The admission was both a surprise and yet, not. People like he and Natasha didn't tend to let others get too close. What was puzzling was that she had chosen to share it with him. And though she'd essentially shrugged off his apology for having shot her all those months ago, this felt like something a lot more than just forgiveness and he didn't know why. Surely it wasn't just that she was that lonely. She had teammates -- people that she trusted with her life -- surely she was friends with some of them. Why share something so personal with the Winter Soldier?
Still, when she tugged on his hand, he followed as naturally as he'd ever followed Steve anywhere the other man had gone. It startled him how at ease he felt with doing the same with Natasha. He exhaled almost inaudibly at her plan to only stay a day or so longer. He could work with that. He grimaced a little, though at the mention of Moscow. She wasn't wrong; the thought of going to Russia didn't thrill him in the least.
Bucky met her eyes, considering her words. "What's in Moscow?" he couldn't help but ask.
She did have friends. The Bartons were practically her family by now, and she counted her teammates as the best people she'd ever been fortunate enough to know. But there was still...a chasm. She'd never been on the inside of a true family, that golden place where one was loved regardless of one's history or deeds or circumstance. Every relationship she'd ever had had been...forced. Planned. Thought-out.
All but one.
Nevertheless, she wasn't too surprise to see the distaste on his face when she mentioned the motherland. Natasha wasn't excited herself about returning to the place of her birth, but it was something she needed to do. If only to leave that violent and bloody past behind her. Set it aside. Bury it deep.
She didn't answer right away, just turned back to the trail, unobtrusively letting go of Bucky's fingers to pull ahead a step or two. Thinking over how to say it, Natasha took a deep, slow breath, then finally shrugged one shoulder lightly. "My parents. Supposedly." She stepped over a tree root, growing through the middle of the pathway.
She let go of his hand and started to walk again and for a moment he just watched her before moving to fall into step with her on the trail. It wasn't the answer he'd been expecting, and he knew that she'd been orphaned young -- all of the girls from the Red Room had. He wasn't even entirely sure why he knew that, but it was there, a piece of information returning to him completely unbidden.
Her choice of the word supposedly gave him pause, too, and he wondered if she had any memories of the people she was referring to, or if she was simply searching for answers and seeking some kind of closure. He didn't think that a grave would do that, necessarily. It hadn't for him. But they were different people, and maybe it would help her in some way. But then --
Bucky hesitated a second. "Are we talking about a house, or...?"
All that Natasha had were names. And even then, she wasn’t entirely a hundred percent positive those were the right names. She had only a vague memory of her mother’s voice, and that her father had been tall, imposing, and stern, but she’d never been able to see their faces in her mind’s eye. It hadn’t seemed so unusual during her childhood years; none of the girls in her “class” seemed to recall any sort of family.
She kept her eyes on the path as they walked, a little distracted but still more alert than most would be. Bucky’s presence beside her was comforting, in its own way, and she shook her head to his question. “Not…exactly.” A soft sigh, and she gave her ponytail a small tug, flipping it back over her shoulder.
“I’m not…I’m not really sure what I’m looking for, James,” she finally admitted, stepping around a low-hanging tree branch. “All I have are names. For all of these years, I’ve been operating on the assumption that they were dead, just names on a marker. And it didn’t really bother me – I’d never known them before, what was the use now?”
Natasha paused for a few steps, speaking again once they rounded a copse of trees and could distinctly hear the gurgle of water running over rock. “But last year, I heard a rumor – just a rumor – that my father was still alive, somewhere in Russia. So I did a little digging, and found out a few things that gave me enough reason to suspect that it just might be true.” She shrugged, gaze going distant. “I’m not sure how I feel about it, really, but I have to know, one way or the other.”
She gave him a soft side glance, a corner of her mouth twitching speculatively. “Does that make any sense, or just seem a little crazy?”
Bucky watched her carefully, sensing that this was harder for her to talk about than she was letting on. And of course it was. They were talking about her parents. Her family. He barely remembered his own. Names and faces. Not much more. He hoped someday that might change.
He'd fast gotten used to her calling him by his given first name rather than his lifelong nickname and it no longer threw him off when she did so, which was good because it left him better able to focus on everything else. He traverses the terrain easily, keeping pace with her. "The people who ran the Red Room supposedly took girls who were orphaned," he murmured. "But they're just evil enough that maybe they just took them, period." He pressed his lips together.
Unless there was something even more sinister, like families giving their kids away to the program. He had to suppress a shudder at the thought, grimace twisting his mouth. "I'd want to know for sure." Even if she made the choice not to actually meet the man she suspected of being her father, at least she would know he was out there. That he was real.
"I don't think you're crazy." There was a but coming. "But it does sound potentially dangerous." Bucky glanced sideways and met her eyes.
"'Supposedly'," she echoed, tone going very, very cool. "But the Red Room and the KGB wasn't all that picky how it obtained its recruits, either." She wouldn't have been surprised to learn that they had, in fact, taken children from families, and in her deepest heart, she just didn't want to know the real truth. Not yet. Nor did she seem too surprised that Bucky even had this knowledge; for once, it didn't occur to her to keep up the charade.
Natasha did give a small nod of appreciation at his agreement about wanting to know for sure, but had to add, "But what if the truth is just as horrible as the rest? What if he did..." a frown pulled her mouth and she shoved her hands in her pockets, "...give me away to that place?" Because what she'd uncovered in her digging hadn't exactly been - pleasant. But she wasn't ready to share those particular details, not just yet.
There was always a "but". Always. "I know it's dangerous," she affirmed, giving a softly ironic snort. "Everything always is." She met his gaze for a long moment, but finally shook her head and looked away. "But that's just another day, isn't it? I gotta know, James. I have to at least make the effort."
Well it wasn't hard to pick up on the fact that they'd already come to the same likely possible conclusions regarding her handlers. Captors. At the end of the day that was what it boiled down to wasn't it? It wasn't as though Natasha herself had ever chosen to be there anymore than Bucky had ever chosen to be The Winter Soldier.
Bucky drew in a breath at that question, exhaling slowly and maneuvering around a couple of fallen limbs near the edge of the trail where he'd been walking. "I think that depends on you. Is it going to be better for you, knowing for sure one way or the other? Or is it better to move on, and let your mind rest in the uncertainty?" He didn't know what the answer was, but if he had to guess, she was the type of person who needed the truth.
He was silent for a few moments. "Then I guess having a semi-stable super soldier on your side if you need backup might not be the worst plan." He knew all too well how quickly things could go south when it came to these kinds of people. And he had a sick feeling in his stomach that their suspicions weren't just suspicions.
Her expression had sobered, lips thinning to little more than pale lines. As far back as she could remember, life had been a struggle to survive. And she'd wanted to survive, greedily. At first, it had been out of fear, because to go into that unknown darkness at such a young age was, well, terrifying. But as she grew older, she'd fought to stay alive out of sheer spite, to prove that she was strong enough to weather whatever they decided to throw at her. To become their perfect porcelain killer. Their beautiful deadly Spider.
She'd only learned how to be a person long years afterwards, and almost by accident, at that.
"I'm not good with uncertainty," Natasha finally replied. "I have my share of bad memories, I don't guess one more will break that particular vault." It sounded...petulant, she realized belatedly, but it was nevertheless the truth. Her lips twitched in mild irony. "Quite a pair, aren't we?" It wasn't exactly a question. "You have memories you can't recall, and most of mine I'd give anything to not be able to."
Though she slowed her pace to look over at him when he mentioned "backup". "I don't think it would," Natasha agreed, still not quite believing that Bucky was actually offering. "But you know you don't have to get mixed up in this, James. It's not, well, I know it sounds terrible, and don't think I'm not grateful, but it's not your fight." You have burdens enough, she left unsaid.
It was another thing they had in common even if their starting struggles had been very different. He remembered times where he'd gone hungry even after a meal with his family, remembered stashing more food on Steve's plate over the years than his own. He remembered the struggle of having next to nothing money-wise most of the time, but that had been an issue for everyone. It had been the middle of the Great Depression. There wasn't enough money, nor enough food to go around. It had gotten better after the Depression ended, but it had still been difficult. And maybe watching Steve struggle to breathe anytime the temperature changed, or knowing that when anyone else got sick at school that his best friend would be next, and maybe that time he wouldn't pull through -- that might have been a lot worse than going hungry most of the time. Struggling for survival growing up was a shared experience -- even if the experience itself was quite different.
Bucky glanced at her, watched the way her lips thinned out before she spoke. He knew she'd already made up her mind and her decision didn't surprise him. He took note of the petulant tone with an almost sense of amused deja vu. He exhaled. "Trade ya?" The joke fell flat, but he got what she was saying. "There's a lot I wish I didn't remember, too." He shrugged. "But maybe we need to remember, so we can try and --" He paused, shrugging again. "Not fix things, but...do better?" His voice was uncertain.
"I know it's not my fight." Bucky stopped walking to gaze at her. "But when you asked me to come with you, you said you wouldn't mind having someone watch your back. So that's what I wanna do. Watch your back."
Natasha stopped when Bucky did, listening quietly. There were so many reflections, she realized, so many flashes of the man she'd known before in the one beside her now. A fresh wave of bittersweet melancholia swept over her, threatening to break her heart one more time, but she resolutely chewed on her lower lip and forced her mind away from those old, lost memories. God, she missed him.
But at least he was here now, in some fashion, and the redhead told herself she should be content with that. She let her lips quirk appreciatively to his little jest - it did seem a bit lame, but hell, they were damned lucky to be alive right now, both of them. And if they were able to look back at their respective hells and respond with even a shred of levity, well, maybe there was hope for them yet?
"Do better sounds good," she agreed, hearing her voice warm with her small smile. "I kinda like the sound of that." Better was why she'd joined SHIELD in the first place. That and to get the rather large price off of her head, as well. But she'd been intrigued by the prospect of helping humanity, rather than trying to drive it towards someone else's goal by eliminating certain influential - and some not so influential, actually - pieces. Saving lives, instead of taking them. She hadn't regretted her choice then and she didn't regret it now.
And she had asked him to watch her back, hadn't she? At the time, it sounded like a plausible enough reason. But then, she hadn't really expected him to actually go with her, now had she? She'd been certain that he'd pick up his coffee cake, whatever other freebies he could scrounge on the way out, and vanish into the night. But she'd been stupidly delighted and surprised to find him still sitting at the table, waiting.
"All right," she finally nodded, this time reaching out her hand, inviting him to take it. "I can admit that I'd feel better having you with me. Between the two of us, we should be able to stay out of trouble, right?"
What HYDRA had learned about Bucky Barnes was that when he wasn't regularly wiped of his memories, a whole lot of his true self would start to filter through the mind of the Winter Soldier. The serum Zola had injected him with back in Azzano would begin healing his brain, his personality and even his sense of humor had started bleeding through, the way it is now. The concoction wasn't, of course, perfect, by any stretch of the imagination. A year and a half without being brain-wiped in that chair and he was still missing pieces of his memories, of timelines, of people and relationships. He hoped that eventually it would all come back the way all the bad things had been returning.
Bucky relaxed a fraction at her quiet agreement, at the tone of what he read as approval. Her smile was reassuring and he returned it with a small, faint smile of his own. He couldn't go back and undo all the damage he'd done, couldn't save all the lives he'd taken. But maybe, just maybe, he could earn a little bit of redemption by helping when he could. It wouldn't erase anything he'd done, because that wasn't how life worked. But maybe he could balance out the scales a little.
He looked down at her extended hand and then, without much hesitation, he slid his fingers through hers, squeezing gently. "Either that, or we're gonna cause it," he responded with the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. He had a feeling that when they teamed up, they could cause a hell of a lot of trouble together.
Two days later, Natasha was again asleep in the passenger seat while Bucky drove northwest towards Prague. Two days ago, Natasha had received a call on her satellite phone that had her packing up and closing her safehouse in short order, and all but barreling down the mountain to head for Czechia as quickly as possible. It was only a seven or eight hour drive, even though it took her well out of her way towards Russia and Moscow, but she'd explained to Bucky that it was vitally important that she respond, because she owed this particular person a well-deserved favor.
Tomas Svoboda had once been a weapons-smuggler for the Czechian underground military, but in truth that had only been his cover. His deep, deep cover. Put in a position to track every large shipment of weapons to pass through eastern Europe, he'd served SHIELD for many years before finally earning his "death" and subsequent retirement. He'd come out of it only once, and that was to assist a very new, very raw SHIELD agent out of a very tight spot, during which that agent was trying damned hard to evade and escape from her very dedicated, very angry KGB comrades.
"He saved my ass when he had no reason to," she'd told Bucky when they stopped to get food and switch drivers. "He jeopardized everything he'd worked so hard for to go back in and help someone he didn't even know, someone who needed helping." She'd sighed and shook her head. "Thank God we managed to cover our tracks once it was all over - he has a family now, wife and a couple of kids. He was willing to risk their safety - and his own - for some stranger sent by the organization he'd worked for all those years. What sort of loyalty is that?"
A few hours, she blinked awake, lifting her head from its rest against the seat belt and gazed a little blearily out of the windshield. Stifling a yawn behind a hand, she gave her companion a glance, then checked the time on her watch. "...where are we?"
In a world that was full of people who would rather kick you when you're down or spit on you when you're at your worst, he can acknowledge and understand that there were also people who would do the opposite. Immediately his mind went to Steve, and just as quickly he pushed the thought of the other man out of his head, tucked away once more into a box in the corner that he'll eventually sort through. Anyway, Steve wasn't in trouble. He didn't know much of anything about the man they were heading toward to help, though his name was vaguely familiar. Normally all of his HYDRA-related missions were easy to recall, far easier than anything else stored deep in the storage of his mind. So maybe he didn't recognize the name from HYDRA.
He drove, listening to classical music in the background of the car as she slept curled up in the passenger seat beside him. Occasionally he'd sneak a glance in her direction to see if she was still asleep, or if she'd woken and was just being quiet. Some days it still unnerved him that she could sleep so easily with one of the world's deadliest assassins down the hall or right beside her in the driver's seat of a car. Some days it still unnerved him that he could sleep so easily with one of the world's greatest spies so close by.
"A couple hours out," he told her when she woke and yawned. "We'll need to stop for gas soon." And food. Always food. God. He was still adjusting to the fact that he could eat regularly again, at least for now. It didn't have to be full meals all the time. He'd found he really liked a lot of the different snacks that the gas stations sold, trying something new and different each time. One of his favorites so far was caramel popcorn. He remembered liking popcorn in the days before the war, but it wasn't something his family had regularly, or even on the occasions he'd gone to the movies. But here and now it's in abundance and it wasn't super expensive. He loved it.
A sleepy little smile was his initial answer, followed by Natasha's small nod. "I did, thanks. You're a pretty good driver, Barnes." Glancing out of the window at a road sign, she added, "We made pretty good time." Natasha fished her cell out of a pocket and glanced over her message list. "We're supposed to meet Tomas around sundown, he's sent me coordinates so finding the place shouldn't be a problem, and I think we'll have time enough to stop for some food, if you're hungry."
Her eyes twinkled at him; she knew he was. Bucky Barnes was always hungry, she'd discovered. But that wasn't too surprising; she'd seen Rogers pack away the groceries, and given how hot their metabolism ran, it was a wonder either of them weren't ravenous all the time. She'd watched him discover snack food one bag at the time, and had found no end of amusement in his opinions about all of the different "excess" this modern world now sported.
She herself was in need of a little caffeine, or some other sort of pick-me-up, but her coffee had long since gone cold - a sniff at the cup she'd left in the middle console had her nose wrinkling and she put it back with a mild huff. The quiet was comfortable, she wasn't usually chatty if she could help it, and Barnes was the epitome of the "strong, silent type". But she felt no unease in his presence; she trusted him, even if the man himself couldn't fathom why. One day, perhaps, she'd sit him down and tell him, but for now, she could just hope the memories would begin to return on their own.
Although, if they did, she honestly had no idea how she was going to handle those questions. A rumination best for later, really.
The music on the radio was soothing - she enjoyed classical music, too - but they were starting to reach the outlying suburbs of Prague, and the traffic was starting to thicken, more buildings and houses appearing off the expressway. "You want to find a place to eat now, or wait until we get a little closer?" The former would be less populated, the latter, more places to choose from.
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maskirovka) wrote2018-04-08 02:44 pm
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Still, when she tugged on his hand, he followed as naturally as he'd ever followed Steve anywhere the other man had gone. It startled him how at ease he felt with doing the same with Natasha. He exhaled almost inaudibly at her plan to only stay a day or so longer. He could work with that. He grimaced a little, though at the mention of Moscow. She wasn't wrong; the thought of going to Russia didn't thrill him in the least.
Bucky met her eyes, considering her words. "What's in Moscow?" he couldn't help but ask.
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All but one.
Nevertheless, she wasn't too surprise to see the distaste on his face when she mentioned the motherland. Natasha wasn't excited herself about returning to the place of her birth, but it was something she needed to do. If only to leave that violent and bloody past behind her. Set it aside. Bury it deep.
She didn't answer right away, just turned back to the trail, unobtrusively letting go of Bucky's fingers to pull ahead a step or two. Thinking over how to say it, Natasha took a deep, slow breath, then finally shrugged one shoulder lightly. "My parents. Supposedly." She stepped over a tree root, growing through the middle of the pathway.
"Or at least their last known location."
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Her choice of the word supposedly gave him pause, too, and he wondered if she had any memories of the people she was referring to, or if she was simply searching for answers and seeking some kind of closure. He didn't think that a grave would do that, necessarily. It hadn't for him. But they were different people, and maybe it would help her in some way. But then --
Bucky hesitated a second. "Are we talking about a house, or...?"
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She kept her eyes on the path as they walked, a little distracted but still more alert than most would be. Bucky’s presence beside her was comforting, in its own way, and she shook her head to his question. “Not…exactly.” A soft sigh, and she gave her ponytail a small tug, flipping it back over her shoulder.
“I’m not…I’m not really sure what I’m looking for, James,” she finally admitted, stepping around a low-hanging tree branch. “All I have are names. For all of these years, I’ve been operating on the assumption that they were dead, just names on a marker. And it didn’t really bother me – I’d never known them before, what was the use now?”
Natasha paused for a few steps, speaking again once they rounded a copse of trees and could distinctly hear the gurgle of water running over rock. “But last year, I heard a rumor – just a rumor – that my father was still alive, somewhere in Russia. So I did a little digging, and found out a few things that gave me enough reason to suspect that it just might be true.” She shrugged, gaze going distant. “I’m not sure how I feel about it, really, but I have to know, one way or the other.”
She gave him a soft side glance, a corner of her mouth twitching speculatively. “Does that make any sense, or just seem a little crazy?”
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He'd fast gotten used to her calling him by his given first name rather than his lifelong nickname and it no longer threw him off when she did so, which was good because it left him better able to focus on everything else. He traverses the terrain easily, keeping pace with her. "The people who ran the Red Room supposedly took girls who were orphaned," he murmured. "But they're just evil enough that maybe they just took them, period." He pressed his lips together.
Unless there was something even more sinister, like families giving their kids away to the program. He had to suppress a shudder at the thought, grimace twisting his mouth. "I'd want to know for sure." Even if she made the choice not to actually meet the man she suspected of being her father, at least she would know he was out there. That he was real.
"I don't think you're crazy." There was a but coming. "But it does sound potentially dangerous." Bucky glanced sideways and met her eyes.
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Natasha did give a small nod of appreciation at his agreement about wanting to know for sure, but had to add, "But what if the truth is just as horrible as the rest? What if he did..." a frown pulled her mouth and she shoved her hands in her pockets, "...give me away to that place?" Because what she'd uncovered in her digging hadn't exactly been - pleasant. But she wasn't ready to share those particular details, not just yet.
There was always a "but". Always. "I know it's dangerous," she affirmed, giving a softly ironic snort. "Everything always is." She met his gaze for a long moment, but finally shook her head and looked away. "But that's just another day, isn't it? I gotta know, James. I have to at least make the effort."
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Bucky drew in a breath at that question, exhaling slowly and maneuvering around a couple of fallen limbs near the edge of the trail where he'd been walking. "I think that depends on you. Is it going to be better for you, knowing for sure one way or the other? Or is it better to move on, and let your mind rest in the uncertainty?" He didn't know what the answer was, but if he had to guess, she was the type of person who needed the truth.
He was silent for a few moments. "Then I guess having a semi-stable super soldier on your side if you need backup might not be the worst plan." He knew all too well how quickly things could go south when it came to these kinds of people. And he had a sick feeling in his stomach that their suspicions weren't just suspicions.
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She'd only learned how to be a person long years afterwards, and almost by accident, at that.
"I'm not good with uncertainty," Natasha finally replied. "I have my share of bad memories, I don't guess one more will break that particular vault." It sounded...petulant, she realized belatedly, but it was nevertheless the truth. Her lips twitched in mild irony. "Quite a pair, aren't we?" It wasn't exactly a question. "You have memories you can't recall, and most of mine I'd give anything to not be able to."
Though she slowed her pace to look over at him when he mentioned "backup". "I don't think it would," Natasha agreed, still not quite believing that Bucky was actually offering. "But you know you don't have to get mixed up in this, James. It's not, well, I know it sounds terrible, and don't think I'm not grateful, but it's not your fight." You have burdens enough, she left unsaid.
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Bucky glanced at her, watched the way her lips thinned out before she spoke. He knew she'd already made up her mind and her decision didn't surprise him. He took note of the petulant tone with an almost sense of amused deja vu. He exhaled. "Trade ya?" The joke fell flat, but he got what she was saying. "There's a lot I wish I didn't remember, too." He shrugged. "But maybe we need to remember, so we can try and --" He paused, shrugging again. "Not fix things, but...do better?" His voice was uncertain.
"I know it's not my fight." Bucky stopped walking to gaze at her. "But when you asked me to come with you, you said you wouldn't mind having someone watch your back. So that's what I wanna do. Watch your back."
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But at least he was here now, in some fashion, and the redhead told herself she should be content with that. She let her lips quirk appreciatively to his little jest - it did seem a bit lame, but hell, they were damned lucky to be alive right now, both of them. And if they were able to look back at their respective hells and respond with even a shred of levity, well, maybe there was hope for them yet?
"Do better sounds good," she agreed, hearing her voice warm with her small smile. "I kinda like the sound of that." Better was why she'd joined SHIELD in the first place. That and to get the rather large price off of her head, as well. But she'd been intrigued by the prospect of helping humanity, rather than trying to drive it towards someone else's goal by eliminating certain influential - and some not so influential, actually - pieces. Saving lives, instead of taking them. She hadn't regretted her choice then and she didn't regret it now.
And she had asked him to watch her back, hadn't she? At the time, it sounded like a plausible enough reason. But then, she hadn't really expected him to actually go with her, now had she? She'd been certain that he'd pick up his coffee cake, whatever other freebies he could scrounge on the way out, and vanish into the night. But she'd been stupidly delighted and surprised to find him still sitting at the table, waiting.
"All right," she finally nodded, this time reaching out her hand, inviting him to take it. "I can admit that I'd feel better having you with me. Between the two of us, we should be able to stay out of trouble, right?"
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Bucky relaxed a fraction at her quiet agreement, at the tone of what he read as approval. Her smile was reassuring and he returned it with a small, faint smile of his own. He couldn't go back and undo all the damage he'd done, couldn't save all the lives he'd taken. But maybe, just maybe, he could earn a little bit of redemption by helping when he could. It wouldn't erase anything he'd done, because that wasn't how life worked. But maybe he could balance out the scales a little.
He looked down at her extended hand and then, without much hesitation, he slid his fingers through hers, squeezing gently. "Either that, or we're gonna cause it," he responded with the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. He had a feeling that when they teamed up, they could cause a hell of a lot of trouble together.
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Tomas Svoboda had once been a weapons-smuggler for the Czechian underground military, but in truth that had only been his cover. His deep, deep cover. Put in a position to track every large shipment of weapons to pass through eastern Europe, he'd served SHIELD for many years before finally earning his "death" and subsequent retirement. He'd come out of it only once, and that was to assist a very new, very raw SHIELD agent out of a very tight spot, during which that agent was trying damned hard to evade and escape from her very dedicated, very angry KGB comrades.
"He saved my ass when he had no reason to," she'd told Bucky when they stopped to get food and switch drivers. "He jeopardized everything he'd worked so hard for to go back in and help someone he didn't even know, someone who needed helping." She'd sighed and shook her head. "Thank God we managed to cover our tracks once it was all over - he has a family now, wife and a couple of kids. He was willing to risk their safety - and his own - for some stranger sent by the organization he'd worked for all those years. What sort of loyalty is that?"
A few hours, she blinked awake, lifting her head from its rest against the seat belt and gazed a little blearily out of the windshield. Stifling a yawn behind a hand, she gave her companion a glance, then checked the time on her watch. "...where are we?"
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He drove, listening to classical music in the background of the car as she slept curled up in the passenger seat beside him. Occasionally he'd sneak a glance in her direction to see if she was still asleep, or if she'd woken and was just being quiet. Some days it still unnerved him that she could sleep so easily with one of the world's deadliest assassins down the hall or right beside her in the driver's seat of a car. Some days it still unnerved him that he could sleep so easily with one of the world's greatest spies so close by.
"A couple hours out," he told her when she woke and yawned. "We'll need to stop for gas soon." And food. Always food. God. He was still adjusting to the fact that he could eat regularly again, at least for now. It didn't have to be full meals all the time. He'd found he really liked a lot of the different snacks that the gas stations sold, trying something new and different each time. One of his favorites so far was caramel popcorn. He remembered liking popcorn in the days before the war, but it wasn't something his family had regularly, or even on the occasions he'd gone to the movies. But here and now it's in abundance and it wasn't super expensive. He loved it.
"Sleep okay?"
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Her eyes twinkled at him; she knew he was. Bucky Barnes was always hungry, she'd discovered. But that wasn't too surprising; she'd seen Rogers pack away the groceries, and given how hot their metabolism ran, it was a wonder either of them weren't ravenous all the time. She'd watched him discover snack food one bag at the time, and had found no end of amusement in his opinions about all of the different "excess" this modern world now sported.
She herself was in need of a little caffeine, or some other sort of pick-me-up, but her coffee had long since gone cold - a sniff at the cup she'd left in the middle console had her nose wrinkling and she put it back with a mild huff. The quiet was comfortable, she wasn't usually chatty if she could help it, and Barnes was the epitome of the "strong, silent type". But she felt no unease in his presence; she trusted him, even if the man himself couldn't fathom why. One day, perhaps, she'd sit him down and tell him, but for now, she could just hope the memories would begin to return on their own.
Although, if they did, she honestly had no idea how she was going to handle those questions. A rumination best for later, really.
The music on the radio was soothing - she enjoyed classical music, too - but they were starting to reach the outlying suburbs of Prague, and the traffic was starting to thicken, more buildings and houses appearing off the expressway. "You want to find a place to eat now, or wait until we get a little closer?" The former would be less populated, the latter, more places to choose from.