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back to my home, sweet home

the Coffee shop meme

Your character finds themselves in a coffee shop:

maybe your character works as a barista
maybe they're just unwinding after a long day at work
getting their caffeine fix in the morning
maybe they're on a date

whatever the reason; everyone's welcome.

This version from here

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Even though she recovered lightning-fast, he felt that initial jerk. He doesn't actively think about why she did that, doesn't react or otherwise let on that he felt it. There's too much to worry about, it doesn't affect the current situation, and she got over whatever it was that made her nearly jerk away. He'll think about it later.

The name, that name, does make him flinch, a subtle twitch of his face and a squeeze of his fingers, because he knows that name. He doesn't repeat it, but he's not foolish enough to think she didn't notice his reaction. He knows she's good.

How he knows that, just like how he knows her name, is lost somewhere in the depths of his mind. It's probably a kindness that he can't remember much.

He doesn't say anything as they sweep through the kitchen, but nods at the man who kept him in too-strong black coffee and asked no questions. It's the last time he'll see the place, and he's almost sad to leave it, but it's a brief thought, lost to the hustle of their escape. The sirens are closing in and the streets are quickly emptying of people. They know the drill.

Despite trying, he can't actually hear whatever's said to Natalia - Natasha - but it's sufficient to know she's being monitored by her team. Smart. He wonders, briefly, if they'll listen, or if that's code for anything else. If the transport is really teaming with people, or if whatever awaits is just a different type of prison.

All this flashed through his mind as she tugs him to the left, and he reacted automatically to orders, wrapping his left arm around her, careful to keep his touch light. He doesn't like touching anyone with his left hand, would remove it if he could find a way. It's probably why she picked that side. No one would pay attention to some random guy with his left arm tucked around his girl if they're looking for someone who favored said arm.

So he tucked her close, drew her in, even leaned down a little, as though she were a dame he was flirting with, as though they were just two lovers out for a stroll only to find their walk interrupted by the sirens and the people and now trying to scurry away. Luckily the crowd isn't that much of a hindrance. It moved slower than he'd like but neither did people bump into them, sidestepping them. The target building loomed ahead, entrance still not in sight.

Praise be that he didn't balk or even argue, just followed her directions without hesitation. Natasha tucked in against Bucky's side, looking as if she were whispering in his ear or even nuzzling at his cheek like an infatuated date might, but though her lips were close beneath his ear, her eyes were constantly seeking, searching, evaluating.

"One block, Barton," she murmured into loose strands of Bucky's dark hair. "Keep the entrance clear. Officials coming up fast. On our six." Then, "Wilson - report." She fell silent as the requested information flooded her ear, never pausing in their unhurried pace down the quickly-clearing sidewalk. A police cruiser raced past, lights and sirens blaring, and Natasha tensed lightly, but it barreled along without stopping.

"We're almost there," she divulged to her companion, risking a peek over his shoulder. "A friend is watching our six, and so far the entrance is still clear. --wait." Suddenly hissing in irritation, Natasha abruptly vanished into a nearby doorway, pulling Bucky right along with her into the abandoned shop. The reason for her hasty detour became clear when a troop of armed SWAT hustled past, and Natasha snarled into her comms.

"Any other surprises you guys missed?!" She growled in exasperation, shaking her head. "No, the street's too hot. Reroute; scan for cross-alleys or sub-level corridors." A tense pause while she waited, then her cell chirped quietly and she pressed a button, revealing the requested update. Her lips twisted, then she pocketed the device again, saying to her reticent companion, "Slight change in direction. We're gonna go over the rooftops, it'll be quicker this close to our exit."

Her eyebrow arched with a sudden flash of amusement. "Up for a little parkour, soldier?"

Bucky would like to say he doesn't actively scan for threats, but it's been so burned into his body that he can't help but notice figures in the crowd that stand out, the possible directions threats might come from, the possible escape routes that would minimize civilian casualties, and the ones that don't.

But he wasn't perfect at it, especially when he had to deal with someone else, and the SWAT team caught him off-guard; he wouldn't have noticed until they closed in. It seemed there was a benefit to having eyes in the sky.

"You could have asked for escape routes," he said. "I've been here long enough." Even if he hadn't been there for weeks on end, he would have known them. He even knew the shop they'd ducked into, abandoned for the moment with the police activity going on. It was usually quiet, not many people poking among the antiques and other assorted junk. He liked to wander in and browse for a few minutes when the streets were too crowded.

"Back door leads to an alley and the fire escape," he said, already pulling Natasha in that direction. "We go up those, might be able to avoid detection."

Doubtful, but there was a possibility.

They had to be alert to stay alive. In their line of work, or former line of work, there weren't any second chances. Natasha had had to learn how to be a part of a team when she came to SHIELD, but every now and then, she wished she could, for once, or maybe for old times sake, go a mission alone, and do what she did best. Which was: get results.

She readily agreed with Bucky's mild censure - she could have asked the man who'd set up shop here about the quickest way to evacuate it. And she said as much. "I should have, yeah." Then her lips twitched in amusement and she hurried followed along, trusting his lead. "But I wasn't really sure you'd go with me, or dive out of that cafe window and vanish into the crowd." She swung out of a door into the alley, adding when they paused to look, "My bet was actually on the latter, but that's one that I'm happy to lose."

The coast seemed clear, so Natasha let Bucky take point, clambering up behind the fire escape behind him, not even needing the hand offered briefly when she crested the ladder. They hurried across the roof, and she slowed to check her comms one more time, spotting their building just a few yards ahead. Only problem was, a rather wide alley separated their destination building from the one they were currently atop, and Natasha frantically barked into her earpiece, looking for a reroute.

"I'm not a goddamn eagle, Barton!" she snapped irritably, growling under her breath. "I can't just fly across this freaking chasm! Find me a way over, and make it fast; I've got the jet powering up remotely, I'll collect you and Wilson once I'm airborne."

"I'd considered it," he told her, a smile hinting at the edges of his lips, blink and you'd miss it quick before he pressed his lips together, eyes scanning the rooftops. He did his best to look blank, a non-expression on his face so he'd blend into the crowds, eyes only skimming over his features. It had helped in the past, and it helped now.

None of the agents after him had taken to the rooftops yet, but it was only a matter of time, and Bucky knew his best options were still with this group, even though he was still tempted to jump off the roof and disappear into the - well, the crowds weren't really an option now, most people scattered to the wind.

"I remember you," he said, abruptly, as Natasha paused in her request. "Odessa, but before that, too. You're in a lot of my dreams of the years I spent as the Winter Soldier." They weren't easy memories, and he still hated the dreams, but the ones with Natasha — Natalia — weren't as bad. "You were smaller, though."

That said, he stepped closer to her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her into his body, even as he mentally measured the distance between rooftops. "It won't be fun and we'll land rough, but I can leap that."

She abruptly broke off her comms when she heard Barnes start to speak. And went very, very still, as she listened. Natasha slowly lowered her hand away from her ear, staring at the former Winter Soldier with wide green eyes, for once taken completely by surprise. He remembered her? Oh, God. Unbidden, fragments of memory from her own youth flashed in her mind's eye: damp stone walls, cold white light, weight of a loaded gun, pointe shoes, perfect chignon, tulle, soft piano, hard metal grip...

Before she could even stuff all of those images back into the vault of her memory, Natasha realized that Bucky was advancing towards her - her hands instinctively came up to flatten against his chest, and she felt a strong arm curve around her waist, pulling her close before she could even resist. A small surprised sound escaped, the former Black Widow finding herself rather firmly plastered against the solid frame of HYDRA's premier Asset, but before she could jerk away and demand information from her invisible teammates, Bucky was quietly affirming that they had a way across, and Natasha's fingers reflexively curled in the thick fabric of his jacket.

A leap of faith, she then realized. He could eliminate her, easily, leave her broken and bleeding on the pavement several stories below. But, strangely enough, she found herself trusting him, trusting him to deliver them safely across. And time was running out. On the roof nearby, the jet was humming and waiting; ramp lowered for them to hurry aboard. She glanced over at their destination, weighted their options, then looked back up at Bucky.

And wound her arms tighter around him, nodding once.

"All right," Natasha heard herself say in a low voice. "I trust you."

He could see the surprise in her wide eyes, the shock of his words too much for her to keep completely under wraps, and that confirmed he didn't imagine things. Those memories of her: young and small, secret laughter, even more dangerous tenderness, steadying a perfectly steady hand. Those were his.

It was hard to tell, sometimes.

"You shouldn't," he told her, with something of a sad smile twisting his lips, disappearing before it could reach his eyes. He didn't even trust himself; a trained assassin, one as good as Natasha, shouldn't trust him at all. But she was his ride out of here, and the memories he had of her weren't as tumultuous as the ones involving Steve or Hydra; not precisely happy, but not full of pain.

His face had settled into something beyond the usual non-expression. He looked determined, eyes calculating, even as he gripped her closer and took a few steps back. He'd have no trouble leaping, even with her added weight, but the landing could be a bit tricky.

Down in the streets, the collection of police and secret service agents looking for them — him — was growing; eventually, one of them would look up, better trained than the average human. They didn't have much time, not if he wanted out of there.

"Hold on," he muttered to her, voice low, and ran toward to the edge, tucking her into his body as he lept off the roof, landing heavily on his feet on the next building, momentum carrying him forward.

What choice did she have? She'd known that even before coming to Romania that she was going to have to put a lot out on the line; Barnes was still reputed to be unstable, a broken man seeking for something he wasn't even aware of, and there was no more dangerous place to be than within his immediate vicinity. But, just as he'd admitted to remembering her, Natasha own memories of HYDRA's Elite Fist were crystal-clear, unbroken, and one of the best secrets she'd ever managed to keep.

And besides, it was always prudent to give a little trust in order to receive some in return.

She closed her eyes when he muttered for her to hold on, and Natasha did, clutching Barnes as tight as she could, only to surprisingly land on her feet and in a full sprint not ten breathless seconds later. She slipped out of his grasp to all but fly up the lowered hatch and into the waiting jet, immediately diving into the pilot's seat and beginning to flip switches and push buttons.

"Close the hatch!" she shouted over her shoulder, the whine of the engines drowning out all other noise.

Just as she was pulling back on the throttle to launch the craft off of the roof, a warning blatted from the console and a barrage of bullets rained down from the left. Natasha swore heated curses in her native tongue, barking into her comms as she shoved the throttle back and down, all but scorching the concrete beneath them as the jet leaped from atop the building.

"Wilson, Barton! I have a hot chopper on my six, we're taking fire; repeat: we're taking fire!" She banked sharply, rolling the plane nearly nose-down and behind the cover of a few tall buildings, maneuvering out of the helicopter's line of fire. "Negative on extraction," she continued, still weaving through downtown, "you'll have to find your own way home this time." She managed a tight little smile. "You boys are resourceful, though. I have all the confidence in you."

He knew how to close the hatch and what to do in the jet, how to prepare for take-off without being told, bracing as the jet was rocked with a spray of bullets. Like so much of what he'd done that day and in the days prior, he wasn't entirely sure how he knew, other than the fact that it was something like muscle memory but more. If she'd need him to pilot the jet, Bucky knows he'd few issues.

"You're gonna leave your team behind?" he asked quietly, dropping into the seat next to hers. He didn't reach for any of the controls, but he did pay close attention, just in case he needed to take over. "Either you're that confident in them or you don't care that much." If it were Steve, he'd know it's the first, but with the sieve in his memories, he's not sure what to think about Natasha. His mouth thins, and he looks away as they weave through the buildings, dodging gunfire, with the sound of other helicopters approaching.

"You shouldn't sacrifice your team for—" me, he wants to say, but the words don't quite make it out, especially since a helicopter appears unexpectedly between two tall buildings, closer than he'd like.

"You're the priority," she issued through tight lips. "I was tasked to get you out alive, regardless of the consequence." Natasha muttered a curse as she zipped the jet around another tall building, gunning the engines to regain lost altitude. "But I know my partners - " she hazarded a glance at the man in the next seat, " - and they'll make it out." She actually did have that much confidence in both Barton and Wilson - Barton the most, because she knew what a weasel Clint actually was - and as difficult a choice as it was to make, Natasha knew it was the right one.

Hearing him start his self-depreciation, her lips thinned again and she started to shoot him a look, but before she could, another chopper swoops into view with a rain of gunfire, forcing her to nosedive once again. Alarms began to light up the console, but Natasha had learned to pilot years ago, and she gritted her teeth and hung on as the jet began to buck, shearing around a building just in time to avoid a missile strike!

"Jesus Christ," she muttered hotly, reaching up to flip a series of switches, then adjust the throttle once more, jerking back the stick and pointing the plane's nose towards the open sky. "Buckle in," she ordered tersely, hard gaze focused on the sky beyond the windshield. "And as soon as that orange button to your right turns green, hit it." Her smile this time was sharp, razored.

"One of Stark's little toys; gives us damn near the speed of sound, and makes a hell of a jolt when it kicks in, so hang on."

A ding, and the button flashed a cheerful green.

Natasha took a deep breath.

"Push it!"

"I don't think I'm worth all that," he muttered, needing to say it. He wasn't, and they all knew it. He looked away from her; they were in a jet; there was plenty to look at beyond the petite redhead who brought up mixed feelings for him, almost as many as Steve did. And of course, it became easier once the other chopper was involved, both of them too busy escaping to think about what it meant that they were doing so much to bring him in.

He straightened up in the seat, reaching for the seatbelt and buckling it up; despite his earlier self-depreciation, he wasn't actually suicidal or stupid.

When the button flashed green, he glanced at her, pushing it the moment the order was out of her lips. The jet shot forward, and she was right: it was a hell of a jolt. He blanched slightly, grasping the controls for a brief second then settling into the chair as they made their escape out of Romanian airspace.

He didn't look back, didn't think about his small, sad apartment in Bucharest. He'd left nothing behind, at least nothing of value; all of his notebooks and the few important things were on him, always.

"What now?" he asked.

"Then it's a good thing other people do," she told him through tight lips. Thankfully he buckled up, however, because the aeondrive lit up right at that second, and Natasha too was slammed back into her seat, though she held the throttle steady as the jet seemingly disappeared into the aether over Romania. Despite the incredible jump from "normal" speed to damn near the speed of sound, the aircraft remained smooth in its flight, but Natasha didn't dare relax until the radar on the console fell silent, no "blips" signalling pursuit.

She punched in a few codes to the on-board computer, then sat back with a heavy sigh, rubbing the back of her neck. Barnes' question pulled her out of the reverie and she sat up again, glancing at him before responding.

"We head for that safe place I mentioned earlier, and get completely off the grid until things cool down." She wasn't sure how long that was actually going to take; there was no way to know what sort of retribution the Wakandan government would demand. But she had faith in Rogers and the others - she knew Steve wouldn't rest until he'd proven his best friend innocent, although Natasha had warned him to stay away once she and Barnes did vanish into thin air.

"How long depends on any number of things," she remarked almost absently, gazing at the console and making a few adjustments. "But where we're going is quiet, well stocked for emergencies, and off the beaten path, so you'll be able to catch up on your reading, at least."

He didn't say anything to that, but a quiet snort did escape him, possibly lost beneath the sound of the jet accelerating. He leaned back in his seat, waiting for the jolt, but there was nothing. The ride was smooth, a testament to modern engineering.

Bucky could almost appreciate it, but he certainly couldn't relax on the jet. Even if there was no one chasing them, unable to follow at this speed, they were still out there, waiting for him.

He let Natasha talk, absorbing her words, and reached up to run a hand over the stubble on his jaw, chewing on the inside of his cheek, habits that had returned as memories came and went. "It's going to end in a fight," he said. "Always does." He'd been foolish to think he'd be able to live in this world free from the consequences of his actions or who he was. "Even if they don't find us wherever we're headed, there's going to be a fight."

Probably the rest of the world demanding his head, and he couldn't say how long anyone would hold out. But he knew Natasha would protest if he asked her to take him back, let him surrender.

"Take us wherever this safe house is, and we'll figure out a strategy." That was what he'd done before; found a safe, hidden spot and made a plan.

"More than likely," she agreed, slim fingers flickering over a few console buttons. Then she gave Bucky an arched little look, one eyebrow quirked high. "So it's a good thing that we're gonna be prepared for one, isn't it." Not necessarily a question. Self-depreciation was all well and good - she'd had her own share of pity-parties over the years - but when it came down to survival, Natalia Romanova would fight like a wildcat with a sore tail.

"Look," she said then, finishing her codes and leaning back in the pilot chair to look over at her stalwart companion, "you don't have to go at this alone anymore. You're not the only one who wants to take down HYDRA, Barnes, that I promise you." She paused, sighed softly, and added, "If you really do want to disappear, then when we land, go. I won't stop you, I won't contact anyone about your location."

Natasha leaned an elbow on the armrest, giving Bucky a long, level stare from glittering, focused green eyes. "But if you really want to come out of this alive, you're going to need allies. And you're going to need allies who know how to fight. So it's up to you, my gorgeous trash panda - you gonna cut and run again, or stand with us and burn those bastards to the ground?"

"Gorgeous trash panda," he mouthed, looking at Natasha with something akin to appreciative horror in his eyes, whatever else he was going to say flying to the wayside with that comment. "Gorgeous trash panda." He said it louder this time, shock and annoyance and something else in his voice, the most emotion he'd expressed since she'd walked into the coffee shop. "What the actual hell, Romanova?"

Then, rethinking that, he held up a hand, shaking his head. "Nevermind, I don't want to know." It was probably some modern thing, and while Bucky had taken to some modern stuff without issue, slang still escaped him sometimes. Most times. Trash panda.

He ran his metal hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face, then dropped his hands back to his lap, staring at his fingers. "I want to live," he told Natasha. And that was the truth, the most honest thing he could admit, even if the words tasted like ash on his tongue. He knew he didn't necessarily deserve to live, but he wanted a life so badly. The want crawled in his veins, beat in time with his heart, and raced to his lungs with every breath he drew. It was hard to override a want like that, intrinsic to the body, and he wasn't about to change it, not when Hydra stilled needed to go down, not when he had amends to make, somehow.

Bucky undid his seatbelt, standing up and pacing to the back of the quinjet. He couldn't look at Natasha while thinking about this; didn't think he could look at anyone, even his face. It felt selfish — who was he to help them take down Hydra? Natasha, Steve — they were the fucking Avengers, didn't need to be burdened with a broken soldier who could barely remember his name from day to day. But she was offering, was asking, and between Bucky's inside knowledge of Hydra and the information Natasha had or could get, they might be able to do something. So far, even his raids on Hydra bases hadn't done much.

He turned, walked back to his seat and settled into it, his movements quiet and sure. He'd never been ambivalent, especially not once he'd made up his mind. "They talked a lot, around me, the scientists and strike teams. Forgot I listened, could remember everything."

It's his way of answering her question, without actually answering it and opening his soul to that vulnerability. "And I take back my comment. What the hell is a trash panda?"

She let him go without comment, figuring he needed to pace to work off that dangerous tension she could feel even from this distance. Barnes was a ticking time bomb, and no joke about it. Not for the first time was she glad she'd managed to talk Rogers out of this reconnaissance. As much as she loved Steve - and she did, Natasha considered him one of her dearest friends, Barton being the only other - she also knew how much Steve cared about Bucky Barnes, and how bright that sincerity blazed in the Captain's eyes. Seeing him now, Natasha knew that Steve's intensity would have roasted the former Commando alive, left nothing but ashes in the wake of their confrontation.

Yeah. Better that Rogers keep his distance. At least, for now.

When her tag-a-long reappeared, taking his seat once again, Natasha gave him only an acknowledging glance and a brief nod; his soul searching wasn't any of her business, and she respected his need to do so, and was even silently grateful that he was able to straighten things out, somewhat, in his own mind. Progress, given what they'd observed from him recently. And her smile was a little wicked when he commented on the laxity of his former jailers.

"Ironic, isn't it, that they never learned anything from their own training." An eyebrow quirked conspiratorially. "I know how that goes, too." Her own handlers had fallen into that same trap, years ago. "Makes our jobs that much easier." But then she laughed, low and musical, at his indignant question.

"A trash panda," she stated matter-of-factly, leaning over to check a readout, "is colloquially known as a raccoon, Barnes." She tipped a smirk his way. "Y'know, dark rings around the eyes, a little furry and whiskered, hangs around garbage cans...that sort of thing." Her lips twitched in her customarily sardonic way. "At least you're a gorgeous one, though, right?"

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back to my home, sweet home

apologies for my month long delay

♥!

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