maskirovka | overflow / open post

Bucky picks up the phone, confirms it's Steve, and presses end almost as soon as he picks up. They've got his location now, sure, but he's not going to give them any indication of where they're headed.

"Come on, let's go. We need to get to an airport and fast. We need to be on the move constantly and we need to get into the air."

She was dressed in less than five minutes. Packed in three more. Shoving a weapon in her belt as she strode for the door, leaving behind what wasn't absolutely essential. Reality had found them again, it was time to once more fight for survival, and in order to stay one step ahead of the enemy - which was now everyone - they had to keep moving. Never stop, never stop.

God, would they ever?

"Why did you not speak to him?" Natasha asked as Bucky pressed the gas, sending them hurtling back towards the main road. "He is your best friend, is he not?" But she likely knew why: Rogers would be monitored by SHIELD, and there were doubtless agents en route to this location even now.

"I know they're listening. He doesn't have a clean line," Bucky says, trying to drive both as fast and as inconspicuous as possible. "The second I said something, they'd know where we were headed. He has enough to know where we are and he has a start - that's all I can give him. Anything else isn't safe."

Bucky's main objective right now is to keep Natasha safe. He thinks Steve will understand that and, if he doesn't, he'll be glad to explain it to him the next time they can see one another.

"There's someone in SHIELD that claims to know you. Name Barton mean anything to you? A Clint Barton?"

Well, that made sense. She didn't flinch as they hit the main road and Bucky began swerving in and around traffic. Not really keen on anyone knowing their location - particularly anyone from HYDRA or SHIELD - Natasha reached into the back seat, fetched a small laptop from her duffel, and in less than two minutes was skimming over available flights nearby, and acceptable destinations.

Bucky's question, however, brought up from her hacking, and she frowned, brows furrowing. "...maybe." She shook her head. "Sounds...familiar, somehow." Like intel she'd have received for an assignment. But to more pressing matters, given the circumstances, she asked in return, "Where do you want to go?"

"He claims he ran into you in an op in Budapest," Bucky elaborates, trying to focus on the road and getting somewhere as quickly as possible without being conspicuous; getting pulled over is going to be a headache and a half that he'd like to avoid. He sees Natasha hacking out of his peripheral vision and he hopes she's setting up something good for them that will get them out of this country and out from under SHIELD and HYDRA for the time being.

"Says you're one hell of a woman to neutralize. I owe that only partially to my training," he says, chuckling softly. "You were formidable even before I got my hands on you."

One of Natasha's eyebrows went up. "You would be wise to remember that, da?" But there was little heat in her words, just matter-of-fact surety. The name Barton tickled a memory, not one as brutal as Barnes, but it was there, nevertheless.

"...an archer," she murmured suddenly, gazing out of the windshield but not seeing the traffic. "He prefers the bow and arrow to conventional weaponry." She wasn't sure where that'd come from, but it felt right.

"Where do you want to go?" she asked again, turning back to her laptop. "If overseas, we will need passports. But sooner, the better."

"Bulgaria, maybe. We could get to Romania from there over the border without flying," Bucky says. It's something that they might not immediately connect the dots on, really, and as long as they stay in the Baltic, language isn't going to be an issue.

"We'll fly into Sofia and lay low for a bit, then move our way north into Romana," Bucky decides. "It's not obvious like New York or Russia. I think we'll get away with it."

HYDRA was waiting for them at the airport. Natasha spied the first operative just after they'd ditched the vehicle. But she'd insisted that Bucky stop at a small strip mall before arriving, so she was prepared. They'd taught her well, after all. Both of them were now dressed in completely different clothes, Natasha's striking red hair was now concealed beneath a wig of long brunette curls, tied casually at the back of her neck.

She'd managed to obtain fake passports and ID's en route, thus slipping through security was relatively easy. Until she caught a series of familiar faces lurking in certain places. She directed Bucky to fetch their boarding passes, then slipped into the crowd, carefully maneuvering around the operatives, but didn't engage. Doing so would be as obvious as signal fire on a mountaintop, and she wanted no traces of their passing to alert the organizations hunting them.

Back at the gate, Natasha stepped up next to her "husband", sliding her arm through his with a vapid smile. "Are you excited?" she asked, mainly for the benefit of those nearby. "Our first vacation in years, I can hardly believe it!"

"It's hard to get away from the office," Bucky says, affecting a neutral, faintly Canadian accent. It's nondescript and, better, nothing like the Russian or the Brooklyn that people would be looking for. He's gotten good at blending in over the past few years and the shave and haircut at the strip mall salon had done wonders. It's not great, no, but it does the trick. They're looking for someone with long hair and three days' stubble.

"You know how it is, hon. If you're good at something, you end up getting co-opted into every project there is. I just hate that it means you don't ever get to go anywhere with me."

It's surprisingly easy to fall into a couple's banter with Natasha and when Bucky sees two men easing toward him, he turns his back and pulls Natasha close to him and kisses her without warning. They won't see their faces even if they pass close by and PDA is going to put them off regardless.

She'd just opened her mouth to quip back something witty, schooling her voice to match his, nondescript and plain, but before she could, Bucky was snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her around, his mouth descending on hers and muffling her soft squeak of surprise. But from beneath her lashes, she spied the reason: two overly curious blokes in almost identical dress stepping far too close, so she gave in, winding her arms around her "husband's" neck, letting her fingers play in the short hair at his nape.

Natasha kissed him right back, open-mouthed and hungry, letting herself fall further into the "part", and grinning into their affection like a love-sick adolescent, even bumping his nose with hers when they pulled slightly apart. "I'm glad you managed to convince them," she breathed in a twinkling tone. She noted those around them taking pains not to notice their antics. Worked every time. "I can't wait to have you all to myself, for once."

She hugged him to her, lips barely moving at his ear. "They've moved on. Let's get in line to board."

When Bucky sees the agents move on, he starts to pull away when he feels Natasha's lips at his ear. The kiss had been damned good, yes, but it'd been an act to keep them from being found out. What she's doing now isn't a necessary part of the show and it sends a bolt of heat flashing down his spine.

"Yeah, let's board. Tell them you're pregnant or something so we can board early," Bucky says. "The sooner we're on the plane, the safer we're going to be. If they don't spot us, they won't get on and follow."

He hopes so, anyway. He's a little distracted at the moment.

She giggled, low and sultry, yet another aspect of their "cover". "We don't have to wait," Natasha told him with a coy little grin. "We have first class tickets." And she deftly plucked their boarding passes out of his jacket, waving them under his nose playfully. "But it's almost time anyway, so let's go." Taking his gloved hand in hers, Natasha towed her "husband" towards the terminal gates. "The sooner we get settled, the better."

Appropriately flirtatious and playful as she handed off their boarding passes to the gate attendant, Natasha kept a tight grip on her companion the entire time. She watched the crowd behind him carefully, every alert for any too-curious onlookers to appear over his shoulder. Only when they both stepped off of the extension bridge and onto the plane, greeted by solicitous crew members, did she let her shoulders ease, expelling a covert breath of relief.

...unless... Her eyes narrowed. No, there was no way SHIELD or even HYDRA could have predicted what flight they'd have taken, or that they were even leaving the country. And this was Canada, surveillance was scarce here. But she nevertheless dropped atop the small couch in their cabin, letting her head fall back against the panel when Bucky firmly closed the privacy door behind them.

"...finally."

"Smart move, booking first class. I would have gone coach to look unassuming but we get the privacy this way. Nobody's going to be looking for us up here." There's a chance that some of the flight crew might be plants but Bucky is hoping they aren't. There's no way to know that they'd be taking this flight, anyway, so it'd have been hard to plant in the first place.

"Do you mind if I stretch my legs a bit? These cabins suck when you're anything over 5'6"," Bucky says. "And I passed that when I was in sixth grade, doll, so I've got to have some room to move."

"Coach was too crowded, same for economy class. Nowhere to go if we were spotted." She snorted softly, switching to the padded chair to cede Bucky the couch. "At least up here, if we have to, we can hide a body without much difficulty."

A knock just outside had her glancing up sharply, but she adopted that same fake, vapid smile and quickly shoved Bucky down on the couch and half-draped herself across his lap, calling in that same inflectionless voice, "Yes? Come in." And made some show of sitting up properly, pretending to adjust her clothing as the smiling stewardess appeared around the screen.

"Good afternoon," the woman said in that rote, sing-song voice, then launched into her practiced spiel regarding safety, service, and satisfaction, indulging the "vacationing couple" their lovesick little nuances before discreetly withdrawing once more. Still seated on Bucky's thigh, her legs stretched out over his lap and the rest of the couch, Natasha rolled her eyes and vented another small snort.

"Maybe there won't be any more interruptions for the next several hours, eh? Unless they're bringing food, then that's all right."

"Might as well just make yourself comfortable. I'm only going to be comfortable this way," Bucky points out. "But you shouldn't be deprived of the couch just because my legs are longer. You don't weigh that much, after all."

That's said with a twinkle in his eye. He remembers the relationship they used to have even if Natasha doesn't have all of her memories and he can admit to himself he wants to be a little selfish and have her in his lap for eight or ten hours where there's no where else they can go.

"Only if you don't mind."

One of her eyebrows went up. "I don't mind," she told him, a little cheeky, "but there's more than enough room for little ol' me." Natasha gingerly shifted around until she was sitting astride Bucky's lap, and draped her arms over his shoulders as she gazed at him softly.

"This is better, da</i?" More fitting for their "cover", but who was pretending anymore? "We should take off soon, and land in about fifteen hours." Plenty of time for...what? Her gaze drifted across Bucky's face, resting briefly on his lips, before meeting his eyes again.

Bucky knows he ought not get too attached to this. It's a role right now, a game, and throwing themselves headlong into it is the best way to make it seem real for anyone they run into. Everyone they see is going to remember the nice Canadian couple on a romantic holiday and not two cagey Russians looking over their shoulder for agents from not one but two clandestine organizations. Bucky cups her cheek.

"I think you're supposed to have your seatbelt on right now, doll. You wouldn't want to go flying around the cabin or something."

It was sheer instinct to lean her cheek into his hand, rubbing her skin against his. Yes, she could insist that it was for the purpose of their cover, but internally Natasha knew that was just a fabrication. She was drawn to this man, for reasons she neither understood nor wanted, anymore, to understand. She simply didn't care. Their lives were forfeit, there was no way to know when a bullet would find either of them, so what was the point in pretending?

She turned her head slightly to press her lips to the center of his palm, and looked back at Bucky with hooded eyes. "Do you want me to move?" She knew he didn't, the tense muscles beneath her bespoke of his true inclinations, but prudence was probably the best idea, at least for the time being. So instead of waiting for an answer, Natasha sighed softly, shifted, and eased off of Bucky's lap to return to the seat across, silently buckling her seatbelt as the intercom came to life, informing all passengers of the plane's impending departure.

"No," Bucky says, voice low and husky. Having Natasha in his lap is dangerous for his resolve, really, and he doesn't know how long he's going to be able to keep up a facade that this is for show and real feelings aren't involved. He isn't certain that real feelings aren't involved - at least on his part.

"I'd rather you stay close. We've had a hard few days. I'd kind of like to keep you close for a little while so I don't have to worry about where you've gotten off to."

Well, that had things low in her stomach doing the Cossack dance. Natasha just stared at him, nonplussed, then the roar of jet engines shook her out of that trance - thank God - and she pressed back into the seat as the plane began to lumber along the runway. She glanced out of the window, not really seeing the asphalt rolling by.

"...when we reach cruising speed," she heard herself promise, then looked back across at her companion. It simply wasn't fair, she realized, gazing at him, that the man sported a jawline sharp enough to hone a knife. Or that a simple haircut had transformed his former rag-tag hobo appearance into something right out of a...a...Playgirl magazine.

"The couch folds out," Natasha told him, gesturing at the lever beneath the cushion. "We should be able to...get some sleep." Or something.

"I think so," Bucky says. He wishes that Natasha wasn't wearing the wig because he could play with her hair and lull her to sleep. After the days they've had, they deserve the respite, and he wants to rekindle their relationship. It's horrible that she cannot remember but he cannot help but think but maybe she could remember if they kissed and touched the way they had before.

"Probably should, since we're going to have to hit the ground running. I'll hold up the facade while we doze. Nobody is going to question two lovebirds cuddling in a private bunk, right? He doesn't think so.

The dilemma was easily solved when Natasha absently pulled out the few pins holding the brunette locks in place, pulling the wig off of her head and letting scarlet curls tumble free. The blasted thing itched, anyway. And she could always reset it before they deplaned; she was an old hat at altering her appearance. Her mouth twitched in amusement, however, at Bucky's comment, and she shook her head as the plane rumbled down the runway, picking up speed as the engines accelerated.

"No, I don't think they would." They'd better not, if they knew what was the smarter option.

True to her promise, she slipped out of her shoes, jacket, and jeans, the better to settle down for a long trans-Atlantic doze. When the cockpit signaled it was safe to unbuckle belts and move about, she made Bucky get up so they could pull out the small couch and the redhead was the first to crawl into it, flopping down with a tired sigh, but immediately held out a hand, beckoning.

"Lie down with me, James...please.."

Bucky can't resist her invitation and he slides closer, pulling Natasha into his arms. He loves her and never stopped. It makes this harder than it ought to be, honestly, because he wants more than Natasha can truly give him right now. He doesn't want to push but when he has an invitation like this...who is he to refuse? He can't. He's not good enough for that.

"I'll keep you safe. I always have," Bucky promises her. "And just so you know? You're the only woman that's ever called me James. Everyone else has called me Bucky. Not James. James only belongs to you."

It was simplicity itself, to slide right into those strong, mismatched arms. Natasha let him pull her close, instinctively molding her small frame against his. The bunk was on the small side, but they managed, with the redhead all but draped across the soldier's broad chest, her arms tight around his torso and one bare leg thrown over his hip. Even before they stopped shifting, her lips were seeking his, for soft little kisses that had her whimpering in short order.

"I believe you," she whispered against his mouth. She might not recall everything they had shared, but she did indeed believe that he'd protect her with his last breath. He'd proven that already. A small hand skated through Bucky's short hair, cupping his cheek as she kissed him again, lips lingering with reciprocated want. "Da," she agreed, voice gone husky with barely suppressed desire, "James is mine. Mine and only mine."

She nuzzled his nose with hers, all but purring as she shifted and slid against him. "...just as Natalia is always yours..."

This is more than he expected in a semi-public place and while Bucky isn't exactly a prude he also wants to do a hell of a lot more with Natasha than the cabin of an airplane is going to let him do. He has to settle for her draped across his lap, smooth curves and delicate features, and he has to kiss her.

It's a deeper kiss than before, no longer dancing around the edges. He wants and it's evident in the way he cups her face in his hands and slants his mouth over hers.

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