Bucky knows he's been found out now. He'd lucked into this place and how much it looked like that seaside retreat they'd stolen time in so long ago and he'd hope it would jog Natasha's memory and she'd recall how good they'd been together and how much they'd loved one another. He just didn't realize how quickly that would happen.
Bucky draws closer to her, sets his hands on her shoulders. "We were in a place like this once, yeah. We stayed here for a while and hid away from everyone. I wanted...we wanted to stay forever but we got found out. We ended up having to...well, I ended up with SHIELD and HYDRA punished you for losing me. We were happy in a place like this once, though, and I just wanted you to be happy again. It's a little selfish of me and you have every right to be angry."
It's more than a little selfish, really, but he hopes that Natasha doesn't hold it against him this time.
She rested her hands on his arms as he drew closer, listening quietly as she searched his face. But her brows furrowed at his latter words, and she gazed at him somewhat quizzically. "...why would I be angry?" Natasha gestured to their surroundings. "This is a great place to hide." She wrinkled her nose and chuckled up at him. "So you're selfish. So what?"
Natasha gave him a quick grin, lightly chucked his ribs with her knuckles, then twisted out from under his grasp. "You're up on food duty, malyutka. I'm going for a shower, and to get out of these wrinkled clothes."
For some reason, Bucky hadn't expected that reaction from her. It's such an easy return to how they used to be with one another and he wonders if he can let his guard down and show Natasha how vulnerable he is. She makes him more vulnerable than anyone because she's the only one who understands what it's like to be used against your own will and he and Natasha have something together that Bucky's never had with anyone - not even Steve.
He decides to focus on cooking for now, though, putting his hands to work cooking ardei umpluți. There's no time to make bread tonight but he'll bake some later so they'll have it for the rest of the week. The one good thing about this particular house is that it's already stocked with food in preparation for the couple who was supposed to be here; it's a pity they don't get to take advantage of this grocery delivery.
When he hears Natasha come back from the shower, he lifts his voice a bit so she can hear him. "I'm going traditional tonight, I hope you don't mind. When in Romania, yeah?"
She took her time in the shower, letting the warm water wash over her skin, hoping to find a little peace of mind in the therapeutic steam. There was still so much she had to sort through, both in her head and outside of it, and she honestly didn't know where to begin. But at least she wasn't alone; by the time she stepped out of the shower and wrapped up in a soft, fluffy towel, the scents of cooking peppers was delicious, and Natasha inhaled greedily, suddenly realizing that she was, indeed, hungry.
After dressing and toweling her hair from wet to damp, she padded back into the kitchen just in time to hear her housemate call out, and had to shake her head with a fond smile. Rather than answer back just then, she instead crossed the room to stand just behind him, slide her arms around his waist, place her palms flat to his chest, and rest her cheek against Bucky's broad back, relishing his inherent warmth and clean, masculine scent.
Covertly indulging herself in this simple affection - was it even so simple, really? - Natasha closed her eyes and just held him close, unconsciously submerging herself in his quiet strength. "I don't mind," she murmured against his shirt, involuntarily rubbing her cheek gently along the ridge of his left shoulder. "Smells good." And if he took her to mean the food on the stove, well, that was all right, too.
To be honest, Bucky hadn't expected this kind of affection and he didn't know how starved he was for it until Natasha had come right behind him and wrapped around him the way she used to in the old days. He remembers when they used to be comfortable in one another's arms like this and couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. He wants it to be like that again.
He finishes on the stove and puts the lid on the pan so the peppers can simmer without his direct involvement and turns around so he can look at Natasha and give her his full attention. She looks vulnerable like this with damp hair and pale skin and he brushes his thumb over her full bottom lip.
"You're awfully affectionate. We probably need to have a talk about what you remember and what you don't so I can fill in any blank spots for you. Does that sound good or would you rather put it off? I've never...done this so I'm going to go at your speed."
Her eyebrow went up. "I was under the impression my affection didn't bother you, James." She knew it didn't, but she couldn't help teasing him about it. Natasha gave Bucky's thumb a light, playful nip, but shook her head to his next question. "Don't want to talk about it." Not just yet. She dropped her gaze, lashes lowering over her eyes but she still held him close, arms latched around his waist.
"...it's still...it's still really blurry, most of it." And more and more things kept surfacing, little snippets of detail that she knew she'd eventually have to compartmentalize, try to put into some semblance of order. But not right now. "There's a lot..." She sighed, shook her head. "There's still a lot that doesn't make sense. And I can't - can't really deal with all of it right now."
Then she looked back up at him, dark eyes serious. "But I do remember what's important, though. I know that you loved me. And I loved you. That's all that really matters right now, isn't it?"
Hearing her say that she loved him is possibly the thing he's been waiting on this whole time. Hearing her say it makes him feel like he can breathe for the first time in a long time and he drifts his fingertips over the delicate lines of her face.
"You don't have to talk about it, Natasha. I just want you to know that I love you and that there's nothing you can't tell me, good or bad. Your secrets are always safe with me, no matter what they are. Two people can't go through what we have and not come out as close as we are. I'd do anything for you."
Bucky has already turned his life upside down for Natasha. He'd do it again in a heartbeat if it meant keeping her safe. He wants to make sure that nobody looking for them can get a bead on her and if they do, he's willing to throw his body in front of Natasha to keep her from being hurt. He can take the hits.
Hearing him say it - all but swearing fealty, good God - still made her a little uneasy, way down in her stomach. Almost as if...she was afraid of it. Of him getting hurt, or even killed, because of her. Because that was the last thing she wanted...
You are to bring him in alive; unspoiled if possible... Why did she still hear that command?
Natasha shook her head, forcing a tight smile, and rose on her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to Bucky's cheek. "I know," she told him softly. "But you don't have to. I'm a big girl," she assured him, although her smile didn't quite meet her eyes. "You don't have to worry about me." Even though she knew that he would.
"How long until dinner?" A new segue, anything to change the subject. "The peppers smell wonderful." She forced a little smirk, a small glint appearing in her eyes. "You seem to be quite the chef, Mr. Barnes."
"I learned a few things here and there. My Ma was the type of woman who thought a man ought to know his way around a kitchen as much as his wife. Maybe it'd been kind of progressive for the day but it's helped me survive more than once when I've been holed up in a safe house somewhere. It's less risky to cook for yourself and go in once in a while for supplies than to be constantly getting takeout. Less people to see your face.
"Would give anything for a nice slice, though. I've got to figure out how to make real New York pizza on my own. For some reason, the dough never tastes right when I make it. There's something special about it in the city."
Bucky busses a quick kiss against her temple. "Not much longer on the food, though, if you want to start getting the plates down for me."
She made appropriate noises as she moved about the small kitchen, fetching plates, glasses, and silverware to set the table. The odd feeling of domesticity wasn't entirely lost on the redheaded assassin - it felt weird as hell, engaging in something so...ordinary. Something she'd never had before.
Sitting down to a meal felt even weirder, but Natasha put on a smooth countenance and sat across from her companion in relatively easy silence, watching as Bucky bustled about. She'd poured them both water with ice, figuring that clear heads were needed for both of them. Herself, especially. ...particularly since the more she watched him putter about, the stronger the urge became to forego dinner entirely and drag him down the hall to the small bedroom.
Natasha mentally chastised herself. Enough of this foolishness. Enough. So she kept her small smile, pleasantly calm, as he sat down opposite her, and picked up her fork. Time to eat, clean up the kitchen, and ignore this churning want constantly plaguing her inside.
Bucky, too, is having to fight his own urges. Natasha had been the best relationship he ever had even if it'd come about in the absolute worst of circumstances and his feelings have never faded for her. On the contrary, they've only gotten worse since she's back with him and he wants to shield her from everything that comes at her in spite of the fact that he knows damned well she can take care of herself.
"How do you like the peppers? Better than my usual, hmm?" Bucky is a decent cook when he gets the time to do it but, unfortunately, he doesn't often get the chance. Right now, it's safer to eat out of sight of everyone and he is relishing the fact that he's actually getting to cook and settle for a little while.
It feels like home, even if they're as far from Brooklyn or upstate as they can possibly be. They're not in Moscow, either, and that had been a home for them for a little while. No, this is different. This is something that's simply theirs and they haven't had to share it with anyone else.
She nodded with a mouth full, swallowing before responding with, "They're very good. Tender and spicy, just as they should be." Natasha had still-hazy recollections of him cooking every now and again, when they either couldn't get to anything premade, or had just had enough of greasy fast food and market leftovers during their missions together. "But breakfast is still my favorite."
He'd always made bacon or sausage, eggs, and at least toast, and always coffee. She'd learned to appreciate "American" food thanks to the Soldier's fondness for it, something so ingrained within him that not even HYDRA's painful conditioning could erase.
Natasha took another bite, washing it down with a sip of cold water before remarking, "At least we can sleep in tomorrow, da?" There didn't seem to be much to actually do, other than rest and recuperate. Although the thought of actually remaining in one place made her a little antsy, still. "Just how safe is this place, James? Are we really that far off of the grid?"
"We're far enough to blend with people," Bucky explains. "It's easier to hide in plain sight and if we get compromised, we can quickly get to public transit and out of the country. If we're out in the wilderness and get caught, we have less resources to get away."
That's his logic, anyway, and he's been on the run before recently. He thinks Steve might find them but he also believes Steve's loyalty to him will override his loyalty to SHIELD. Bucky hopes so, anyway.
"I think we'll be all right here. We're both capable of making a quick escape and you're worth fighting for. I'm not going to let anyone get to you without doing some serious damage first, all right? I care too much and I'm invested in this."
Hearing that last - again - Natasha abruptly put down her fork and leveled a long, steady look at the soldier across the table. "Stop saying that," she told him shortly. "Just...stop." Then she dropped her eyes and sighed, propping an elbow on the table and putting her chin in her hand. "I don't...I don't want anyone else to get hurt because of me." Distant screams echoed in her ears.
Natasha suddenly pushed away from the table and, unable to stop, began pacing the length of the small kitchen, jittery and restless. She finally stopped near the door leading outside to the beach, rubbing her arms and staring unseeing out at the sunset glittering over the watery horizon.
"You..." She trailed off, biting her lip before forcing the words out again. "You've been hurt enough because of me, James." Her hands gripped her upper arms. "You should...you should seriously think about what you're saying. I'm not worth your death, and if I somehow did survive, how do you think that would make me feel? Knowing that you died because of me?"
"Natasha, the ultimate goal is to keep us both alive. I'm not willing to consider anything else right now," Bucky says, meeting her eyes with his own. There's a desperate pull in his belly, a need to be with her and show her just how much he cares about her but it's difficult because she's got so many gaps in her memory. Is it fair to push this on her right now? Is it fair to seek her body when he's the one with more power than she's got right now? He doesn't know.
"I'm just saying, I can take a hit better. I'm going to put myself between you and danger every time and it's not going to change. You mean too much for me to do anything else. It's not in me to do anything other than that - but it's damned hard to kill me. I'm no regular human."
He's been shot and pulled the slugs out himself, healed up within a day or two. He knows that between the vibranium arm and his strength and stamina he has an advantage over most everyone. He's relying on that.
Her fists suddenly clenched and she raised them to either side of her head, grimacing. "Stop it!" she shouted right back at him. "Stop saying that!" Memories slammed back into her eyes, vivid recollections of his own screams, the violent contortions of his big body as he tried to escape the Chair's ironclad restraints. He'd screamed and screamed. Because of her...
"Just stop it!"
Natasha whirled and hit the back door with enough force to bounce it back on its hinges, but she'd already flown through it, bare feet slapping against the patio brick as she fled down towards the beach. Terror followed her, flashes of deathly cold Siberian winters, needles and restraints, and the monotone dictum of orders, always orders, orders, orders.
She finally stumbled to a halt when she reached the surf, falling to her hands and knees in the frothy salt water, tears of unspent misery obscuring her vision. She couldn't do this, she just couldn't.
Bucky hadn't intended on this at all and like any time he's in a crisis, he starts triaging so he knows what to do next. The first thing to do is to get Natasha safe and calm so he runs after her and kneels beside her, heedless of the surf. She needs him right now and he's going to give her that in whatever form she'll take it.
He wraps his arms around her shoulders and presses a firm kiss to the crown of her head. "Nothing's happening. You're safe. These are just contingencies for situations that won't occur. Remember our training? Remember how we were taught to adapt to anything? This is just another example of that. We're adapting. I'm planning for us so we're not lost if we have to move or if there's a fire fight. That's all, Natasha. Nothing is going to happen to us and if it does, I promise I'll be careful. I promise I won't be reckless for the hell of it. Can you accept that from me?"
Her answer was to hit him with a closed fist, twisting around to flip him to his back in the drenched sand, one small but astonishingly strong hand curled around Bucky's throat. Natasha forced his head back, both of her knees pinning his arms to either side, but before she could succinctly cut off all oxygen, she wrenched back and stumbled away, shaking like a leaf in a windstorm.
"...it-it doesn't matter," she droned through chattering teeth, suddenly so cold she was shivering. "We-we're nothing but-but weapons, aimed and fired by a madman's will." Bring him alive, and unspoiled. She closed her teeth around a scream, but dug her fingers into the sand to keep her fists from clenching.
"I have my orders," she suddenly said, voice wooden. "I'm to retrieve you by whatever means necessary, the ends are justified with the methods." Natasha shook her head, fighting with her programming, feeling like she was splintering into a thousand pieces. "Foil initial attack, earn confidence and trust, and then relocate to secure facility. Engage, coerce, and convince."
She glared at Bucky through her wet hair, eyes like ice. "And you're making it too fucking easy, Soldat."
"Is that what it is, then? You make me feel like my girl's come home to me and then you haul me in? Because I don't think that's what it is," Bucky says. His voice is a little hoarse from being choked but he can still speak and he does, using Romanian purposely instead of English or Russian.
"I've seen you with me, Natasha, and you aren't acting like you're programmed. It hasn't all been an act. Your fear, your longing - you can't fake things like that. Even the best dissembler there is couldn't manage to pull that off. I couldn't."
He stares her down, blue eyes meeting green. "You still care for me, deep down, and that's the real Natasha. That's my Natasha. You're stronger than this and you can fight it. I know you're in there.
The Romanian threw her off guard, since she had to translate even as she spoke. It made doing so a little difficult, but she was nothing if not determined. Natasha faced off with Bucky in the shallow surf, on her guard and inherently wary.
"You know what it is to be unmade," she snapped, wet hair hanging down her back. "You know how hard it is to fight their directives. Did you really believe they wouldn't see this coming? Truly?" Her brows snapped down and she glared right back at him, not giving an inch.
"To disobey is torture. You know that. You know how painful it is to deviate from the mission." She grimaced, a lance of pain shooting through the back of her neck, near the hypothalamus. Then her expression softened, and crumpled. "I don't want to obey them anymore, not if it means losing you!"
She knew what would happen to him if she obeyed her directive. And the thought of that, of the pain and torture he'd suffer because of her, cut into her deeper than a million knives ever could. "I cannot have you hurt again, not because of me!"
The Romanian seems to have gotten her attention, at least, so he eases back into Russian once he knows she's focused on him.
"So bring me in. Let's plan it so we have a way to get in and out but - complete your objective. Bring me in, help me kill the main players and get the code book and get out. There's too much of HYDRA to eliminate them all but if they don't have the book, they can't control me. If you bring me in, the mission's complete."
It's an absolutely idiotic plan and it sounds more Steve Rogers than Winter Soldier. Still, Bucky thinks they can get more done if they stop running from the problem and, instead, face it head on. Without the passwords, he can't be hijacked again and his liability is less. Natasha is different and hearing her say unmade brings back all the awful memories of his torture and knowing what she'd endured during her own.
"We'll fight like hell, you and me. We make a good team, Natasha, and we always have. Let's take them out head on and be free of them once and for all. You up for a trip to Siberia? I hear the weather's great this time of year."
That brought her up short, and Natasha just...stared at him. "...you're serious." It wasn't a question. And then, she shook her head. "No, you're just insane. Do you really believe we could pull something like that off?" She waved one hand, nonplussed. "The moment we arrive, we will be separated, you sent directly to the Chair, and I will be taken for debriefing and forced to witness your reconditioning." She couldn't swallow a pained whimper.
"I can't...I can't go through that again, James. I just can't."
She had no doubt that the moment she signaled, they'd be set upon like a pack of wild dogs on a gazelle; HYDRA was adamant about retrieving its very important and very expensive assets. Bucky they wanted with a vengeance; she ran the risk of being liquidated, or neutralized entirely. But in all likelihood, she'd be held in reserve again, a contingency just in case they lost control over their Fist once more.
All in all, Natasha felt she'd rather be dead.
"This plan is suicide," she muttered, turning away from the water and slowly began trudging back towards the house, hunched in over herself. Only to have her knees give out halfway up the beach, and she simply plunked down in the sand, head in her hands and miserable.
"It is suicide, which is why we aren't going to do it, Bucky says, giving her a wry look. "But running away from me is suicide too, Natasha. It's death by a thousand cuts. I don't want to see you hurt yourself over me anymore. I can take care of myself and I can take care of you."
He kneels down in the sand beside her and just waits for a bit, letting the fresh breeze tousle his hair and smelling the sharp scent of salt from the ocean. He's never had trouble with quiet, really, and especially not now. After a bit, though, he reaches his right hand up and rubs at the back of her neck, trying to soothe her.
"I can't swear to you everything is going to be roses. It's a lie and I don't deal in pretty lies. That's what you do and you're damned good at it. I'm muscle and I'll always be muscle. What I can promise you is that I'm in this with you until the end, no matter what that is. I'm hoping it's the two of us in rocking chairs on a porch somewhere but I'll settle for not being on the run for now. Believe in me if you can't believe in us right now, all right?"
Natasha vented a soft snort; the two of them in rocking chairs whiling away their old age was a ludicrous dream. A pretty one, but a dream all the same. She let him soothe her, however, silently craving his solid strength, his warmth, and his sweet, gentle touch. It was still somewhat alien, but familiar - a memory she'd clung to despite HYDRA's best efforts.
But what else could she do? She was broken, fragmented; she'd last perhaps a day, or less, on her own. For all of her skills, all of her disguises, she was still walking with a target painted bright upon her back. Nevertheless, she lifted her head and looked over at Bucky, gaze glassy and lips set in a thin line.
"I don't really like roses," she deadpanned in English, a brief sparkle of mirth coloring her eyes lighter. Then she reached out, took him by the shirt, and pulled him close, gluing her lips to his.
The kiss is unexpected but it's not unwelcome and even though they're kneeling in the sand, he won't pull away. Not now, not when she needs him. Bucky wraps his arm around her waist and tugs her into his lap so he can get closer still.
The waves are echoing in the background and the breeze is ruffling her hair but all he can feel and think and taste is Natasha. He reaches beneath her shirt to find her bra, metal fingers fumbling a bit with the tiny clasps. Finally, he just rips it and imagines she's got another or that he can get her one if it's necessary.
"I've got to touch you," he gasps out. "I need you."
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maskirovka) wrote2018-04-08 02:44 pm
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Bucky draws closer to her, sets his hands on her shoulders. "We were in a place like this once, yeah. We stayed here for a while and hid away from everyone. I wanted...we wanted to stay forever but we got found out. We ended up having to...well, I ended up with SHIELD and HYDRA punished you for losing me. We were happy in a place like this once, though, and I just wanted you to be happy again. It's a little selfish of me and you have every right to be angry."
It's more than a little selfish, really, but he hopes that Natasha doesn't hold it against him this time.
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Natasha gave him a quick grin, lightly chucked his ribs with her knuckles, then twisted out from under his grasp. "You're up on food duty, malyutka. I'm going for a shower, and to get out of these wrinkled clothes."
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He decides to focus on cooking for now, though, putting his hands to work cooking ardei umpluți. There's no time to make bread tonight but he'll bake some later so they'll have it for the rest of the week. The one good thing about this particular house is that it's already stocked with food in preparation for the couple who was supposed to be here; it's a pity they don't get to take advantage of this grocery delivery.
When he hears Natasha come back from the shower, he lifts his voice a bit so she can hear him. "I'm going traditional tonight, I hope you don't mind. When in Romania, yeah?"
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After dressing and toweling her hair from wet to damp, she padded back into the kitchen just in time to hear her housemate call out, and had to shake her head with a fond smile. Rather than answer back just then, she instead crossed the room to stand just behind him, slide her arms around his waist, place her palms flat to his chest, and rest her cheek against Bucky's broad back, relishing his inherent warmth and clean, masculine scent.
Covertly indulging herself in this simple affection - was it even so simple, really? - Natasha closed her eyes and just held him close, unconsciously submerging herself in his quiet strength. "I don't mind," she murmured against his shirt, involuntarily rubbing her cheek gently along the ridge of his left shoulder. "Smells good." And if he took her to mean the food on the stove, well, that was all right, too.
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He finishes on the stove and puts the lid on the pan so the peppers can simmer without his direct involvement and turns around so he can look at Natasha and give her his full attention. She looks vulnerable like this with damp hair and pale skin and he brushes his thumb over her full bottom lip.
"You're awfully affectionate. We probably need to have a talk about what you remember and what you don't so I can fill in any blank spots for you. Does that sound good or would you rather put it off? I've never...done this so I'm going to go at your speed."
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"...it's still...it's still really blurry, most of it." And more and more things kept surfacing, little snippets of detail that she knew she'd eventually have to compartmentalize, try to put into some semblance of order. But not right now. "There's a lot..." She sighed, shook her head. "There's still a lot that doesn't make sense. And I can't - can't really deal with all of it right now."
Then she looked back up at him, dark eyes serious. "But I do remember what's important, though. I know that you loved me. And I loved you. That's all that really matters right now, isn't it?"
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"You don't have to talk about it, Natasha. I just want you to know that I love you and that there's nothing you can't tell me, good or bad. Your secrets are always safe with me, no matter what they are. Two people can't go through what we have and not come out as close as we are. I'd do anything for you."
Bucky has already turned his life upside down for Natasha. He'd do it again in a heartbeat if it meant keeping her safe. He wants to make sure that nobody looking for them can get a bead on her and if they do, he's willing to throw his body in front of Natasha to keep her from being hurt. He can take the hits.
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You are to bring him in alive; unspoiled if possible... Why did she still hear that command?
Natasha shook her head, forcing a tight smile, and rose on her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to Bucky's cheek. "I know," she told him softly. "But you don't have to. I'm a big girl," she assured him, although her smile didn't quite meet her eyes. "You don't have to worry about me." Even though she knew that he would.
"How long until dinner?" A new segue, anything to change the subject. "The peppers smell wonderful." She forced a little smirk, a small glint appearing in her eyes. "You seem to be quite the chef, Mr. Barnes."
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"Would give anything for a nice slice, though. I've got to figure out how to make real New York pizza on my own. For some reason, the dough never tastes right when I make it. There's something special about it in the city."
Bucky busses a quick kiss against her temple. "Not much longer on the food, though, if you want to start getting the plates down for me."
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Sitting down to a meal felt even weirder, but Natasha put on a smooth countenance and sat across from her companion in relatively easy silence, watching as Bucky bustled about. She'd poured them both water with ice, figuring that clear heads were needed for both of them. Herself, especially. ...particularly since the more she watched him putter about, the stronger the urge became to forego dinner entirely and drag him down the hall to the small bedroom.
Natasha mentally chastised herself. Enough of this foolishness. Enough. So she kept her small smile, pleasantly calm, as he sat down opposite her, and picked up her fork. Time to eat, clean up the kitchen, and ignore this churning want constantly plaguing her inside.
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"How do you like the peppers? Better than my usual, hmm?" Bucky is a decent cook when he gets the time to do it but, unfortunately, he doesn't often get the chance. Right now, it's safer to eat out of sight of everyone and he is relishing the fact that he's actually getting to cook and settle for a little while.
It feels like home, even if they're as far from Brooklyn or upstate as they can possibly be. They're not in Moscow, either, and that had been a home for them for a little while. No, this is different. This is something that's simply theirs and they haven't had to share it with anyone else.
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He'd always made bacon or sausage, eggs, and at least toast, and always coffee. She'd learned to appreciate "American" food thanks to the Soldier's fondness for it, something so ingrained within him that not even HYDRA's painful conditioning could erase.
Natasha took another bite, washing it down with a sip of cold water before remarking, "At least we can sleep in tomorrow, da?" There didn't seem to be much to actually do, other than rest and recuperate. Although the thought of actually remaining in one place made her a little antsy, still. "Just how safe is this place, James? Are we really that far off of the grid?"
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That's his logic, anyway, and he's been on the run before recently. He thinks Steve might find them but he also believes Steve's loyalty to him will override his loyalty to SHIELD. Bucky hopes so, anyway.
"I think we'll be all right here. We're both capable of making a quick escape and you're worth fighting for. I'm not going to let anyone get to you without doing some serious damage first, all right? I care too much and I'm invested in this."
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Natasha suddenly pushed away from the table and, unable to stop, began pacing the length of the small kitchen, jittery and restless. She finally stopped near the door leading outside to the beach, rubbing her arms and staring unseeing out at the sunset glittering over the watery horizon.
"You..." She trailed off, biting her lip before forcing the words out again. "You've been hurt enough because of me, James." Her hands gripped her upper arms. "You should...you should seriously think about what you're saying. I'm not worth your death, and if I somehow did survive, how do you think that would make me feel? Knowing that you died because of me?"
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"I'm just saying, I can take a hit better. I'm going to put myself between you and danger every time and it's not going to change. You mean too much for me to do anything else. It's not in me to do anything other than that - but it's damned hard to kill me. I'm no regular human."
He's been shot and pulled the slugs out himself, healed up within a day or two. He knows that between the vibranium arm and his strength and stamina he has an advantage over most everyone. He's relying on that.
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"Just stop it!"
Natasha whirled and hit the back door with enough force to bounce it back on its hinges, but she'd already flown through it, bare feet slapping against the patio brick as she fled down towards the beach. Terror followed her, flashes of deathly cold Siberian winters, needles and restraints, and the monotone dictum of orders, always orders, orders, orders.
She finally stumbled to a halt when she reached the surf, falling to her hands and knees in the frothy salt water, tears of unspent misery obscuring her vision. She couldn't do this, she just couldn't.
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He wraps his arms around her shoulders and presses a firm kiss to the crown of her head. "Nothing's happening. You're safe. These are just contingencies for situations that won't occur. Remember our training? Remember how we were taught to adapt to anything? This is just another example of that. We're adapting. I'm planning for us so we're not lost if we have to move or if there's a fire fight. That's all, Natasha. Nothing is going to happen to us and if it does, I promise I'll be careful. I promise I won't be reckless for the hell of it. Can you accept that from me?"
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"...it-it doesn't matter," she droned through chattering teeth, suddenly so cold she was shivering. "We-we're nothing but-but weapons, aimed and fired by a madman's will." Bring him alive, and unspoiled. She closed her teeth around a scream, but dug her fingers into the sand to keep her fists from clenching.
"I have my orders," she suddenly said, voice wooden. "I'm to retrieve you by whatever means necessary, the ends are justified with the methods." Natasha shook her head, fighting with her programming, feeling like she was splintering into a thousand pieces. "Foil initial attack, earn confidence and trust, and then relocate to secure facility. Engage, coerce, and convince."
She glared at Bucky through her wet hair, eyes like ice. "And you're making it too fucking easy, Soldat."
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"I've seen you with me, Natasha, and you aren't acting like you're programmed. It hasn't all been an act. Your fear, your longing - you can't fake things like that. Even the best dissembler there is couldn't manage to pull that off. I couldn't."
He stares her down, blue eyes meeting green. "You still care for me, deep down, and that's the real Natasha. That's my Natasha. You're stronger than this and you can fight it. I know you're in there.
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"You know what it is to be unmade," she snapped, wet hair hanging down her back. "You know how hard it is to fight their directives. Did you really believe they wouldn't see this coming? Truly?" Her brows snapped down and she glared right back at him, not giving an inch.
"To disobey is torture. You know that. You know how painful it is to deviate from the mission." She grimaced, a lance of pain shooting through the back of her neck, near the hypothalamus. Then her expression softened, and crumpled. "I don't want to obey them anymore, not if it means losing you!"
She knew what would happen to him if she obeyed her directive. And the thought of that, of the pain and torture he'd suffer because of her, cut into her deeper than a million knives ever could. "I cannot have you hurt again, not because of me!"
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"So bring me in. Let's plan it so we have a way to get in and out but - complete your objective. Bring me in, help me kill the main players and get the code book and get out. There's too much of HYDRA to eliminate them all but if they don't have the book, they can't control me. If you bring me in, the mission's complete."
It's an absolutely idiotic plan and it sounds more Steve Rogers than Winter Soldier. Still, Bucky thinks they can get more done if they stop running from the problem and, instead, face it head on. Without the passwords, he can't be hijacked again and his liability is less. Natasha is different and hearing her say unmade brings back all the awful memories of his torture and knowing what she'd endured during her own.
"We'll fight like hell, you and me. We make a good team, Natasha, and we always have. Let's take them out head on and be free of them once and for all. You up for a trip to Siberia? I hear the weather's great this time of year."
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"I can't...I can't go through that again, James. I just can't."
She had no doubt that the moment she signaled, they'd be set upon like a pack of wild dogs on a gazelle; HYDRA was adamant about retrieving its very important and very expensive assets. Bucky they wanted with a vengeance; she ran the risk of being liquidated, or neutralized entirely. But in all likelihood, she'd be held in reserve again, a contingency just in case they lost control over their Fist once more.
All in all, Natasha felt she'd rather be dead.
"This plan is suicide," she muttered, turning away from the water and slowly began trudging back towards the house, hunched in over herself. Only to have her knees give out halfway up the beach, and she simply plunked down in the sand, head in her hands and miserable.
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He kneels down in the sand beside her and just waits for a bit, letting the fresh breeze tousle his hair and smelling the sharp scent of salt from the ocean. He's never had trouble with quiet, really, and especially not now. After a bit, though, he reaches his right hand up and rubs at the back of her neck, trying to soothe her.
"I can't swear to you everything is going to be roses. It's a lie and I don't deal in pretty lies. That's what you do and you're damned good at it. I'm muscle and I'll always be muscle. What I can promise you is that I'm in this with you until the end, no matter what that is. I'm hoping it's the two of us in rocking chairs on a porch somewhere but I'll settle for not being on the run for now. Believe in me if you can't believe in us right now, all right?"
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But what else could she do? She was broken, fragmented; she'd last perhaps a day, or less, on her own. For all of her skills, all of her disguises, she was still walking with a target painted bright upon her back. Nevertheless, she lifted her head and looked over at Bucky, gaze glassy and lips set in a thin line.
"I don't really like roses," she deadpanned in English, a brief sparkle of mirth coloring her eyes lighter. Then she reached out, took him by the shirt, and pulled him close, gluing her lips to his.
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The waves are echoing in the background and the breeze is ruffling her hair but all he can feel and think and taste is Natasha. He reaches beneath her shirt to find her bra, metal fingers fumbling a bit with the tiny clasps. Finally, he just rips it and imagines she's got another or that he can get her one if it's necessary.
"I've got to touch you," he gasps out. "I need you."
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