Natasha Romanoff (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
maskirovka) wrote2021-07-20 01:46 am
maskirovka) wrote2021-07-20 01:46 am
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When a car pulls up into the dirt driveway, Bucky figures it's a good thing he hadn't gone along with Sam and Sarah into town like he had originally planned.
Although the threat of Walker has since diminished with the shield exchanging hands, Bucky nor Sam believe it's over. Nothing ever is. It's one fight into another one. Despite it being a negative way to view things, Sam's heeded Bucky's warning despite the roll of his eyes and muttering of him always wanting to poke holes in things that don't have holes. Someone with Walker's ambition and need to be better, to be the person that his city needs, the hero that he pictures himself to be to make up for the void tearing at his sense of self inside of him is something Bucky recognises won't let him stop. A brutal defeat at an abandoned warehouse is only going to fuel his fire even hotter.
Calling in for extra reinforcements to help deal with him was the only smart idea Sam had. Although Bucky doesn't know Natasha as well as he knows Sam, Steve trusting her is enough for him to easily roll over and agree to the plan with an uncharacteristic easiness. If Steve had trusted her enough to recruit the Avengers who had been in hiding while he'd been in Wakanda getting his head screwed on straight, she was good enough for him.
Walking out from the side of the house, he begins to pull at the sleeve of his blue shirt, currently curled above his elbow, down to cover his arm. It's a self-conscious move he doesn't even think about. His step's easy, almost lazy. Bucky had been out the back trying to fix something Sarah had specifically forbidden him from fixing for her. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to give a little back to a family who had given him too much.
When Natasha steps out of the car, he lifts his hand with a bend of his wrist in a small wave. "You're early. Sam's going to be really disappointed I was the one who said "hey" first," he says with a small lopsided grin. He likes the fact Sam's so competitive with him to a childish point. It makes things feel easier, his interactions less burdened.
Although the threat of Walker has since diminished with the shield exchanging hands, Bucky nor Sam believe it's over. Nothing ever is. It's one fight into another one. Despite it being a negative way to view things, Sam's heeded Bucky's warning despite the roll of his eyes and muttering of him always wanting to poke holes in things that don't have holes. Someone with Walker's ambition and need to be better, to be the person that his city needs, the hero that he pictures himself to be to make up for the void tearing at his sense of self inside of him is something Bucky recognises won't let him stop. A brutal defeat at an abandoned warehouse is only going to fuel his fire even hotter.
Calling in for extra reinforcements to help deal with him was the only smart idea Sam had. Although Bucky doesn't know Natasha as well as he knows Sam, Steve trusting her is enough for him to easily roll over and agree to the plan with an uncharacteristic easiness. If Steve had trusted her enough to recruit the Avengers who had been in hiding while he'd been in Wakanda getting his head screwed on straight, she was good enough for him.
Walking out from the side of the house, he begins to pull at the sleeve of his blue shirt, currently curled above his elbow, down to cover his arm. It's a self-conscious move he doesn't even think about. His step's easy, almost lazy. Bucky had been out the back trying to fix something Sarah had specifically forbidden him from fixing for her. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to give a little back to a family who had given him too much.
When Natasha steps out of the car, he lifts his hand with a bend of his wrist in a small wave. "You're early. Sam's going to be really disappointed I was the one who said "hey" first," he says with a small lopsided grin. He likes the fact Sam's so competitive with him to a childish point. It makes things feel easier, his interactions less burdened.
She'd only been through the southern US a handful of times, and never as a tourist. This time wasn't any different, but Natasha did, at least, take advantage of the destination and enjoy the scenery, although the humidity and the damp heat wasn't exactly kosher for a tourist. Nevertheless, the large cypress trees with their garnishing of grey moss, the green water that hid who knew what surprises and treasures, and the cordial hospitality everywhere spoke to her like few things ever had before. It was...different, though now she fancied that she could understand just a little more about Sam Wilson, and where his genial affability had stemmed. Beautiful place, this.
An SUV had been recommended for the most comfortable, practical travel, so she'd obliged, and followed local directions to the Wilson's family residence. From Sam's text, he'd beaten all around the bush, but she'd brought the reports he'd asked for; clandestine operation was still one of her specialties. The whereabouts, evaluations, and consequences of a certain John Walker were considered classified at the highest levels, even above, but infiltration was bread and butter for her; she'd been hacking into intelligence servers since her early teens. A few other interesting notes about certain individuals accompanied that particular file, secured in her carry-on.
She also wasn't too surprised to see a quasi-familiar figure emerge on the porch; Wilson had mentioned that Barnes was here in Louisiana, also, apparently needing a sabbatical from all of the noise back in New York. Made sense. Both men needed to get way off the radar, let things cool down before making any new splashes in the proverbial pool. But it was good practice to keep an eye on the water even while one wasn't swimming in it; Natasha approved of the request. And in the interest of iron-clad security, had opted to deliver everything in person, just because.
"Hey," she called back, bag on her shoulder as she closed the car door and approached the front porch. "Earlier flight." The heat was already thick, making her glad she'd opted for cool casual, white linen slacks, beige sandals, and a navy sarong with a thin white half-jacket. Scarlet curls in an artfully disheveled ponytail. Yet another mask, but then, she had so many. And, as was her habit, she automatically perused the former Winter Soldier with a speculative eye.
"You look good." Meaning, not half-crazy and on a hair-trigger. "Civilian life seems to agree with you, Barnes."
An SUV had been recommended for the most comfortable, practical travel, so she'd obliged, and followed local directions to the Wilson's family residence. From Sam's text, he'd beaten all around the bush, but she'd brought the reports he'd asked for; clandestine operation was still one of her specialties. The whereabouts, evaluations, and consequences of a certain John Walker were considered classified at the highest levels, even above, but infiltration was bread and butter for her; she'd been hacking into intelligence servers since her early teens. A few other interesting notes about certain individuals accompanied that particular file, secured in her carry-on.
She also wasn't too surprised to see a quasi-familiar figure emerge on the porch; Wilson had mentioned that Barnes was here in Louisiana, also, apparently needing a sabbatical from all of the noise back in New York. Made sense. Both men needed to get way off the radar, let things cool down before making any new splashes in the proverbial pool. But it was good practice to keep an eye on the water even while one wasn't swimming in it; Natasha approved of the request. And in the interest of iron-clad security, had opted to deliver everything in person, just because.
"Hey," she called back, bag on her shoulder as she closed the car door and approached the front porch. "Earlier flight." The heat was already thick, making her glad she'd opted for cool casual, white linen slacks, beige sandals, and a navy sarong with a thin white half-jacket. Scarlet curls in an artfully disheveled ponytail. Yet another mask, but then, she had so many. And, as was her habit, she automatically perused the former Winter Soldier with a speculative eye.
"You look good." Meaning, not half-crazy and on a hair-trigger. "Civilian life seems to agree with you, Barnes."
"Yeah, well..." He lifted a shoulder, the corner of his lips curving upward. "The magic of washing your hair and cutting it." And no longer looking like the property of Hydra.
While it made him feel a little good to have someone who was familiar with him as the Winter Soldier comment that he didn't look like the Winter Soldier, it still made Bucky a touch nervous. Natasha was Sam's friend, not his. He remembered vividly how he had tried to kill her a handful of times.
With his sleeve now down to his wrist, it was a subconscious move to hold his left hand against his hip. While the people of Delacroix took to celebrating his arm more than being afraid of it, he'd quickly developed the habit in New York to hide away his hands just in case. One could never be too prepared—or paranoid—that someone might recognise the metal arm, put two and two together, and either rightfully accuse him of a murder of a loved one or run for the hills. Bucky always expected the worse.
"Sam had to go into town with Sarah, but I can take you inside if you wanted to put your bag down."
Moving, pretending that he knew how to be a host, and trying to act normal seemed like a better idea than standing around in the heat. Sam would kick his ass for being weird.
While it made him feel a little good to have someone who was familiar with him as the Winter Soldier comment that he didn't look like the Winter Soldier, it still made Bucky a touch nervous. Natasha was Sam's friend, not his. He remembered vividly how he had tried to kill her a handful of times.
With his sleeve now down to his wrist, it was a subconscious move to hold his left hand against his hip. While the people of Delacroix took to celebrating his arm more than being afraid of it, he'd quickly developed the habit in New York to hide away his hands just in case. One could never be too prepared—or paranoid—that someone might recognise the metal arm, put two and two together, and either rightfully accuse him of a murder of a loved one or run for the hills. Bucky always expected the worse.
"Sam had to go into town with Sarah, but I can take you inside if you wanted to put your bag down."
Moving, pretending that he knew how to be a host, and trying to act normal seemed like a better idea than standing around in the heat. Sam would kick his ass for being weird.
"I'd appreciate it." Before she wilted completely from this oppressive heat. "It's more humid down here than I'd originally thought." Wooden porch, aged lumber, more still making up the frame of the house. Built to last, things down here. A slower pace of life, one well suited to rehabilitation, recover. It wasn't too much of a stretch to imagine why the former Winter Soldier preferred this place over the crowded bustle of New York.
Still, her keen eye picked up the unconscious tells; his body language suggested he wasn't totally at ease with himself, particularly around her - a living memento of his previous life. And the ties to Steve, and all of the trauma associated with that. But just as he was no longer the Winter Soldier, she had laid aside the moniker of Black Widow, and was now simply Natasha Romanoff...whoever that might turn out to be.
Natasha followed Bucky inside, at once grateful for the kiss of cool conditioned air. "I look forward to meeting Sarah," she remarked, gazing curiously around the place. Clean, a little cluttered for her taste, but nevertheless homey, the marks of a family everywhere. "Wilson never really talked much about his family, before."
Still, her keen eye picked up the unconscious tells; his body language suggested he wasn't totally at ease with himself, particularly around her - a living memento of his previous life. And the ties to Steve, and all of the trauma associated with that. But just as he was no longer the Winter Soldier, she had laid aside the moniker of Black Widow, and was now simply Natasha Romanoff...whoever that might turn out to be.
Natasha followed Bucky inside, at once grateful for the kiss of cool conditioned air. "I look forward to meeting Sarah," she remarked, gazing curiously around the place. Clean, a little cluttered for her taste, but nevertheless homey, the marks of a family everywhere. "Wilson never really talked much about his family, before."
Easily, he answered, "He's really possessive about them." Or he was simply possessive about them with Bucky. Everything Sam did was in good humour. If he didn't trust Bucky, Bucky knew he wouldn't be left alone in his family home.
Scratching at the side of his neck, Bucky wondered for a brief, almost painful moment, what he was meant to do. Without Sam here to break up any of the awkwardness he felt, he had to rely on himself to slip back into being James Barnes. It turned out that it was a lot harder to slide his feet back into his old, very worn shoes after seven decades of not wearing them.
"You can put your bag in here," he said, easily walking from the kitchen to the living room. Maybe playing host would be a lot easier than trying to think of conversation topics that suggested he had a social relationship with Natasha. His duffle bag sat neatly beside the arm of the couch; two pillows that were clearly used for sleeping were piled against the arm.
Stepping back to the doorframe, he crossed his arms against his chest and glanced around with a slight furrow to his brow, as if in search of something. Perhaps Sam left a post-it note that said If Natasha arrives early, DO THESE STEPS.
"I'm not too sure what Sam had planned for you. The tour I got was kitchen, couch, bathroom—and I'm pretty sure he'd skin me and throw me into the water if I stole his tour guide thunder."
Scratching at the side of his neck, Bucky wondered for a brief, almost painful moment, what he was meant to do. Without Sam here to break up any of the awkwardness he felt, he had to rely on himself to slip back into being James Barnes. It turned out that it was a lot harder to slide his feet back into his old, very worn shoes after seven decades of not wearing them.
"You can put your bag in here," he said, easily walking from the kitchen to the living room. Maybe playing host would be a lot easier than trying to think of conversation topics that suggested he had a social relationship with Natasha. His duffle bag sat neatly beside the arm of the couch; two pillows that were clearly used for sleeping were piled against the arm.
Stepping back to the doorframe, he crossed his arms against his chest and glanced around with a slight furrow to his brow, as if in search of something. Perhaps Sam left a post-it note that said If Natasha arrives early, DO THESE STEPS.
"I'm not too sure what Sam had planned for you. The tour I got was kitchen, couch, bathroom—and I'm pretty sure he'd skin me and throw me into the water if I stole his tour guide thunder."
Thankfully, Natasha Romanoff was more adept at navigating social awkwardness than James Barnes - mainly because she didn't get socially awkward - so she obligingly followed Bucky into the living room, casually placing her satchel down on the end of the couch. Barnes' hesitant aloofness didn't bother her; Natasha took advantage of his reticence to gaze around, meandering through the room absently examining snippets of the Wilson's life and family history.
It was a lot like Barton's, actually; knickknacks here and there, framed family photos, throw pillows on the couch and chairs, coasters for drinks on the furniture. All the little things that made a house a home, things someone like her could appreciate most than most, mainly because she'd never had anything like it before. Her apartment back in New York was tasteful, expensively furnished, but still...sterile.
"Sam asked me for some information a few weeks after receiving his new job title," she explained, turning from a perusal of photos on the mantle. "I finally managed to compile everything, and told him I'd bring it in person, given the..." an eyebrow arched, "intimate nature of what turned up." That's classic spy language for highly classified shit, Barnes, remember?
"So I don't mind waiting."
The pillows on the couch, however, caught her eye and she gave them a brief glance, then looked back at Bucky. "Been holding down the couch, have you?" No censure, no judging, just natural curiosity - innate, in her case. A spy always needed to know everything.
It was a lot like Barton's, actually; knickknacks here and there, framed family photos, throw pillows on the couch and chairs, coasters for drinks on the furniture. All the little things that made a house a home, things someone like her could appreciate most than most, mainly because she'd never had anything like it before. Her apartment back in New York was tasteful, expensively furnished, but still...sterile.
"Sam asked me for some information a few weeks after receiving his new job title," she explained, turning from a perusal of photos on the mantle. "I finally managed to compile everything, and told him I'd bring it in person, given the..." an eyebrow arched, "intimate nature of what turned up." That's classic spy language for highly classified shit, Barnes, remember?
"So I don't mind waiting."
The pillows on the couch, however, caught her eye and she gave them a brief glance, then looked back at Bucky. "Been holding down the couch, have you?" No censure, no judging, just natural curiosity - innate, in her case. A spy always needed to know everything.
"Well, if Michael Meyers breaks into the house, apparently he'll go after me first and I can fight him off." Remembering that he was speaking to Natasha and not a neighbour of the Wilson's or even one of the friendly faces down by the pier, he shrugged, wanting to play it off. "According to AJ."
Sam was still paying for letting the boys watch that particular movie. Bucky liked it when the kids joked about him protecting them, though. It made him feel useful in a way that he knew concerned Sam and Sarah. Whenever the boys brought up anything pertaining to Bucky's almost invisible violent nature, they exchanged worried looks, like it was enough to make him pack up his shit and leave.
He leaned heavily against the living room's wall. "You want a drink or something?"
Sam was still paying for letting the boys watch that particular movie. Bucky liked it when the kids joked about him protecting them, though. It made him feel useful in a way that he knew concerned Sam and Sarah. Whenever the boys brought up anything pertaining to Bucky's almost invisible violent nature, they exchanged worried looks, like it was enough to make him pack up his shit and leave.
He leaned heavily against the living room's wall. "You want a drink or something?"
Natasha just blinked at him; she had no idea what he meant by that, but she'd let him have it. Her cultural references were about on par with Wanda's; she wasn't really a fan of films, since she tended to fall asleep halfway through most of them. But sure, at least Barnes was meshing well with Wilson's family, that was definitely a good thing.
"Ice water would be perfect, thanks." Routine socialities, those she could do. "Wilson has nephews, doesn't he?" Judging from the pictures, at least. "Good looking boys." And neither apparently afraid of the former Winter Soldier bunking on their couch. Even better. Perhaps this place was more of a healing help for Steve's best old friend than all of the therapy in New York.
"Ice water would be perfect, thanks." Routine socialities, those she could do. "Wilson has nephews, doesn't he?" Judging from the pictures, at least. "Good looking boys." And neither apparently afraid of the former Winter Soldier bunking on their couch. Even better. Perhaps this place was more of a healing help for Steve's best old friend than all of the therapy in New York.
He easily slunk into the kitchen, at ease with a task at hand. Doing something meant he didn't have to think. Grabbing two glasses from a high cupboard, he moved easily to the fridge for ice in the freezer and a large bottle of cooled water.
"He has two," he said, back to her. Busying himself with the drinks, it was a lot easier to talk about Sam—or Sam's life—than any elephants in the room. There were huge ones, shaped as the Winter Soldier, like Steve, and being on two different sides in Germany. Many of the Avengers seemed to have moved on from the debacle of destroying an airport, but Bucky held onto it.
"AJ and Cass. They ask a lot of questions and give a lot of answers. They're pretty smart for kids."
He held out her glass for her to take.
"So, be ready to answer a lot of random questions."
"He has two," he said, back to her. Busying himself with the drinks, it was a lot easier to talk about Sam—or Sam's life—than any elephants in the room. There were huge ones, shaped as the Winter Soldier, like Steve, and being on two different sides in Germany. Many of the Avengers seemed to have moved on from the debacle of destroying an airport, but Bucky held onto it.
"AJ and Cass. They ask a lot of questions and give a lot of answers. They're pretty smart for kids."
He held out her glass for her to take.
"So, be ready to answer a lot of random questions."
She took the offered glass with a nod of thanks, immediately taking a grateful sip. It was delicious, clear and cold, and its weight felt good in her hand. Old habits, but the Black Widow never went anywhere unarmed. Natasha tended to ignore the elephants in the room; her training had included interrogation, infiltration, and destabilization, as well as a few other 'specialties'. But it wasn't surprising, the random tidbits he shared about Sam's nephews.
Natasha actually chuckled. "I'm an honorary aunt to all of Barton's kids," she told him easily, lips tilted in a crooked smile. "I think I'll be okay." She wasn't uncomfortable around children, not in the slightest. Nor were they usually uncomfortable around her; adults, now, that was a different animal altogether.
"How old are they?" One looked to be early teens and the younger maybe eight, perhaps ten.
Natasha actually chuckled. "I'm an honorary aunt to all of Barton's kids," she told him easily, lips tilted in a crooked smile. "I think I'll be okay." She wasn't uncomfortable around children, not in the slightest. Nor were they usually uncomfortable around her; adults, now, that was a different animal altogether.
"How old are they?" One looked to be early teens and the younger maybe eight, perhaps ten.
"Maybe nine and thirteen?" He scrunched up his face as he tried to remember the ages that they'd both thrown at him. "They'd tell you that they're one hundred and something. Apparently, it's cool to be old." And neither of them wanted Bucky to feel alone at his age. The kids were nice, a lot nicer than they should be around him, but Bucky wasn't going to complain.
He didn't drink from his glass, leaning against the counter. It felt a little strange to be in Sam's house with Sam's friend who came here to help Sam. The less he thought about it, the easier it was to relax by the most minute amount.
He twisted against the counter, resting his metal hand on top of it. "I actually need to get outside and finish something before Sarah comes back. You can stay in here if you want or you can be an accessory to me going against my word."
He didn't drink from his glass, leaning against the counter. It felt a little strange to be in Sam's house with Sam's friend who came here to help Sam. The less he thought about it, the easier it was to relax by the most minute amount.
He twisted against the counter, resting his metal hand on top of it. "I actually need to get outside and finish something before Sarah comes back. You can stay in here if you want or you can be an accessory to me going against my word."
"All the rage apparently," Natasha agreed, taking another sip. She wasn't oblivious to his, to her, blatant discomfort, but pointing it out would not only be rude, but make it even worse, thus Natasha simply kept her own expression and body language light, comfortable, and relaxed.
Both of her eyebrows went up, however, when Bucky invited her to come out back and help him with whatever it was he'd been doing just before she'd arrived. "And just what were you doing?" Probably something he shouldn't have been, judging from her previous observations. "Not sure about you, but I'm trying to stay on this side of anything illegal these days, thanks."
The teasing lilt in her naturally whiskeyed voice and the slant of her smile belied any harshness, though.
Both of her eyebrows went up, however, when Bucky invited her to come out back and help him with whatever it was he'd been doing just before she'd arrived. "And just what were you doing?" Probably something he shouldn't have been, judging from her previous observations. "Not sure about you, but I'm trying to stay on this side of anything illegal these days, thanks."
The teasing lilt in her naturally whiskeyed voice and the slant of her smile belied any harshness, though.
"Stuff."
A very informative answer. Grinning lopsidedly, he picked up his glass and shrugged a shoulder.
Taking that as her choice to come outside with him rather than linger inside of a quiet and empty home, he pushed off from the counter and began to walk out of the kitchen, suspecting that she'd follow. Natasha didn't strike him as the type to dig her heels in when she was curious about something—and, as arrogant as he knew it wasn't, he knew she was curious about him. It was smart to be. She knew him at his worst.
He stepped outside and held the back door open for her.
"Sarah banned me from doing things around her house, so I decided to ignore that ban. It's better than sitting on the couch."
A very informative answer. Grinning lopsidedly, he picked up his glass and shrugged a shoulder.
Taking that as her choice to come outside with him rather than linger inside of a quiet and empty home, he pushed off from the counter and began to walk out of the kitchen, suspecting that she'd follow. Natasha didn't strike him as the type to dig her heels in when she was curious about something—and, as arrogant as he knew it wasn't, he knew she was curious about him. It was smart to be. She knew him at his worst.
He stepped outside and held the back door open for her.
"Sarah banned me from doing things around her house, so I decided to ignore that ban. It's better than sitting on the couch."
"'Stuff'. Really."
Why wasn't she surprised. It was the grin that actually did surprise her; it wasn't often that Natasha Romanoff was ever caught off guard, but James Barnes managed it for a split second, and that was what decided her.
She did indeed step out onto the back porch, acknowledging his courtesy with a small nod, then moved aside to let him proceed ahead. A curious eyebrow arched yet again in the wake of Bucky's statement; apparently Sarah Wilson was a woman who preferred to take care of things herself. Understandable.
Still, it was quite the enigma, what the former Winter Soldier had been doing with his spare time, vegetating down here in Bayou Country. Glass in hand - as Natasha had no intention whatsoever of breaking any nails with manual labor, such as overhauling engines or such - she amiably strolled after him, genuinely curious. The dichotomy between the Winter Soldier and James Barnes was more than apparent, and given Steve's never-ending stories about the latter, Natasha had a burning interest to see for herself.
Why wasn't she surprised. It was the grin that actually did surprise her; it wasn't often that Natasha Romanoff was ever caught off guard, but James Barnes managed it for a split second, and that was what decided her.
She did indeed step out onto the back porch, acknowledging his courtesy with a small nod, then moved aside to let him proceed ahead. A curious eyebrow arched yet again in the wake of Bucky's statement; apparently Sarah Wilson was a woman who preferred to take care of things herself. Understandable.
Still, it was quite the enigma, what the former Winter Soldier had been doing with his spare time, vegetating down here in Bayou Country. Glass in hand - as Natasha had no intention whatsoever of breaking any nails with manual labor, such as overhauling engines or such - she amiably strolled after him, genuinely curious. The dichotomy between the Winter Soldier and James Barnes was more than apparent, and given Steve's never-ending stories about the latter, Natasha had a burning interest to see for herself.
He easily led her to the back of the house, mindful of the toys AJ and Cass had left in their wake. Some of them were broken yet still enjoyed by the boys, while a few of them—bikes, skateboards, rollerskates—were left haphazardly on the grass as if the boys had been in a rush to get somewhere else.
Towards the very corner of the house, he'd set up a ladder leaning against the gutters and had random tools splayed out on the grass.
Bucky kept his back to Natasha. "Her gutters are sagging and she won't let me fix them." Once he found himself near his ladder, he took a step back and peered up the length of the house, looking past Natasha and momentarily listening for any sounds of gravel and dirt crunching beneath the tyres of Sarah's truck. When he seemed content with hearing nothing but the sounds of the outside world, he placed his glass on the porch railing and wiped his hands on the back of his jeans.
Looking at her, he forced a grin—this time, it wasn't out of a desire to try and recite a script he'd been given as homework, but as a joke—and began to tug his sleeves up to the crook of his elbows, starting with his right before tucking his left. "I need you to be my eyes and ears."
Towards the very corner of the house, he'd set up a ladder leaning against the gutters and had random tools splayed out on the grass.
Bucky kept his back to Natasha. "Her gutters are sagging and she won't let me fix them." Once he found himself near his ladder, he took a step back and peered up the length of the house, looking past Natasha and momentarily listening for any sounds of gravel and dirt crunching beneath the tyres of Sarah's truck. When he seemed content with hearing nothing but the sounds of the outside world, he placed his glass on the porch railing and wiped his hands on the back of his jeans.
Looking at her, he forced a grin—this time, it wasn't out of a desire to try and recite a script he'd been given as homework, but as a joke—and began to tug his sleeves up to the crook of his elbows, starting with his right before tucking his left. "I need you to be my eyes and ears."
So he was paying for his room and board by being a handyman. Impressive. Natasha watched without comment as Barnes prepared to ascend the ladder, not missing the nuance of being a 'partner in crime', so to speak. "Sure," she replied easily, placing her glass next to his and crossing her arms, moving just enough so she could keep the driveway in her sight-line.
The rest of the yard looked about as expected; toys here and there, a semi-rusted swing set in one corner, grass higher at the fence than anywhere else in the yard. All in all, the place had the typical American flavor to it. Something the redhead standing with her hip cocked and arms comfortably crossed at the edge of the house wasn't entirely familiar with, but appreciated all the same.
She also kept a keen eye on the man up the ladder; habit, that. She'd been backup more than once, and knew how things were supposed to work. And it wasn't entirely her fault that the female part of her brain quietly appreciated the edible aesthetic of James Barnes in fitted jeans and a too-small shirt, halfway up the side of the house, tools in hand. Natasha gave a silent snort; ludicrous. Clearly she was jetlagged, if her brain was going down that particular mine-laden trail.
The rest of the yard looked about as expected; toys here and there, a semi-rusted swing set in one corner, grass higher at the fence than anywhere else in the yard. All in all, the place had the typical American flavor to it. Something the redhead standing with her hip cocked and arms comfortably crossed at the edge of the house wasn't entirely familiar with, but appreciated all the same.
She also kept a keen eye on the man up the ladder; habit, that. She'd been backup more than once, and knew how things were supposed to work. And it wasn't entirely her fault that the female part of her brain quietly appreciated the edible aesthetic of James Barnes in fitted jeans and a too-small shirt, halfway up the side of the house, tools in hand. Natasha gave a silent snort; ludicrous. Clearly she was jetlagged, if her brain was going down that particular mine-laden trail.
It was pretty easy to return to the task at hand despite the interruption of Natasha's arrival. Bucky always worked best taking care of other people. It was the easiest thing to get lost in; despite all the years he'd lost doing the complete opposite, it still came naturally to him. It was comforting to know that being Hydra's fist couldn't exactly strip away everything that made him feel like himself.
Glancing at her from the corner of his eye, he scooped up the leaves, twigs and random small stones in the gutter with the hand that wasn't on the side Natasha was closest to. The last thing he needed was to accidentally toss gutter waste on top of Natasha Romanoff. There weren't any nearby airports to destroy.
"So..." He turned his face away to wince; he used to be so good at conversation. Easily pick up something to say, charm the metaphorical pants off of someone with a sweet anecdote, and happily stand confidently in front of that person. That was something Hydra had taken from him. "What have you been doing?"
While Bucky was content to work in silence—and often did, even by the water's edge with all the boats lined up against the pier—it felt strange to do so with Natasha. If Sam was here, he wouldn't have anything to worry about.
Glancing at her from the corner of his eye, he scooped up the leaves, twigs and random small stones in the gutter with the hand that wasn't on the side Natasha was closest to. The last thing he needed was to accidentally toss gutter waste on top of Natasha Romanoff. There weren't any nearby airports to destroy.
"So..." He turned his face away to wince; he used to be so good at conversation. Easily pick up something to say, charm the metaphorical pants off of someone with a sweet anecdote, and happily stand confidently in front of that person. That was something Hydra had taken from him. "What have you been doing?"
While Bucky was content to work in silence—and often did, even by the water's edge with all the boats lined up against the pier—it felt strange to do so with Natasha. If Sam was here, he wouldn't have anything to worry about.
"Working, mostly."
This time, she didn't miss the awkwardness that he was trying to hard to cover. Small talk wasn't one of James Barnes' fortes, she knew from her previous conversations with Wilson. But at least he was trying, so she'd give him points for that. Although she was perfectly fine waiting for the family to return without saying a word, too.
"I've been traveling between DC and New York, assisting with getting the US's intelligence networks back up and running." And what a joy that was; she'd met cats who better understood the art of espionage. But it was something to do, and considering she was probably the only person left alive who remembered where all the bodies were buried, both literal and figurative, her value in that arena was priceless.
"It pays the bills, and lets me keep an eye on everything."
This time, she didn't miss the awkwardness that he was trying to hard to cover. Small talk wasn't one of James Barnes' fortes, she knew from her previous conversations with Wilson. But at least he was trying, so she'd give him points for that. Although she was perfectly fine waiting for the family to return without saying a word, too.
"I've been traveling between DC and New York, assisting with getting the US's intelligence networks back up and running." And what a joy that was; she'd met cats who better understood the art of espionage. But it was something to do, and considering she was probably the only person left alive who remembered where all the bodies were buried, both literal and figurative, her value in that arena was priceless.
"It pays the bills, and lets me keep an eye on everything."
"I bet."
With the gutter cleared as much as he liked, he pushed his left hand into its side with a grunt. The gutter moaned—too much pressure—and he began to tug at it, too lightly at first and then almost too forcefully. Still trying to get used to the strength in his arm; it felt like it was something he was always going to struggle with.
"You don't do anything else?" He glanced at her before returning his attention to the gutter. Best to try and get this bad boy fixed long before Sarah came home. If he was lucky, she wouldn't notice it was fixed and he wouldn't be on the receiving end of one of her pleased yet quietly reprimanding looks. "Non-work stuff?"
Did she do anything that wasn't work?
With the gutter cleared as much as he liked, he pushed his left hand into its side with a grunt. The gutter moaned—too much pressure—and he began to tug at it, too lightly at first and then almost too forcefully. Still trying to get used to the strength in his arm; it felt like it was something he was always going to struggle with.
"You don't do anything else?" He glanced at her before returning his attention to the gutter. Best to try and get this bad boy fixed long before Sarah came home. If he was lucky, she wouldn't notice it was fixed and he wouldn't be on the receiving end of one of her pleased yet quietly reprimanding looks. "Non-work stuff?"
Did she do anything that wasn't work?
Non-work stuff? "Like what? Crochet pillows or needlepoint?" Okay, she took it back; Barnes trying to do small talk was terrifying. Mainly because she didn't have a good enough answer to the question, because, as she realized now, thinking about it, there was damn little that she did other than work.
To buy a little time, Natasha stepped back a few paces to look around the edge of the house towards the driveway, ensuring that the family hadn't yet returned, and looked back at the ladder just in time to see Barnes shoving at the gutter pipe, apparently trying to bend it into shape through sheer force of will alone.
"Well...I watch Netflix, I cook," sometimes, when she was too tired for takeout, but then, Door Dash was amazing, "I read, and I watch cat videos on Tiktok." There. That was...about it. Pretty pathetic, from a social standpoint. She tapped her fingers against her arm.
"Don't know if you've realized, Barnes, but all of the friends that I have left are sort of scattered across the globe. Doesn't really make it easy to hang out very often."
The memories of Steve and Tony flashed in front of her, unbidden, but Natasha resolutely shoved them away.
To buy a little time, Natasha stepped back a few paces to look around the edge of the house towards the driveway, ensuring that the family hadn't yet returned, and looked back at the ladder just in time to see Barnes shoving at the gutter pipe, apparently trying to bend it into shape through sheer force of will alone.
"Well...I watch Netflix, I cook," sometimes, when she was too tired for takeout, but then, Door Dash was amazing, "I read, and I watch cat videos on Tiktok." There. That was...about it. Pretty pathetic, from a social standpoint. She tapped her fingers against her arm.
"Don't know if you've realized, Barnes, but all of the friends that I have left are sort of scattered across the globe. Doesn't really make it easy to hang out very often."
The memories of Steve and Tony flashed in front of her, unbidden, but Natasha resolutely shoved them away.
Without looking down at her, he said casually, "Mine are dead." Kind of obvious, given his age. He shrugged easily. "Killed some of them, too."
Bucky bore the death of Howard Stark heavily. It was one of the few that he remembered in such vivid detail that he sometimes wished for the selfish easy way out of a memory wipe. But remembering Howard meant that he was himself. James Barnes was still there, even if he couldn't look himself in the mirror sometimes.
But he said it to make a point. He didn't want her to feel sorry for him; he wanted her to realise how pathetic that excuse was, especially to him. He was the Hermit Soldier these days.
Curling his hands around the gutter lightly, he looked down at her in amusement. "If I can have a hobby, I'm sure you could have two." Returning to the gutter, he said playfully, "That's kind of pathetic. Old man Barnes is outdoing you in the being normal department."
Shaking his head, he chuckled to himself. Guess looks really were deceiving. Natasha Romanoff seemed like she had her shit sorted, and yet, here she was, admitting her shit was not sorted at all.
Bucky bore the death of Howard Stark heavily. It was one of the few that he remembered in such vivid detail that he sometimes wished for the selfish easy way out of a memory wipe. But remembering Howard meant that he was himself. James Barnes was still there, even if he couldn't look himself in the mirror sometimes.
But he said it to make a point. He didn't want her to feel sorry for him; he wanted her to realise how pathetic that excuse was, especially to him. He was the Hermit Soldier these days.
Curling his hands around the gutter lightly, he looked down at her in amusement. "If I can have a hobby, I'm sure you could have two." Returning to the gutter, he said playfully, "That's kind of pathetic. Old man Barnes is outdoing you in the being normal department."
Shaking his head, he chuckled to himself. Guess looks really were deceiving. Natasha Romanoff seemed like she had her shit sorted, and yet, here she was, admitting her shit was not sorted at all.
Pity wasn't a word with which she associated. Natasha didn't waste her time feeling sorry for others; she had enough problems of her own to handle. She met Barnes' amused look with a saturnine expression of her own. Was he really daring to call out her lack of a social life? She knew she could blow enough holes through that veneer of togetherness he tried to hard to project in about five seconds, but, she chose otherwise.
Her life wasn't any of his business, now was it? And if he insisted on hammering down on that pressure point, then she'd sweetly remind him how much her shoulder ached in damp weather. Like here. In Louisiana.
But just to remind him that her personal life wasn't a viable subject for Show and Tell, she replied easily, though her voice did hold enough of an edge, "I never said I didn't. I'm just not going to share my real personal life with you." Her smile was pleasantly false, a mask she'd perfected over the decades.
Thankfully, the crunch of tires on gravel alerted her to a new arrival, and a quick glance proved it to be an older model pickup, with a woman, two kids, and Sam Wilson piling out of it. Wilson spied the SUV, looked around, and spied her at the back corner of the house. Giving a hale, Sam started jogging over, prompting Natasha to meet him halfway, exchanging greetings all around.
Her life wasn't any of his business, now was it? And if he insisted on hammering down on that pressure point, then she'd sweetly remind him how much her shoulder ached in damp weather. Like here. In Louisiana.
But just to remind him that her personal life wasn't a viable subject for Show and Tell, she replied easily, though her voice did hold enough of an edge, "I never said I didn't. I'm just not going to share my real personal life with you." Her smile was pleasantly false, a mask she'd perfected over the decades.
Thankfully, the crunch of tires on gravel alerted her to a new arrival, and a quick glance proved it to be an older model pickup, with a woman, two kids, and Sam Wilson piling out of it. Wilson spied the SUV, looked around, and spied her at the back corner of the house. Giving a hale, Sam started jogging over, prompting Natasha to meet him halfway, exchanging greetings all around.
Perhaps it was in her best interests that the Wilsons had the impeccable timing of arriving just now. It didn't work for him—he hadn't quite finished his task at hand, but he knew that when Sarah eventually found him at the top of the ladder, she'd only reprimand him for not understanding the concept of being a guest.
Bucky didn't descend the ladder, watching as Sam smiled brightly at what he presumed to be a smile in return. He returned to his task at hand, trying to manipulate the gutter so that he didn't have to replace it with anything else. Natasha's comments didn't upset him. It was clear that he struck a nerve. It was clear she didn't want to talk to him about who she truly was either out of worry he'd flip a switch and become the Soldier again or she simply didn't like him. It was easier to stomach the latter.
"I didn't give her the grand tour," he drawled loudly, only glancing at the two of them from the corner of his eye. "I know I give shit tours."
He knew Sam was nodding vigorously, telling Natasha that was damn right.
Bucky didn't descend the ladder, watching as Sam smiled brightly at what he presumed to be a smile in return. He returned to his task at hand, trying to manipulate the gutter so that he didn't have to replace it with anything else. Natasha's comments didn't upset him. It was clear that he struck a nerve. It was clear she didn't want to talk to him about who she truly was either out of worry he'd flip a switch and become the Soldier again or she simply didn't like him. It was easier to stomach the latter.
"I didn't give her the grand tour," he drawled loudly, only glancing at the two of them from the corner of his eye. "I know I give shit tours."
He knew Sam was nodding vigorously, telling Natasha that was damn right.
Naturally Sarah and her kids joined in the fray, and Natasha smiled appropriately and shook hands when offered, allowing Sarah to take her back inside while Wilson eyed Barnes up on the ladder. He didn't say anything, for once, only shook his head with a roll of his eyes and went in the back door.
Natasha suffered being a guest while the woman of the house went about her domestic chores; getting the kids situated with homework and their other household duties, Sam pitching in to put away their groceries, and Sarah also insisting the Natasha stay for supper, which the redhead knew she'd be hard put to refuse.
"C'mon," Sam urged, passing by and ribbing her lightly. "You need real food down here, authentic. Won't get it anywhere else in the world, I promise ya." And of course she agreed, wondering if she'd ever have a quiet moment to give Sam the information he'd requested. Probably not until the rest of the house retired for the night.
Natasha suffered being a guest while the woman of the house went about her domestic chores; getting the kids situated with homework and their other household duties, Sam pitching in to put away their groceries, and Sarah also insisting the Natasha stay for supper, which the redhead knew she'd be hard put to refuse.
"C'mon," Sam urged, passing by and ribbing her lightly. "You need real food down here, authentic. Won't get it anywhere else in the world, I promise ya." And of course she agreed, wondering if she'd ever have a quiet moment to give Sam the information he'd requested. Probably not until the rest of the house retired for the night.
Seven minutes later, Bucky tried to sneak through the back door. Quietly opening it and trying to silently close it, he gestured with a hand across his neck for Cass not to say a word despite pulling his shoulders down in his usual expression of excitement whenever he saw Bucky. Thankfully, he obeyed this time, pretending to look down at his homework while his gaze was glued to Bucky trying to tiptoe into the kitchen.
It was no use trying to sneak in. Sarah's head immediately snapped to him; with her hands on her hips, she shook her head. "How many times have I told you not to touch my house? You're just as bad as Sam—you don't listen."
"Hey, hey, hey," Bucky held his hands up, a lopsided smile on his face. Sam's brows furrowed as he appeared offended by this accusation, peering at Bucky and then settling his gaze on Natasha to express his incredulity. "There's no need to get nasty."
After a moment of stern glaring, her Sarah's broke into a smile. "Thank you." She walked behind Cass and gripped his shoulders gently, kissing the top of his head almost impulsively.
Bucky made his way to the kitchen sink to wash his hands. As he did so, he heard Sam say to Natasha, "I listen." Hand to heart, he told her as seriously as he could, "I'm a listener. I'm a damn good listener. Unlike grandpa here, I don't need a hearing aid."
It was no use trying to sneak in. Sarah's head immediately snapped to him; with her hands on her hips, she shook her head. "How many times have I told you not to touch my house? You're just as bad as Sam—you don't listen."
"Hey, hey, hey," Bucky held his hands up, a lopsided smile on his face. Sam's brows furrowed as he appeared offended by this accusation, peering at Bucky and then settling his gaze on Natasha to express his incredulity. "There's no need to get nasty."
After a moment of stern glaring, her Sarah's broke into a smile. "Thank you." She walked behind Cass and gripped his shoulders gently, kissing the top of his head almost impulsively.
Bucky made his way to the kitchen sink to wash his hands. As he did so, he heard Sam say to Natasha, "I listen." Hand to heart, he told her as seriously as he could, "I'm a listener. I'm a damn good listener. Unlike grandpa here, I don't need a hearing aid."
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