting up with everyone else, and the redhead was content to fade into the background.
While everyone else was pittering over Carlos's gift, and chattering amiably amongst themselves, Natasha fetched another beer for herself and eased over to sit in one of the chairs overlooking the water, sipping on the cold brew and idly wondering what, if anything, she was actually going to be able to eat here.
--and if Barnes was going to be a persistent little raisin and continue pestering her about Carter.
Bucky left Sam and a few of the men and women he knew were fixtures at the pier alone to set up and install the grill. Without a task at hand, he felt a little aimless. And when he felt like that while here, he often took to looking out at the endless water and being quietly grateful that he could.
It shouldn't surprise him that Natasha seemed to feel the same way.
He slumped heavily (but not as heavily as he could have) into the seat beside her with a beer in hand. He didn't sit up straight, keeping his legs splayed out in front of him as he relaxed. There was no need to sit up tall and obediently. Sam had been trying to encourage him to slouch more and be less of a Cyborg, so he was merely doing his best to practice being more human than machine.
Bucky looked straight ahead at the water. "Be prepared not to be able to move when this is all over."
Natasha paused, bottle halfway to her lips. "From the heat or from the food?" Because honestly, the former was oppressive; not even in the desert had she ever felt such heavy heat. Had to be the humidity. And it made her wonder how babies weren't born with gills around here, there was so much moisture in the air.
But the food was another thing. She'd eaten some strange things over the course of her career, but indigestion was something she typically avoided strictly out of principle. And when she could smell the Cajun seasoning just from walking past the table, it made her seriously want to find a local McDonalds and see if she could get a box of chicken nuggets, to go.
"You seem to fit in well, though." She took a swallow of rich beer, lowering the bottle slowly. "It's good. That you have a home now."
Yes, he'd much rather discuss the heat and the food—and the spices' heat and the fact that he still had that iron gut he seemed to have been born with—than acknowledge the fact he's a hermit without a home... or a hermit with a home now. It wasn't his home, but it sure felt like one.
"Drink enough and the heat won't feel like a thing anymore." It was his turn to lift his beer to his lips, taking a swig and feeling a slight disappointment that he didn't even feel a glimmer of a buzz. Drinking felt like a waste given he couldn't receive the perks, but it was a comfortable habit he was more than happy to fall back into. It made him feel a little less starey in the present moment, which was beneficial.
He sighed, licking his lips. "The people here are nice. You'll probably find that when they come over here and try and feed you until you explode."
Natasha held up her bottle, giving it a squint. "I'm not really much of a drinker." Inebriated spies tended not to live very long. "Two is usually my limit. Then I switch to water." She slanted a grin Barnes' way. "Easy to pretend it's vodka." The typical Russian beverage of choice.
The people were very nice; the old adage about Southern hospitality certainly held true, even after everything that had happened over the past decade and a few years. But then, time seemed to pass slower here, and maybe Delacroix had yet to catch up with the rest of the world's recent events.
"I...think I'll just stick to the non-spicy dishes," she replied, then added in a low undertone, "...if there are any." She wasn't much of a seafood fan, save for shrimp. "I'm not really much of a seafood fan."
Then Natasha abruptly changed the subject, though the shift was as automatic as breathing. "You planning to stay on around here, then?"
Although he imagined that he could steer them back to the very safe thread of conversation about food, he suspected Natasha wouldn't exactly follow suit so easily. He didn't have any plans for what he was going to do after this. Head back to New York. Loiter. Annoy Rebecca until she banned him from seeing her for a week.
He took a swig of his beer, using that as an opportunity to buy him some time. He used to be a smooth talker. Bucky knew that he could easily tap back into the ease in which he used to speak to people back in the 1940s if he truly wanted to.
"They need a lot of help cleaning up these things."
Unsurprising, that he wanted to avoid any serious conversation. And had she not really been here on business, Natasha would have been happy to let him prattle on about any silly topic that he wished. But.
"They do, I'm sure." A soft agreement, her slim fingers absently turning the bottle in one hand. Then she added, "But the world could use your skills, James." Surely he had to know that, especially given recent events.
So, because beating around the bush wasn't going to really get her anywhere, Natasha opted to just come right out and lay some of her cards on the table. "If you're interested, I might have a job for you." Before he could splutter or squawk, she continued, "A little observation and recon, nothing too heavy." At least, not outwardly.
"I could handle it on my own," of course, "but it's always better," and more pragmatic, "to have a partner." Just in case something unforeseen went down. Especially when one was trying to avoid making waves.
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maskirovka) wrote2021-07-20 01:46 am
no subject
"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 subject
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."
no subject
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."
no subject
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.
no subject
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?"
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
It was with ease that he picked it up from the back of the truck. He held it like he was carrying a heavy bag of groceries, except he couldn't see over the top of said bag of groceries. The grill was too large, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to carry it from the parking area all the way to the end of the dock where Sarah had set up the tent safely and without knocking someone out.
Luckily for him, AJ and Cass came to his rescue. They cleared the way through the throng of people who were gathering, helping set up, and who were bringing their own dishes to line the long tables with. Their shouts teetered on laughter as they seemed to mimic Sam's loud and commanding voice. It didn't help that every time Bucky asked if they were there yet, the boys would say the same answer of "Nearly, just a few more steps!"
"And here comes the Barbecue Soldier," Sam declared loudly. He joined AJ and Cass in telling everyone to move away, move aside, clear up so that the star of the show could be placed down within the tent.
Placing it in the space between another barbecue and a metal table, Bucky took a step back and eyed the barbecue. AJ and Cass stood beside him with their hands on their hips and a judgemental furrow to their brows as they sized up the positioning of the grill.
Looking to Sam, he glanced at Natasha before settling his attention on his friend. Bucky let out a breath despite not feeling entirely out of it. "You sure you really want it there?"
Sam didn't seem overly upset by its placement. He'd come to learn Sam was capable of beaming so brightly when someone offered to lend him a hand.
no subject
Beer still in her hand, Natasha turned to watch with the rest of the crowd as Barnes maneuvered along the pier, depositing the grill where directed, and she actually gave him a light little smile when she saw him glance her way. Sam, as usual, was chortling and cutting up with everyone else, and the redhead was content to fade into the background.
While everyone else was pittering over Carlos's gift, and chattering amiably amongst themselves, Natasha fetched another beer for herself and eased over to sit in one of the chairs overlooking the water, sipping on the cold brew and idly wondering what, if anything, she was actually going to be able to eat here.
--and if Barnes was going to be a persistent little raisin and continue pestering her about Carter.
Probably.
no subject
It shouldn't surprise him that Natasha seemed to feel the same way.
He slumped heavily (but not as heavily as he could have) into the seat beside her with a beer in hand. He didn't sit up straight, keeping his legs splayed out in front of him as he relaxed. There was no need to sit up tall and obediently. Sam had been trying to encourage him to slouch more and be less of a Cyborg, so he was merely doing his best to practice being more human than machine.
Bucky looked straight ahead at the water. "Be prepared not to be able to move when this is all over."
no subject
But the food was another thing. She'd eaten some strange things over the course of her career, but indigestion was something she typically avoided strictly out of principle. And when she could smell the Cajun seasoning just from walking past the table, it made her seriously want to find a local McDonalds and see if she could get a box of chicken nuggets, to go.
"You seem to fit in well, though." She took a swallow of rich beer, lowering the bottle slowly. "It's good. That you have a home now."
no subject
"Drink enough and the heat won't feel like a thing anymore." It was his turn to lift his beer to his lips, taking a swig and feeling a slight disappointment that he didn't even feel a glimmer of a buzz. Drinking felt like a waste given he couldn't receive the perks, but it was a comfortable habit he was more than happy to fall back into. It made him feel a little less starey in the present moment, which was beneficial.
He sighed, licking his lips. "The people here are nice. You'll probably find that when they come over here and try and feed you until you explode."
no subject
The people were very nice; the old adage about Southern hospitality certainly held true, even after everything that had happened over the past decade and a few years. But then, time seemed to pass slower here, and maybe Delacroix had yet to catch up with the rest of the world's recent events.
"I...think I'll just stick to the non-spicy dishes," she replied, then added in a low undertone, "...if there are any." She wasn't much of a seafood fan, save for shrimp. "I'm not really much of a seafood fan."
Then Natasha abruptly changed the subject, though the shift was as automatic as breathing. "You planning to stay on around here, then?"
no subject
Although he imagined that he could steer them back to the very safe thread of conversation about food, he suspected Natasha wouldn't exactly follow suit so easily. He didn't have any plans for what he was going to do after this. Head back to New York. Loiter. Annoy Rebecca until she banned him from seeing her for a week.
He took a swig of his beer, using that as an opportunity to buy him some time. He used to be a smooth talker. Bucky knew that he could easily tap back into the ease in which he used to speak to people back in the 1940s if he truly wanted to.
"They need a lot of help cleaning up these things."
He knew it was both an answer and a non-answer.
no subject
"They do, I'm sure." A soft agreement, her slim fingers absently turning the bottle in one hand. Then she added, "But the world could use your skills, James." Surely he had to know that, especially given recent events.
So, because beating around the bush wasn't going to really get her anywhere, Natasha opted to just come right out and lay some of her cards on the table. "If you're interested, I might have a job for you." Before he could splutter or squawk, she continued, "A little observation and recon, nothing too heavy." At least, not outwardly.
"I could handle it on my own," of course, "but it's always better," and more pragmatic, "to have a partner." Just in case something unforeseen went down. Especially when one was trying to avoid making waves.