Bucky didn't really know how to do idle. Maybe that was one of Steve's traits that had rubbed off on him growing up, but sitting still these days just wasn't part of his forte. Sitting still for too long meant he'd delve too deeply into thoughts he'd rather not deal with, and that didn't tend to turn out well. He could slip into his mind far too easily, and wound up drowning in the darker memories that he'd gotten back.
He especially had no desire to do that in the presence of anyone else considering how ugly it could get.
He watched as Natasha's red locks framed her face in a way that was far too beautiful for one person and he had to remind himself that despite everything, somewhere deep down he was no different than any other hot-blooded male and noticing the fact that she was so damn pretty that it almost hurt to look at her was possibly the most normal thing he'd felt in years.
Even though what she said made sense (the couch was definitely too small for his larger frame), and that it was warmer out in the living room than the bedroom, he couldn't quite shake the guilt that weighed on him for taking the bed anyway. It just didn't seem right. But she was insistent, so he wasn't going to put up further argument. And if he wound up covering her up with another blanket in the middle of the night, well. It was the least he could do.
Bucky watched as she opened the case, and he paused, gaze sweeping over all the different weapons she'd stored inside of it. There wasn't too much in the way of weaponry that he wasn't familiar with. He could assemble and disassemble all of the different guns in a matter of seconds, and in his sleep.
Still. He was a little unsettled at the fact she was trying to hand him a gun. Slowly he shook his head, holding up his left arm, a chilling reminder that really, the only weapon he needed was already attached to his body. "I'm good. But thank you."
Besides. He had a gun at his hip, one at the small of his back, knives strapped to both of his ankles, and another at his right shoulder blade. He didn't like it, but it was how it had to be for now. It was his just in case insurance.
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He especially had no desire to do that in the presence of anyone else considering how ugly it could get.
He watched as Natasha's red locks framed her face in a way that was far too beautiful for one person and he had to remind himself that despite everything, somewhere deep down he was no different than any other hot-blooded male and noticing the fact that she was so damn pretty that it almost hurt to look at her was possibly the most normal thing he'd felt in years.
Even though what she said made sense (the couch was definitely too small for his larger frame), and that it was warmer out in the living room than the bedroom, he couldn't quite shake the guilt that weighed on him for taking the bed anyway. It just didn't seem right. But she was insistent, so he wasn't going to put up further argument. And if he wound up covering her up with another blanket in the middle of the night, well. It was the least he could do.
Bucky watched as she opened the case, and he paused, gaze sweeping over all the different weapons she'd stored inside of it. There wasn't too much in the way of weaponry that he wasn't familiar with. He could assemble and disassemble all of the different guns in a matter of seconds, and in his sleep.
Still. He was a little unsettled at the fact she was trying to hand him a gun. Slowly he shook his head, holding up his left arm, a chilling reminder that really, the only weapon he needed was already attached to his body. "I'm good. But thank you."
Besides. He had a gun at his hip, one at the small of his back, knives strapped to both of his ankles, and another at his right shoulder blade. He didn't like it, but it was how it had to be for now. It was his just in case insurance.