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It was snowing in New York. Despite the weather, the city never slept. Hustle and bustle filled the still-crowded streets as citizens went about their usual habits, long-time residents more than used to the Big Apple's idiosyncrasies. Buildings were lit up like star-filled towers, and one in particular was still buzzing busily, even at such a late hour.

On the fortieth floor, two individuals occupied a fairly nondescript conference room, waiting for a third. The man, tall and dark-skinned sported a long black coat and a black eyepatch, and was slowly pacing back and forth. The woman, seated with dangerous nonchalance, was idly smoking a mint-scented cigarette, the smoke drifting around scarlet curls that cascaded around a pale, sharply aristocratic face. Cat-green eyes flicked now and again to the tall man, and it might have been a trick of the fluorescent light, but her upper lip may have lightly lifted in an expression of exasperated derision once or twice.

If so, it was irrelevant, as words had been exchanged, opinions noted (and just as quickly discarded), and decisions made. The time for talk was over. Now was the time for actions. And assignments.

And just possibly, the time to save the world.

Again.

Directory Fury glanced at the silent clock on the wall, then huffed a frustrated sigh.

The woman, Agent Romanoff, gave a light scoff, stubbing out her smoke on the table's perfect surface. Fury shot her a glare. Which she shrugged off, saying in a Russian-accented voice, "It would appear, Director, that your dog is incapable of telling time."

Fury's glare devolved into a glower. "He'll be here. Barnes is the best tracker there is."

"So you keep insisting."

The long black coat whispered as it fell still when he did. "Can it, Romanoff. You know what's at stake here. We're going to have to work together if we all want to survive."

She waved an elegant hand, crossing arms over her chest in marked defiance.

Not missing her silent indignance, Fury lifted a single eyebrow. "Mind your fangs, Romanoff. I don't want to have to put either of you into Time Out."

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"Sure. I can do quiet." Bucky said with his attention fixed on the road in front of them. He usually did quiet, when he was on his own. He's not the kind for a lot of talk, and usually it seemed like music left him behind decades ago.

The difference now is that sitting in silence here meant sitting awkwardly with her.

His mind tried to slip back to the last—the only—other time they'd been alone together. Alcohol warm and soft, memory slurred and vivid by turns, he remembered holding her perfect, small face between his hands and looking down at her pure green eyes. He remembered how she tasted.

And he huffed, a growly, annoyed sound, that he pretends is due to traffic, hitting the brakes a little too hard.

Barnes wasn't the only one with a vivid recall. One that had been "recalling" more than it truly needed to, honestly. Because, even keeping her eyes on the passenger window didn't hide the recollection of this powerful creature, naked and gorgeous, stealing both her breath and her willpower one dizzying kiss at the time.

She recalled how her fingernails had gripped, sinking into thick skin, and how she'd keened and moan, each sound swallowed by his hungry mouth, and his own guttural growls of her name amid other sweet endearments, such a strange combination to her eager ears.

The hard brake brought her out of her erotic reverie, and she startled, frowning slightly. And finally saying, "...yeah, turn the radio on."

He cleared his throat and reached for the radio. He turned it on and tuned it to the nearest station that didn't grate his ears, letting the volume stay low. At least it alleviated the complete silence, and some of the pressure to fill it.

Only some of it, though.

He cracks the window to let in a little fresh air, despite the cold night. It stank of the city, but didn't entirely hide the scent of vampire and woman beside him.

"Comfortable?"

The white noise was a welcome reprieve, as was the sudden rush of cold air when Barnes cracked the window. It did reek of the city, but that was fine with her. Anything was better than his unique scent, filling her nose and stirring up all those memories that were far better left locked away.

"I'm fine," she assured him when he asked. "Just...thinking. About the mission," she clarified, just to be clear. And in truth she had so many questions. "This seems to be a single creature," Natasha heard herself say. "Hopefully isolated to this specific area." Otherwise they were in trouble.

"I haven't heard any reports of anything elsewhere. Have you?" Surely Fury would have said so.

"It could just be the first." It was a grim observation, but one worth making. He couldn't help but wonder though. This thing, whatever it was, had to come from somewhere. It could be a fluke, or a weird one off, or a freak of nature. On the other hand, it could be a prototype or a monstrous weapon being commanded by a group.

He rolled his shoulders, trying to ignore a phantom ache in his left arm. It was fine now, long since healed by his superhuman biology, but that was another memory that he had a hard time shaking. One significantly less pleasant than how Natasha looked in moonlight and nothing else.

"There's only one way to find out for sure: find it, and find out where it came from."

"God, I hope not," she breathed in response to his "first" comment. Coming up against an entire group of...whatever it was definitely wasn't going to be pleasant. In all actuality, she didn't think any part of this mission was to be a walk in the park.

Speaking of...

"Do you want to use a cover for this? Or go in as badges?" Both had their pros and both had their cons. "This place seems to be...small. They may not be very helpful if a couple of supes roll in and start asking questions."

The "supernatural" movement was still met with a lot of static in some places, especially those that were rural and far from big city limits. Granted, pro-human groups were more prevalent in the larger cities, but out in the sticks, folks still "shot first and asked questions never".

But a cover, on the other hand; a couple of random supes on a vacation, or looking for a quiet place to settle - that might go over better with the locals, but there was always the personal stress of adhering to such a story. And Natasha didn't know if her constitution was entirely up for playing 'besotted vampire lover' to this particular wolf.

If there were any need for proof Bucky wasn't suited to handle this mission alone. Natasha asked about what their explanation should be, and it was clear from the moment of flat footed silence followed by the awkward clearing of his throat that the question hadn't even crossed his mind. Left to his own devices, Bucky wouldn't have explained his presence at all. Not if he could avoid it.

And if he did have to answer questions, he'd have told the truth. He usually isn't much of one for subterfuge. Easier not to say anything at all than lie; can't get caught in a lie that way.

He's not usually the one working with the local humans for a reason.

A beat or two late, he stumbled into his response. "Uh... Could just play it by ear? Not commit to anything until they ask. Maybe it's no one's business why we're there."

He glanced at her then. "If we pretend to be married, we'll definitely have to share a room."

Yeah, this wasn't much of a surprise. She glanced over at her companion, eyebrow already arched. "It's a small town, Barnes," she told him dryly. "People are gonna talk. Humans always talk. I guarantee you the entire town will know we've arrived five minutes after we park." And that wasn't an exaggeration.

"So playing it by ear isn't going to work in a situation like this one. We're going to need them to talk to us, because this isn't going to be a job we can do just by hacking around in the bushes looking for clues." And Lord help her, she was going to have to guide him along every step of the way.

But it was necessary, and Fury wouldn't have sent the both of them if they weren't up to it.

Although it was an effort, Natasha managed a shrug, "casually" tossing her ponytail back. "I don't have a problem with sharing a room." To drive the nail right into the coffin, she pointedly asked, "...do you?"

Bucky's jaw rolled a little working to one side as he chewed on his cheek. He was more interested in getting out in the bush looking for clues—getting a scent. Working with people wasn't his strength. He was a tracker, and a fighter, and he was one hell of a guy to have at your back if you needed muscle, but he wasn't...

Whatever she was. A spy.

He wasn't someone who people wanted to open up to.

"If you're all right with it, I am," he said. He glanced her direction and away from the road, his eyes lingering over the line of her throat, the way her red hair curled against her neck, before flicking up to her face. How he remembers it, he wasn't the one who couldn't stand to be in the same room after their night together. "But if you want to do the whole cover story thing, you're going to have to take the lead. That's not what I'm trained for."

"I know." Quietly said. And she did know. Barnes was a brawler, a vicious animal trained to attack on command, and a helluva bulwark to shoot around. Even as formidable as she was, Natasha knew she didn't hold a candle to the sort of damage a wolf like this was capable of.

"How about...I handle the locals and you do the ground work? We can meet in the middle, so to speak, and compare notes." A compromise, and one that possibly wouldn't end up causing more trouble than it was worth. "We'll just be a couple of city slickers out on vacation, sight-seeing, maybe looking for a place to settle down."

That way they both had a job that didn't really require the other. And it just might preserve what sanity each of them still possessed. Although Natasha just knew that some sort of monkey wrench would get tossed into the mix; her luck was just that abysmal.

"Sound good?

Bucky's nose wrinkled slightly on the description. It wouldn't be a bad cover, though, and it made sense not to announce their presence to whoever was behind this. The last thing they needed was a target on their backs.

"All right," he agreed, glancing sideways at Natasha to gauge her level of disgust at the idea. It was her idea, but considering how she'd reacted when they'd been assigned to this together he couldn't shake the feeling was an imposition. His jaw tightened, but he didn't see any horror in her at the idea. She just looked tired to him.

"Looking for a place to settle down," he continued after moment. "You can blame me for that. I'm the outdoorsy type, getting sick of all the traffic and noise."

“And neither of our families approve,” she abruptly heard herself say. And followed it with a wooden, “…but…we don’t care.” She suddenly went a bit stiff, turning away to stare unseeing out of the windshield, straight ahead. “Do we.”

Because that was the main reason why she’d been gone by sunup that fateful night. Even though she’d not counted her kin as family for decades, she still had to live with their disapproval and scorn. And her hateful matron held grudges like a miser.

Natasha had nearly paid for her decision to join SHIELD with her life; as the only female offspring of her mother’s powerful bloodline, she’d been expected to take her place in the Romanova hierarchy early on. But the young scion had seen the struggle between humanity and her kind, and had been wise enough to want to be part of the solution and not just another nail in the coffin of the problem.

Duchess Melina Romanova had not taken her daughter’s decision well.

But Bucky Barnes didn’t deserve the hell that would come from a relationship with her. Even a casual fling would be dangerous. So, after realizing the next morning that they’d been followed from the SHIELD party by one of her mother’s silent, eagle-eyed dragoons, Natasha had vanished, removing all traces of her presence.

Safer that way. Only for it to, of course, come back and bite her right in the ass.

But this was work, and not even the most hellishly insane vampire bitch-queen would be so lethally stupid as to make an overt move against the most powerful organization on the planet.

Or so Natasha hoped.

If Bucky were in his wolf shape, his ears would have pricked at her tone, the way it changes from one statement to the other, and his nose would have been in the air checking for a threat. As it was, his hackles still rose and he had to squash the urge to look over his shoulder for a tail. It's an itchy, uncomfortable sound. Maybe without the wolf's senses he wouldn't hear that flatness or sense the emotion in it—anxiety, maybe? Suspicion? He still couldn't quite put a name to it, but he felt it in his gut.

"No, we don't," he told her firmly. They're just writing the story. No need to take it too personally, right? No need to read into it. Still, he found himself adding, "And not all of our family. My sister Rebecca and her kids adore you."

Rebecca was the only one of his sisters still alive, and her daughters were in their sixties, nearly in their seventies. They're also the only part of Bucky's living family to make contact with him when he came back from the war changed, to accept him as he was instead of as he'd left.

He was pretty sure if they were really married, they would accept Natasha.

"If we did settle up here, they'd visit around Christmas."

Wasn’t that a pretty thought? A home, a family, with relatives who didn’t preface every family gathering with a bloodbath. Relatives who actually cared about each other, who didn’t count petty scheming, backstabbing, or assassination as customary pastimes.

God.

Natasha simply smiled, agreeing with a silent nod. “That sounds…nice. Idyllic, even.” The sort of dream that might appeal to the local rural humans. “We can add more details as we go, but this is a good start.”

"Yeah. No need to invent an entire life now..." He trailed off, letting his eyes settle on the road ahead of them. They're finally able to move into somewhat better traffic, at least for the time being reaching normal speeds. He relaxed a little as they got closer to leaving the city.

"Anything else I should know about our backstory?" he glanced over her briefly. "I know your birthday. If someone corners me and asks your favorite color or what kind of flowers you like, I probably ought to have some kind of an answer."

Look, he was being productive. Reciprocating her effort. They were on this mission together, so he'll... not be a complete asshole.

Natasha smiled slightly, turned her gaze back to the passenger window, and gave a very soft sigh. He was right, of course.

"Favorite color is blue." No irony there, right? "Favorite flowers are white tulips. I like music, all genres, but tend to prefer songs over artists. It's all about the lyrics and melody for me, not the band." She paused, then continued.

"Favorite drink is vodka, straight. But I also like a good bourbon every now and then. Italian food is best, and breakfast food is better. I speak twelve languages fluently, which is why I'll be a historical linguist for this job, translating documents and the like, and translating on Zoom calls for international businesses."

Didn't sound too bad, did it? Plausible, anyway.

Now she glanced over, greedy gaze taking in the lines of Barnes' strong profile, mind's eye recalling just how that muscular frame felt beneath her hands.

"You?"

"Also blue," Bucky said. Not exactly a lot to build a relationship on, but it was something to start. A little reminder of the fact they'd been hitting it off well that night at the Holiday party... right up until they weren't.

"I prefer whiskey, bourbon, scotch, rye, depending on my mood but I do like a good scotch." He turned then, finally getting on the freeway so it actually felt like they were getting out of the city. "But I respect the fact you drink vodka straight. I like that in a woman."

He paused a moment then. He was largely responding to her story, but that was easier than deciding what to add himself. "I only speak four languages, including English, but you're teaching me Russian."

Not true, but he knew enough Russian to make it stick, and German and French from the War.

"Used to be in the army, but I'm out now and looking for a new job."

Natasha nodded approval, quietly exhaling a slow breath as they merged onto the freeway - now they could get this started, and hopefully, pray God, get it over with and quickly.

"We met at a holiday party," she heard herself say after a beat. "Mutual friends, that sort of thing." Blabbing that they'd hooked up at a SHIELD Christmas party just wasn't smart. "Moved in together a few months later, and now want to get to work on settling down." Another beat. Two. Then, "...maybe think about adopting some kids..."

Because, thank God, different monster species had never been able to crossbreed. The DNA just wouldn't take. At least, up until this moment, as far as she knew. Oh, it'd been tried, of course, both biologically and otherwise, but thus far, zilch. Silver lining for the world, really.

"You may be looking for one of those hiking tour guide jobs," she added, quickly changing the subject. "Since you're beyond qualified for that sort of thing."

"Kids?" Bucky echoed her, his gaze flicking toward her and a shudder going up his spine. He didn't expect hearing those words to have such a strong physical reaction. Children weren't something he'd considered a possibility for a very long time, and casually—as a lie, he reminded himself, as part of their cover—she'd reopened the idea.

Maybe it was because she paired it with details not entirely removed from how they actually met, mixing reality and lies. Fantasy.

"It's still a conversation," he said then, dragging his eyes back to the road. "We need to find the right place for us first before we can open up that conversation can be serious."

A pause, because he dwelled on that too long.

"Probably going to need something that pays more than a tour guide, though."

"We have savings," she answered absently. "Enough to get us by for a while until we settle. Could also just be backpacking across the highways, looking for that 'right place'." The canvas was broad, and there were so many options.

"The locals are going to gossip regardless of what we tell them," Natasha pointed out. "In a day or so, it won't even matter, because they'll have invented their own stories about us to share with their neighbors." She'd seen it before; small towns were the same the world over.

Flicking a glance across to the driver's seat, she couldn't help the small smile. "Don't fret over it," she quietly advised. "All of this could be academic by the time we actually get there."

"At the rate traffic is going? It's a real possibility." He grumbled, but it's not all that serious. There's no real heat behind it, nor any of the needling bitterness that crept into his tone when he was feeling vulnerable or insulted.

This was more good natured complaining.

This conversation has been the first time he's started to relax finding himself back in Natasha's company, and the cover story provided an opportunity to fantasize a little, as long as he didn't think about it too closely. To imagine what they might have been able to have between them if they weren't... them.

"And I never fret. Fretting is for old women and fathers with daughters."

Vincent's Cove only sported a single motel and as it turned out, over half of the building was under renovations due to a particularly nasty storm several months ago. Not really trusting the structural integrity of the place, Natasha managed to locate different lodgings, a decent B&B that offered a suite of rooms on its top floor, expensive but feasible. The suite contained a small kitchenette, spacious bathroom, living area with a flat-screen TV, comfortable recliner, loveseat, and small but elegant desk, and a large bedroom with a prettily-decorated king size bed and 19th century armoire.

Natasha placed her duffel on the loveseat, automatically taking the measure of the place as she gazed about. The weapons she'd opted to leave in the Jeep for now; no sense scaring the daylights out of the proprietors this early in the morning. The sun was already climbing - eight am and the world was waking up for the day. While she yawned; it'd been a good twenty-eight hours since she'd had any racktime.

"You need a nap?" Asked of Barnes when he came in; she was already shedding her outer jacket and then her boots. "Looks like the bed's big enough for both of us." No innuendo implied, but truly, they could each claim a side and have more than enough room for an elephant between them.

Bucky followed the vampire in, carrying two bags—one his luggage, the other various gear. He'll keep it tucked away for now, but he wants a few surprises on hand in case they get any unpleasant surprises.

They didn't know what they were facing here, and they couldn't entirely rule out it might be aware of them somehow.

Not likely, he'd admit, but better paranoid than dead.

In that spirit, he shook his head when Natasha asked about sleeping. "I'll keep first watch," he said. In this case, not genuinely about any fear of sharing a bed. "I'll get surveillance and a parameter set up while you rest."

Natasha privately felt that it was unlikely they'd need to immediately set up a guard and a watch, but she wasn't going to try and dissuade a wolf's natural paranoia. So she gave a small shrug and a short nod, placing both her boots and her jacket near and over an upholstered chair near the window - heavy curtains drawn, of course.

"Works for me," she affirmed after swallowing a yawn. Then had to add, "But wake me if anything shows up, da?" Because she wasn't going to let him have all the fun.

Fifteen minutes later, she crawled into bed in cool, near-darkness, sighing relief as exhaustion began its final approach. Of course, the reminder that James Barnes was right on the other side of the closed bedroom door didn't immediately slip away, and naturally that thought slyly segued into the last time they'd "shared" a room.

Natasha grimaced, turning over and burying her head beneath a lacy, down-filled pillow, sternly reminding herself that this was work, she needed to sleep, and the chances of Barnes slipping in beside her to again steal both her breath and her inhibitions with his heated, passion-filled kisses, strong, sure hands, and chisled, unfairly-gorgeous body were absolutely less than zero.

--and oddly enough, that final thought was somehow...disappointing.

"You think I'm going to let you get out of doing your fair share of the fighting?" Bucky joked as Natasha slipped away. His last sight of her was looking pale and beautiful before the bedroom door closed behind her.

Then, internally, he chided himself for being an idiot. She was only the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, and one of the strongest too. He wasn't even sure if it was the fact he was tempted by her invitation—to join her in the warm darkness of a shared bed—or the fact he turned her down that made him an idiot in this case. Maybe it was both.

But he'd learned his lesson about letting himself get caught up in midnight green eyes and sly smiles.

It was better for both of them if he kept his distance.

More than that, though, his instincts were screaming at him to explore the b&b, to establish his territory before he could relax. He needed to smell the air, get the lay of the land. If some of that came from the protective drive to make sure that their lair was safe for the woman currently in bed? Well.

Fuck, it's better not to think about that too deeply. Instead, he walked bout inside and outside, checking every inch of their home for the duration of this mission. Then he takes a seat on the sofa in the living room and starts unpacking and rechecking equipment. If his position puts him between the door and Natasha, it's a coincidence. Surely.

(Idiot.)

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happy new year! ❤️

Happy New Year!

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apologies; been ill (again, ugh)

Sorry for the delays. Life has been going kind of hard lately.

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sorry for the slow replies!

no worries; i've been down with the allergies myself ugh

don't i feel that. my allergies have been insane this year