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.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
maskirovka) wrote2021-07-20 01:46 am
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.