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bakerstreet2016-06-01 12:13 pm
thelongcon) wrote in bakerstreet2016-06-01 12:13 pm
Tall trees bend and lean
the ON THE RUN meme
Sometimes, these things happen. Sometimes, you're in just the wrong place at just the right time, or you've made the wrong (or right, depending on your intentions) person mad. Sometimes it's better for everyone if you just go. Sometimes there isn't time for good-bye.
You've managed to lose yourself somewhere out there, for whatever reason it was. Maybe you took someone with you (willingly? not?), or you found someone else who needed to disappear as badly as you did. You're in your car, or a cheap hotel, or a house by the side of the road. What else can you do but watch, and wait?
It could have been as simple as being glimpsed at the 7-11. Your phoneline wasn't as secure as you thought. You locked eyes with the wrong person across the room. Now the house of cards is collapsing, and maybe not just your life, but the lives of everyone you love could be in jeopardy now. The walls are closing in, and your arms are giving out.
- post with your character's name and canon. if you have an on-the-run AU, or scenarios you might want to play out, mention them here.
- find others. tag them.
- and then, run.
SOURCE
hastily
Re: Bucky Barnes | MCU
She's halfway through wrapping the top of her leg where a bullet had to be dug out with a knife when the small scanner that has been calculating codes for hours finally beeps. A pressurized hiss lets her know that the code to unlock the Winter Soldier from his icy slumber has been cracked. As the hatch draws open, she's caught by surprised that he's missing his arm (although that shouldn't be too surprising, really). She sighs, because she already knows that if he agreed to going under again—if that was what he wanted—he was not going to be thrilled with the change of plans. She looks around the sparse cabin that she's made into a safe house. There isn't much in the way of visible weaponry, but with one arm down, she feels pretty confident now that she can take him on if it comes to it, even with the searing pain in her leg (along with all the bruises and cuts that come along with having to hand someone their ass while protecting a Buckcicle). Steve said that he was more himself when he went back under, but that gave no guarantee as to who he'd be once he thawed out. ]
Time to wake up.
no subject
There was a reason they didn’t have him immediately running missions after cryo.
He wakes up still strapped to the cradle, disoriented enough that he doesn’t think to just bully his way out of it by brute force. His head lolls, hair still dusted with frost as he sucks in his first breath and gets the tang of blood. Not his (he thinks). Someone else. It takes him a few seconds delay to register Natasha’s voice. Bucky lifts his head then, trying to will his vision to snap back into focus, getting a blur that looks like a woman with familiar red hair ]
...Romanoff. [ Bucky’s voice comes out a dull croak. He wets his lips ] What’s going on? Where’s Steve?
[ Vision’s still a crapshoot but from what he can tell, this doesn’t look much like Wakanda: not enough jungle and modern white steel, too much old-cabin-in-the-woods vibe, right down to flannel over the fire place and he bets there’s a mounted deer somewhere around here too. If he’s being thawed out, either they somehow fixed HYDRA’s programming while he was out or – and that’s the part he doesn’t want, the “or” - or they haven’t and he's still a walking time bomb. Could be Romanoff’s here with an agenda of her own.
Given her MO, he can't say he's too surprised. ]
no subject
That's a good question. I don't know.
[ She sees little point in lying. She could find Steve if she had to, but he'd asked her to deal with this, so that's what she intended to do. ]
He asked me to get you somewhere safe. I don't think he necessarily trusts T'Challa, in spite of his...revelation that you weren't the one who killed his father.
[ He had been the one that had killed Tony’s father though and that is something she still doesn’t not know if she’ll ever be able to smooth over or make better. Some things were just beyond repair, and she has a feeling that’s one of them.
She backs up to give him a little space. He’s slow and groggy waking up. She doesn’t know how long that sort of thing takes because she’s never been frozen herself. They would have had to fight her to the death to get her to willingly agree to it, and technically, if she were dead, that still wouldn’t be an agreement. ]
We haven’t figured out how to fix you yet.
[ She knows that’s a question that he will want an immediate answer to. ]
But you’re also not around anyone that knows the words.
[ It’s a lie, she knows them, but that certainly wouldn’t give him any measure of comfort. ]
And if it’s any consolation to you at all, I can still kick your ass with one hand behind my back if you want a fair fight.
[ It’s only meant to be slightly goading. There was a time, long ago, when he knew her. He’d lost a lot of that memory, but she never had. For the moment, she only wants to keep him calm, if slightly annoyed at her for waking him up, and for reminding him that his biggest advantage was no longer attached to his body. ]
no subject
Steve's a big boy. Even with the room and Romanoff's pretty face swimming before him, he has confidence that Steve can handle himself. ]
T'Challa could've killed me back there as soon as Steve's back was turned.
[ Bucky's going to be difficult and not take Natasha at her word. How could he? She's a liar by trade: she'd have to be good to make it as far as she did. The look he gives her is flat, almost too-neutral as if he's trying to keep anything else from showing on his face. That was the easy part about being the Winter Soldier - you did the job, you didn't care about who knew what words, who had the keys, what might happen to the people you liked. While he believes Steve, that trust doesn't extend to his spy friend. She could be telling the truth or this could be some long-term agenda for all he knows.
The corners of his mouth twitches. The words. The usual, knee jerk guilt slash fear surges up like bile. Even just the idea of them sends get the hell out of here nerves firing, his muscles wanting to tense up all of a sudden. Bucky swallows, blinking quickly before he breaks eye contact with Romanoff to look down at the cradle's straps, then around the cabin. His good hand curls into a fist as he tests the restraints ]
You sure about that fair fight? Looks like someone tagged you.
[ He nods at her injured leg, figuring that's the source of the blood he picked up after he finished thawing out. When he looks at Romanoff, he's still missing that hint of recognition, the days they'd sneak some time together after training. To him, she's just an operative he shot. Wouldn't be the first ]
no subject
[ She gestures around the room to a whole lot of, well, privacy. ]
But I'm not planning to stab you in the back, or the front for that matter.
[ A hand comes up and she rakes back the shock of red hair from her face. There's a cut above her eyebrow, but it's already half on the way to healed. The wound in her leg would take longer, but not more than a couple of days. ]
It's nothing serious. When I came to get you...I wasn't there alone, and I didn't bring them with me, and they had different ideas about what was going to happen to you.
[ Natasha watches his eyes and it's like looking in a mirror in a way because her own have been so impassive as well, but that's not the look she wears now. Perhaps it was the pain, blood loss, or exhaustion, but for the barest second, the mask slips, revealing something far softer, and something that was hurt because he could look at her and still not know who she was. It snaps back into place almost as quickly as it flinched and she forces herself to stand up. She minimizes the limp in her step as much as she can, after all, she's had to run with worse injuries than this. Her hand comes to rest on the release that would end his restraint. ]
You don't believe me, and you don't have to, Buck. But you should know that Steve trusts me, and I trust him, otherwise I'd have put you down myself.
[ When she is honest, it's rarely subtle. ]
You both want a magical solution for how fucked you are in the head, I get it. I've been...completely undone, unmade, remade, perhaps not as many times as you have, but it has been as violent. And I, unfortunately, have memories of all of it. I think...Steve knows. Knows that there isn't an easy way to do this, but he also knows that he'd let you kill him in the process...and that I won't.
[ The straps holding him release their grip and she takes a step back to give him room so that he didn't feel like she was threatening him. At least not immediately, anyway. ]
So now we're here and we're either going to fix you, or one of us is going to end up dead.
[ The idea that Natasha is actually just doing this because she knows Steve wanted his best friend back seems unrealistic, especially considering he's shot her (now more than once) and has nearly killed her on other occasions. Two scars she wore came from him, and they were the largest and ugliest of the many. Perhaps this is just another mission to her, but of a different sort. The kind Steve wasn't comfortable with because it got messy emotionally as well as physically, but as Nick Fury had said 'Romanoff is comfortable with everything', but judging from her posture, she's tense as well; she doesn't know what to expect because he's not who she once knew, and he's not the Winter Soldier. He's somewhere in between and the waters there are tumultuous and uncharted. ]
If you try to run, I will hunt you down, know that. You are too dangerous to be let loose in the world, but we need you too much to let you sleep through it.
no subject
I'm surprised they got in that deep. How did they find out I was in Wakanda?
[ Because there's a leak and call it his professional opinion, but he'd want that taken care of. Permanently. Sure, he knows that Steve considers Romanoff a friend and on paper, he guesses she is judging from everything she's done for the guy. Even saw her step in and secure their escape with his own two eyes. It's still hard to ignore the fact that she's a very, very well trained spy, as good as selling just enough truth to distract from the knife sliding in between the ribs. The picture she gives him to fill in the blanks is this scenario where she was on her own and she jumped in, saved him from getting killed while he was in cryo.
From the look on Bucky's face, he's struggling to remember how to feel grateful. The feeling wasn't something HYDRA cared to cultivate.
He wets his lips, the gesture surprisingly human considering his decades of destabilization and good, old-fashioned assassinations. ]
And how did you want to use me? [ Because if it was really his choice, he'd be in cryo. Not out and conscious, receptive to the trigger words. ] Somehow I doubt you got the tools to fix me here.
[ It looks like a crappy cabin out in the sticks, not some lab with cutting edge tech. Bucky figures the restraints being released are a good sign just as he inches his hand out to grip the edge of the tank. He waits for a few minutes, taking in a deep breath, blinking the melting frost from his eyelashes, and he immediately rehearsals a route to the closest area to sit (couch) before anything else. Coming out of the ice has always been when he's at his weakest short of actually being in it. Right now he gives his legs a good two, three strides before they collapse under him.
Darting one last glance at Natasha, Bucky jerks himself out of the cryo tank, visibly swaying as he sinks into the couch with a groan. He knows where she stands (well, where she says she stands: they're not the same) and she basically told him she won't be soft. She'll treat him like an oversized, rabid dog if it comes to that.
Okay then. ]
no subject
[ Natasha sighs quietly and walks over to the couch where he'd collapsed. It was where she'd been sitting before he woke up, and she'd been in the middle of wrapping her leg and now she could finish it. ] Why do you assume automatically that I want to use you for anything?
[ She knows damn well why he'd think that, she would too in his position, so she didn't wait for a response before adding, ] Steve asked me to help, I'm helping. Besides, breaking in there was an interesting challenge up until I found you. [ It had gone distinctly south after that point, but the smirk on her face suggests that 'south' in this case meant it was more fun. Natasha loves a challenge. She's not sure if the one in front of her is bigger than she can handle though, but she's all confidence and surety on the outside. ]
As far as fixing you...I don't need tools for that. Just time.
[ Because zapping his brain again wasn't going to do anyone any favors and you can't just erase things like that. If that were true, he would have never been able to remember who Steve was. ]
You don't need me to tell you it isn't going to be easy. So we're going to burn some incense, do some yoga, and kick each other's asses until your brain heals up enough to start connecting some of your old memories back together.
[ She's probably being a smart ass. No, she's definitely being one, at least about the first two options. ] You can't be fixed by machines as easily as you were broken by them. I'm not here to perform miracles or surgery. I'm here to keep you safe while you heal. Being in cryo won't do that, if anything it just delays it.
no subject
Most people would. [ At least in his world they did. The idea that someone would rescue him just because it seemed the right thing to do feels weird, almost like a different form of nausea. He's got no clue what to do with the feeling. ] Somehow I doubt you're doing this without a reason.
[ There's something in it. Something that benefits. That's how it's always worked in their neck of the woods, the area that Steve isn't as familiar with no matter what he tells himself. Way back when Bucky would've sat up at a pretty woman with a limp and blood and immediately jumped in to play hero - now he weighs if it's genuine or a form of cover, right up until she's close enough to whip out the knife. It's how HYDRA worked. Given what he saw of the other groups, KGB, SSR turned SHIELD, and he can't say he's seen enough to believe that this could be any different.
He just has to be wrong once. ]
So let me get this straight. You're gonna make sure SHIELD doesn't know where I am and you'll beat the crap out of me in the meantime. [ In which case he doesn't intend to stand there and let her swing at him. Muscle memory thanks to his training won't allow that ] I don't see how that's healing.
[ But from the uncomfortable expression on his face that he can't exactly hide, it's not like he has any better ideas. The fact she describe him as broken stings but it does it in that special way things do when they're one hundred percent true.
Bucky tips his chin toward her leg, the tell-tale splotch of red indicating she's bleeding through her field dressing. It's the kind of injury he would've targeted first before he went in for the kill. ]
How's the leg looking?
no subject
I never said I didn't have a reason, I already told you the reason. Steve asked for my help. He wants his old Bucky back, even though that's not how it works. He's not willing to accept that completely. Some of it is gone forever, but he seems to forget...even when you remember who you were...you still know what you became and that leaves you a very different person than either.
[ The emotion behind that comes from experience. Natasha has had memories erased, had been forced to commit some atrocious horrors (but many she'd done of her own free will, so maybe that makes her the fucked up one in this equation) and the two memories merging are incongruent and terrible. She is a very different person than who she's been in the past, but the past is all still ever-present in her mind. ]
I've already made sure that SHIELD doesn't know you're here. They'd have been waiting. [ Which was probably true, although she could still be lying about it. She just wasn't. ] And I would prefer not to hit you at all, but I'm prepared to do it if I have to. Steve would let you walk up to him and snap his neck just to try and help you. If I get killed, it won't be for lack of trying. If you have a flashback...if you come after me, I'll defend myself, but I don't plan on attacking you if that's your concern. But if you would like to try yoga...
[ Her tone comes across teasing, but her current concern is that she's bleeding through the bandages. Her expression is distrustful when she looks up at him again, because she thinks in the same way an assassin does--go for the weak spot. But trust seems to be the name of the game here, and she can't expect to get it without giving some on her end as well. ] It will heal.
[ She settles on something that isn't a lie, in fact, it's a truth because she knows it will heal, it just hurts like hell and she's losing more blood than she'd anticipated. She needs to properly wrap it and not try and half-ass it with a patchwork job on the outside of her leg while she was still wearing pants. Maybe she would have gotten to that if it had taken longer to decrypt the pass code to let him out of cryo. As it stands, she doesn't want to leave him alone the room while she changes, and it would just get blood everywhere anyway, so she cuts the pant leg off starting around mid-thigh. At least this part he knows she's not faking because it's a literal bloody mess, made worse by having to dig a bullet out before he'd woke up. This makes it easier for her at least, because she can pack and wrap everything tight enough to stop the blood flow so that everything could heal. It always did. ]
One more scar, [ she says, ] but at least it's not another one from you. [ Yet. She finishes tying off the bandage and leans back against the couch. It is musty because it hasn't been properly lived in for quite some time, but at least it's comfortable. ]
[ Natasha lets her head fall to the side so that she's looking at him instead of the ceiling. She feels gross, covered in drying blood and grime. It had been a long few days to get him here. And she knows that's not even the hard part. ]
It's going to be worse while you sleep. [ Actively sleeping, if there was such a thing. She's pretty sure she's not telling him anything he doesn't know, but that's probably going to be the thing that brings them to blows because there is a whole lot of healing and piecing itself back together that his brain has to do, and who he is in that process isn't who he'll be at the end of it. He's dangerous even now, although he's sluggish. Natasha has never won a fight against him, not really, and certainly not on her own. She isn't foolish enough to attack him for no reason. She also wouldn't give him his arm back if she had it sitting in her lap at that second either. Right now she has the advantage, but she still realizes she's swimming with sharks. ]
I'm not going to hold any of it against you, [ she adds in a quieter voice. In her tone is the proof that she knows what she's getting into, and that there were going to be a lot of long nights. Some more violent than others. Some he'd probably never want her to speak of again, but she's prepared to weather that storm. And it could be that she's the only one really qualified to do it. Steve wants Bucky back. Tony wants him dead. T'Challa was content to keep him frozen forever. Natasha's only agenda at the moment was Bucky and his safety while he's enduring the worst of getting his own mind back. After that, she'd let him decide who and what he wanted to pledge his allegiance and trust in. ]
no subject
Where Natasha controls the flow of information by being the sole provider of it, Bucky goes for the other method - keeping his mouth mostly shut so he can observe and catch up and try not to think how it was easier when all he had to do was point and shoot, not worry about who his allies were. Back then if he was told they were in his squad than that was it, he immediately accepted it. No worrying about agendas. Simple. ]
I'm not worried about nightmares if that's what you're getting at. I don't assassinate people in my sleep. [ He has a love-hate relationship with when even he can't stay up anymore: there's the times where he just passes out and there's nothing, it's just a void and that's fine, he doesn't mind the heaviness of his limbs. It's the other nights he doesn't care for, the memories struggling back in, the tang of blood and fear and the worst of is the begging he ignored over the years, the words sliding off like water against oil ] Think I'll skip the yoga.
[ But he has dabbled in meditation - or what Bucky thinks is the closest thing to meditation he can manage when he's always looking over his shoulder. Listening for creaks that could be someone who knows what he is. What he's done.
His eyes drop to assess Romanoff's injury out of instinct as if he's already making up in his mind if she's combat ready. Anyone else and he'd have his doubts. Someone with her track record and he figures she doesn't need babysitting.
Bucky shifts on the couch, pushing himself so he can sit up a little without feeling like his recovering body is going to melt through the old cushions. Just like every other time he's been out of cryo, his forehead breaks out into a sweat, his body going through the usual trembling even as his skin flushes like it's trying to compensate. Usually around now they'd be dragging him to the chair, not expecting him to have a conversation that keeps hitting close to home. Jaw working for a moment as he focuses on Romanoff, he finally speaks up again: ]
I think it's a little late to be forgiven. [ He shifts again, uncomfortable, not wanting to go into how much in control he was - wasn't - and especially not with someone who would actually understand. Not that Steve's an angel. He killed, but that had been for good reasons, against the Nazis and HYDRA and he'd stood by what he believed in.
Bucky reaches up to touch his arm's stump, fingers playing against the black fabric they stretched across it ]
So how is this working out? You locking me in to make sure I don't get ideas? [Or do the ex-assassin's version of sleepwalking? So far he hasn't had any incidents but you never know. It doesn't help when he still doesn't know what other easter eggs they might've left in his mind, hidden until someone says the right thing or the right variables fall into place ] Do you know how to work that?
[ Bucky jerks his thumb at the open cryo tank. If she wants to make absolutely sure he's safe and secure, that's the way to go. A door he could kick down. Windows? Even easier. ]
no subject
As long as you're alive it's not too late. You aren't the only one who's done terrible things. [ She knows her own ledger is drowned in so much blood that it will probably never dry out completely, but if redemption was a thing a person like her could achieve, then she'd done a fair job of it (depending on who you asked, Tony, for instance, was not her biggest fan at the moment).
He wants to know exactly how this plan of hers is going to work and he asks her if she knows how to work the cryo tank, as if she hadn't just broken him out of it--Ha! ...she knows exactly nothing about how to close him back in there though. That part she decides to lie about, but that's more for his sake than her own. He seems uncomfortable, anxious even, and she understands that. She just isn't going to put him back in the tank. ] If necessary, yes. But like I said, keeping you frozen isn't going to help you. You're as good as dead inside that thing. You can't heal, you can't think, you can't remember what happened.
[ Suddenly, as close as she was, she's even closer, but it's to the side without an arm. Her own hand is poised out of sight to block if he tries to strike her, because this time it's intended to startle him a bit, and her voice has dropped into something lower, honeyed. A very particular set of skills. ] However, if you insist on restraints, I have plenty of those. [ The goal is to catch him off guard again, get him a little off-balance, just in case he wasn't already feeling wobbly enough. ]
no subject
It helps when you put it into perspective like that.
[Because she's right, he isn't the only killer in the room. It doesn't change what he's done but still. It helps a little. Facing Natasha is somehow different than facing Steve, facing the weight of his successful missions and knowing he can't be the man he grew up with. With Romanoff there isn't that same history. As far as he's concerned, they're both professionals temporarily on the same side.
Bucky sits there listening to Romanoff. Maybe he doesn't want to think some days. Maybe it's easier to turn it all off if he can, catch himself almost missing how cryo steals away his thoughts and his senses and then feels guilty that he wishes he could run from what he is, what he's done. When Natasha suddenly leans over his life, he's aware that she's closer than he wants, well within striking range, his whole body tensing up like it's knows she's ex-KGB and it wants to take her out. He forces it back down and it's easier when she catches him by surprise with that remark.
Bucky gives a startled little jerk despite himself]
I'd just break out of them.
[He turns then while keeping his movements slow and telegraphed, like he's either trying not to spook her or, more accurately, he's trying keep this civil, without weapons involved. There's a hint of challenge now as his eyes lift and he stares at her. What's your angle is written on his face and underneath it, there might just be a hint of interest, the kind he wasn't allowed to have in HYDRA]
Do I want to know what you've done with those restraints?
no subject
You'd just break out of them? You aren't giving me a lot of credit for my use of restraints. [ The interest in his gaze feels like a double-edged sword; it's both exciting, and at the same time, painful. Because he doesn't remember her, not really. She manages to keep that off of her expression, barely.
Instead, she shifts her attention back to him instead of letting it focus inwards. Natasha had been leaning over the back of the couch but stands up again and walks in measured steps around the side of the couch. ] You want me to tell you? Or did you want me to show you? [ It's his unspoken challenge thrown right back at him, but audibly. This is the part Natasha is good at—the game, the chase. Intimacy is far trickier, but this? This is fun for her, and she'd be lying if a small part of her wasn't enjoying it because she hasn't won a fight against him yet. The war games he has been made to play have all been physical—and that she can do, but the volley back and forth of words and glances—these are her specialty.
If he thinks it's going to get better, that she'd back off a little to let him recover, he's got another think coming. ] Can you walk yet? [ That question does have an agenda attached to it, but she doesn't hide it. ] I need to shower and I'm not leaving you unsupervised to try and make your great escape. You can either move it to the bed where I can see you... [ She pauses for a beat and lifts an eyebrow. ] Or you can join me. Either way, unrestrained, I'm not leaving you out here. [ Poor Bucky, he had not woke up prepared for her, but really, it was damn near impossible for anyone to be completely ready to take her head on. Of the 28 Black Widow agents, she's the only one still standing, and there's a reason for that. ]
no subject
[He's in danger of falling into the trap of almost liking Romanoff and her sense of humor. Apparently she has one. That still doesn't mean he'd trust her (sorry, Steve) but he catches himself almost starting to smile when she shows she's quick on her feet, turning this into something else that isn't just a chaperone and her prisoner.
He tracks her as she walks around the couch, unconsciously reaching up with his good hand to tuck his damp hair behind his ear. So that's how it's going to be. Part-flirting - pretty sure this is her version of flirting; more importantly, getting the lay of the land - and part assessment. Bucky wouldn't be surprised if this is Romanoff's way of getting the lay of the land, seeing how much he remembers in terms of being a red-blooded guy or if he's still shades of the Winter Soldier. He remembers a few of the expendable low grade HYDRA rank and file trying to come onto him, not realizing he wasn't just another one of them. He hadn't put out; they might as well be flirting with the furniture for all the good it did.
The weird thing is experiencing even a hint of attraction these days, after all that time. Maybe it's the fact she's practically daring him to make a choice, testing where his comfort levels take a nose dive.
Bucky makes it a point to look her dead in the eyes.]
Fine. I'll join you.
[He can see if she's slipping off to a phone or weapons. That's what he tells himself as he lurches up, his balance already starting to recover from the cryo faster than a normal man would. There's a lot less wobbling this time, less of the dazed glassiness saying he was trying to clear his head. He'll admit he wouldn't mind an actual shower. Something to wash off that weird sinus-pinch smell of cryo that he can't exactly put a finger on, hospital-sharp and nauseating. ]
You first.
[He gestures toward where he thinks the bathroom is, making it a point to glance around the room like he's scoping out exits and interest and choke points if the safe house got compromised]
no subject
If she's completely honest, she's actually a little surprised at his response, but the only indication of that is that the lifted eyebrow inches up just a touch more. As if to say 'Oh really?' But he was serious because in the next moment he's rocked up off the couch and is insisting she be the first one to go towards the bathroom. She doesn't miss that he's checking the exists, entrances, places that would make a good holding point vs. where they could easily bottleneck and get killed. She's already done all of that though, so it lets her keep her eyes on him.
Considering she's only given him the option of the bedroom or the shower with her, it shouldn't be too much of a surprise that there's only one bed in the room, but it's large enough that they could feasibly share space without touching. The bedroom looks more comfortable and lived in than the rest of the place, and there were enough feminine touches to suggest that this was her hiding place alone, it isn't one that any of the other Avengers cycle into and out of. That would, after all, defeat the purpose. The bathroom is much in the same regard, but she's thought ahead enough to supply soaps and toiletries that were more neutrally gendered. The door remains open while she starts the shower, and the steam says it's going to be near-scalding, but that's just her preferred temperature for removing blood.
Natasha Romanoff—for the record—has zero shame, and if she's got an ounce of self-consciousness or doubt, she doesn't show it (but then again, she couldn't, because that's the kind of thing that got you dead in a hurry). Her back is to him when she shrugs the jacket off and tosses it over a chair. The tank top she was wearing under that comes off next. There are remnants of scars, mostly fine white lines, but when she turns, his two are the most visible. The one on her stomach has mostly slicked-over with scar tissue, but it's still dark at the edges, and it one on her shoulder is worse. Bye bye bikinis, and apparently anything with spaghetti straps. She looks him over and steps closer, she probably doesn't have any weapons on her, or at the very least they're lower down, but she isn't letting his attention waver that far yet, because she's still feeling ballsy and is trying to call his bluff. A single fingertip traces along the seam of his skin and the metal that's attached to him because she knows the skin would have to be sensitive there, and she manages—with a straight face, and her body inches from his—to ask in a completely serious tone: ]
Did you need a hand?
[ Getting undressed, of course. The way her mouth sets itself into the beginnings of a smirk (Natasha so rarely smiled) says that she's well aware of how terrible that pun was, but she's also giving him a chance to back out—in which case that means she's won this game. She isn't altogether sure where she's going to draw the line though if he doesn't. Natasha has never been known for respecting boundaries.]
no subject
His hand catches hers, gives a warning squeeze, but it’s probably telling that he doesn’t immediately jerk her away or start breaking fingers]
I think I can manage without your idea of help.
[It's pride, too. He wants to show he can manage, that he doesn't need to be handheld or spoon-fed whether he's missing an arm or trying to rebuild a life free of HYDRA. He's glad he doesn't flinch away this time now that he can see Romanoff coming, his eyes dipping to her face, how she's close to pressing up against him. She's pretty - more than pretty - and the thought actually floors him for a bit, sneaking up out of nowhere and he feels almost betrayed by it. He should know better. But he catches himself thinking of it anyway, throat closing up as he wars between being glad he can feel something human and threatened because she's the wrong person to get personally tangled up with.
To prove his point, Bucky begins to undress. It's a little difficult without his arm, something that he can't actually remembering being a problem until now. The few times his arm had been disabled, almost all of it had been back at some HYDRA facility and he had an army of techs to do everything from stripping him down naked and stopping just short of hosing him down with a sanitizing chemical spray like he was a horse or something. All he had to do was just sit there, lost in his head, thoughts sluggish, and they did the rest. Bucky manages to pull off his tank just fine. Removing his pants is a little on the sketch side, his fingers fumbling since he'd been used to doing with it with both hands free. Eventually he's down to his briefs that are no nonsense, a plain black cotton that both hugs his curves and hard lines and also accentuates the hard muscle.
Bucky steps into the bathroom, glancing around and noticing that Romanoff’s prepared for two. It almost almost makes him smile when he notices that she’s gone gender neutral on the second pair, as if he would care if the shampoo smelled like Seafoam Myst or whatever they call it these days. Soap’s soap if you ask him. So long as it does the job and doesn’t stink of harsh chemicals like the stuff HYDRA used, he’ll take it. Guess he’s easy like that.]
Is that your favorite brand or just one you picked?
[Bucky gestures at the used body wash, the razor next to it. It’s disposable but he still doesn’t trust those things. The things you could do with a disposable razor to the human body still sometimes pop up, bits and pieces, in his nightmares.
He’d bet good money that Romanoff knows all about those fancy tricks.]
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When he's finally stripped down to nothing more than the briefs, Natasha actually starts to question the wisdom of this decision, but he's handling it like a champ, so she mentally shrugs and decides she'll do the same. The rest of her clothes come off and she, in fact, had not been armed further at all. Maybe she does want this to be peaceful. It's an option, probably just not a valid one in his mind or anyone else's. Natasha is unwrapping the wound she'd just packed and wrapped before because it won't survive the shower and she needs to really clean it out, and she glances up to the body wash that was obviously hers because it's the only one that has been used.
“Not so much the brand, just the scent,” she's going to pretend she isn't naked and opening the glass door to step into the shower, but that's exactly what she's doing. It's not an exceptionally large shower considering it's a stall, but it's large enough that they will be able to mostly maneuver around each other without touching. Much. She waits for him to join her before closing the door. She's careful to keep her hands in plain sight. “I was on a mission once in France and the safe house was next to a lavender field. At night I could open the windows and the breeze would drift in and the curtains would billow and the room would fill with the most heady fragrance. This is nothing in comparison, of course, but it's just nice, I guess. Everything went well—no one died that wasn't supposed to. If my memories have to be of murder, may as well hold on to the good ones, right?” she asks quietly.
That isn't a normal sentence. That's not a normal sentence for anyone to say—except her, and maybe except him. But that's what makes her so dangerous to him, isn't it? That she can relate to things that no person should be able to relate to. She trades places so that he can have the water. He doesn't get much space though because by the time his hair is wet all the way through, he will find out that she's decided she's going to wash his hair—not because she thinks he can't or that he needs help, and definitely not because she's trying to get him into a position to snap his neck (although that's also a legitimate concern), but her hands don't move that way. “Shh,” she says before he can even fuss about it. Her nails are digging lightly into his scalp and it's a real good way to distract him, but then again...so is the press of her body against his. That part isn't intentional. Fortunately, or unfortunately for him.
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It sounds nice on paper, paints a nice picture from the lavender smell on a breeze he can almost imagine right there on the spot, in the middle of some old cabin, and the thing is if they weren't in the same business, he would believe her. Romanoff's that good. She could even be telling the truth and he can't find it in himself to believe that's the whole story, that she hasn't edited it and dressed it up and maybe it might not even be for any particular reason - it could be that's what she knows, what she does out of instinct. A spy's version of going on auto-pilot.
What he takes away from it is that even Romanoff seems to indulge in personal preferences. Considering he's still working out what his are, he figures that's not necessarily a weakness. Maybe he even respects Romanoff for digging in her heels and having any compared to someone else in her profession.
He slides into the shower to find that it's a tight fit between the narrow walls and a woman piling in after him and it would've been tighter still if he had both arms. Without it, it's enough that he's on edge and wondering about his life choices and thinking about the cryo tube -
Up close, Bucky can't hide how he tenses when suddenly her hands are in his hair and his back seems to seize up and go stiff as a board against her. It's muscle memory at this point, the first thought jumping to how easily her grip could change and she could either get him in a choke hold or snap his neck, despite their difference in size. The feeling passes when he realizes she's massaging in shampoo, her fingers kneading instead of gripping for better purchase. Something both firm and soft presses up against his back; doesn't take a whole lot of imagination to guess what those are.
Bucky isn't a shy man. But he hasn't considered himself much of a sexual one after HYDRA, between the suppression and the fact that coming off it, it just doesn't feel...right trying to get back into relationships. The idea of a one night stand brings to mind security issues, filed neatly under "not worth the risk" and whenever he did stroke one off, it was almost mechanical, getting it over with.
He tilts his head back to allow Romanoff better access despite his better judgment. "I've done this one handed before, you know."
To prove his point, he reaches out, picks up the body wash and pops the cap with his thumb. After that he squirts some on his shoulder and begins soaping up, his back flexing against her chest as he moves and from here he can see the fresh red of Romanoff's blood as it swirls across the tile and down the drain.
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Once he starts bathing himself though and getting mouthy again, she smirks, and is pretending in a grand fashion that she's not affected by this. Thankfully her body won't betray her as easily as a man's would. She can pretend it's business as usual, just with far less clothes, and only because she has to make sure he isn't running away—right?
“I'm sure there are plenty of things you're capable of doing one-handed.” The innuendo is in the words, but her tone is so flippant that it's easy to believe it to be intentional, but equally as easy to believe that she meant nothing by it. A single finger traces the line of skin knit with metal across his shoulder and back. She knows it will be sensitive, that's the point. And that probably makes her statement land on the intentional side of the fence.
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"Wouldn't be much of an asset if I couldn't," Bucky says. He catches himself almost enjoying the back and forth despite knowing he shouldn't. Getting into the close quarters of a shower with an enemy operative goes against everything HYDRA drilled into him. Maybe that's why he does it anyway, keeps going, responding to Romanoff's push and pull.
Besides. It's almost nice to talk to someone he doesn't have decades of baggage with - read; Steve - and it feels at least with Romanoff he isn't trying to live up to some outdated picture. He turns to face her then. Face slicks down her face, her red hair plastered against her head and neck, his eyes traveling down as he assesses the old scar tissue, the wound on her leg weeping blood under the spout's spray. Eyes on the injury, he reaches back and squeezes body wash into his hand, managing to put it back without losing too much all over the tiles. It's with a hint of challenge that he slathers the body wash on her shoulder, feeling the press of muscle against her slicked skin.
"Pretty sure there's some kind of unofficial rule about our types fraternizing."
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The hitch in her breath when his hand slides over her shoulder, however, is not. She recovers quickly enough and her hand gathers her hair so that she can hold it up at the back of her head, exposing more of her neck and shoulders to him. There's a dare there, it has to be. Or an invitation. It's hard to say with her, but wasn't it always? Natasha bites down on her lower lip as though she's considering whether or not she's actually going to open this can of worms or not. Her eyes meet his again and she lets her mouth draw into the familiar smirk. “Rules are boring,” she says.
Her wound is secondary right now, but she knows it's there because it's burning like a motherfucker in the water, but it also needed to be cleaned, so she was going to suffer regardless. At least he's a very pretty distraction from the pain—one she hadn't actually expected to end up this up close and personal with so quickly. He'd really thrown a wrench into it when he said he'd get in the shower with her. He was supposed to sulk on the bed. “Besides, no one is fraternizing...” there is a very obvious and unspoken yet at the end of that. To her credit, although she's pushing, she's letting him make the bigger decisions. Natasha Romanoff, after all, is comfortable with everything.
Would you be down for a ftb/timeskip in a bit? :3a
"Rules are there for a reason," he replies even as he doesn't exactly shoot her down, either.
He has to say this looks an awful lot like fraternizing. Of course it happened with HYDRA's rank and file. The smart ones didn't make the mistake of doing it front of him, thinking just because the Winter Soldier sat there mute and waiting for orders that he wouldn't turn in undesirable operatives while he was at it. This looks exactly like something he once reported: there's the hands on each other, the look on Romanoff's striking face, their bodies close enough together that no one can spin it as just two operatives being efficient and sharing the same shower.
Bucky continues to work the body wash across her throat and the dip of her collarbone, down Romanoff's arm, switching to her side and for a moment his thumb passes under her breast's curve.
"I think it's still a bad idea."
And maybe he finds himself wanting to enjoy pushing back at the conditioning precisely because of that. Common sense says he should just incapacitate Romanoff while she's injured (at the minimum) and get out of here.
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A large fluffy towel is wrapped around herself and she surveys the bedroom. She assumes he already knows that he's going to end up there, but Natasha takes care to make sure she's dressed by the time he gets out so that he knows she's finished messing with him...kind of. She could have worn something less flattering (if such a thing existed) that didn't hug every damn curve on her. The wound is bandaged by then as well, hidden beneath the leggings she was wearing. There are clothes for him to wear as well if he chooses to not immediately put back on the other ones. It was going to be an interesting first night.
. . . approx 6 days later . . .
Things have gotten a little easier since that first night. Enough so that she lets him shower on his own and doesn't immediately expect that he'll be gone. On the third day she'd made pancakes and challenged him to a one-handed (it was only fair) flipping competition and had ended up calling bullshit when he was actually way better at it than she was expecting. On day five her leg was completely back to normal and she'd challenged him to a few sparring matches in the middle of the living room (after pushing all the furniture back). It may have resulted in a broken coffee table. He had a thing for throwing her into those, apparently. Outside of that, it hadn't been exceptionally exciting. She'd spar verbally with him just to get a rise out of him, but he always gave as good as he got. Part of healing was just to feel normal again, but this was probably getting to be a little too normal for either of them.
Fortunately, normal never lasts. Not for people like them. It's around two o'clock in the morning and Natasha wakes up from a dead sleep. She's gotten used to falling asleep and waking up next to him, even when he is gruff, but he's awake too and she can feel it more than she can see it in the dark. “Someone's outside,” she whispers and in the same breath her gun is clicking into place, prepared to defend. She moves silently out of the bed, even once she hits the floor, avoiding windows and nearly holding her breath trying to discern exactly where they are coming from. Regardless of who it is and what happens...there will be no more laying low in this safe house.
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Bucky isn't the type to waste his time with hope. Mostly he keeps his head down. See how it goes. Assumes the worst and is pleasantly surprised when the worst doesn't roll his way.
It's almost a week of something he doesn't want to risk calling routine before it begins to fall apart. He can't tell exactly what gets him primed and alert - tired, but still ready to go - but he'll bet it's the same thing that has Romanoff's breathing pattern changing. She pulls a gun out from somewhere, like a magician trading in a rabbit for something with better stopping power. He rolls out, silently padding barefoot across worn wood floorboards as he cocks his head and holds his breath for a moment, ears straining. It's dark enough that he can just barely make out Romanoff's outline.
There's another crack of a foot against a twig, quiet enough that if he was your average, adjusted Joe Average, he probably would've shrugged and through it was some raccoon outside or something.
He keeps low and quiet as he moves to the kitchen. They talked about this over lunch the other day. He'd insisted. If Romanoff was offended at his lack of faith in her ability to cover their tracks, she didn't show it: she indulged his paranoia and they agreed on some escape routes. General flanking. Weapons. She wouldn't give him anything like a gun and even she hesitated when he pointed out the steak knife.
Bucky still goes for it anyway. Without his arm, he's weakened and if it's a HYDRA squad out there, like hell is he facing them without something better than his bare fists and giving an operative the chance to hit him with the trigger words. His hand curls around the plastic handle of the steak knife. The first thing he does is he makes sure that Romanoff can see him take it, doing everything he can to show that he isn't about turn into the Winter Soldier on her. She's still got the gun.
"Thought I heard maybe two, three out there," Bucky's voice is harsh, barely a whisper. He's running on auto-pilot and maybe between that and the darkness, she won't be able to see how scared shitless he is. "One of us out the back and the other through the bathroom."
Which will probably be Romanoff since she's smaller.
"Take them alive or no?" Because his default is either run and hope for the best or he faces them. If it's option two, he isn't sure how long he can keep things non-lethal. It isn't exactly his first gut reaction these days.
keeping it short so he can respond/decide
“The only good operative is a dead one,” she says and surrenders her gun to him. “I’ll draw attention to the front. The safe house is a wash. Go out the back, meet where we agreed.” Her hand rests on top of his when she presses the gun into his palm. “Keep yourself safe. Try not to engage.” She doesn’t know who it is that’s found them, doesn’t know if they know the words that could turn him back into a weapon to be used against her. She also doesn’t want him to hesitate to kill one of them before they can turn him.
This isn’t what they agreed to, they had both agreed to run, but she won’t. She doesn’t want whomever it is to find the both of them. She made a promise. If he doesn’t believe she’s with the people outside, then her decision to stand and protect him seems more noble, if he doesn’t, then it could easily look like she’s running him right into a trap, but then, would she have given him the gun? He doesn’t get much of a chance to argue though because there’s a sound of the front lock being picked with exact precision. Natasha doesn’t have a weapon, but she doesn’t really need one; she is one.
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omg, I'm so sorry -- feel free to respond as the operative too.