bakerstreet | Dennys

[ Lowering her hands, Natasha shifts when Bucky does, folding her legs Indian-style as he turns to look at her. And she sighs very softly. ]

Steve asked.

[ A hard truth, but it's still the truth. ]

He asked me to observe from a distance, but not interfere. He knows you don't trust him or Stark, or anyone, really, but he cares about you.

[ She lowers her eyes, looking at her hands, fiddling with a fingernail. ]

You just...seem so lonely...and I know what that feels like. [ Then meets his gaze again. ] I know what it's like to be unmade, James.

[ Oh, god.

Whatever it is, he wasn't expecting that. He probably should've been, but hearing it out loud like this... Steve. ]

Was this from a distance?

[He feels angry and confused all at the same time. He feels desperate.]

I asked you before, and you lied to me.

[He can feel that anger inside of him building and building, ready to blow up like a bomb. He doesn't want that anymore. It's not him. He wants to grab at her arm and shake her, but he doesn't. He closes his eyes to stop himself, breathing in, breathing out.

He's lonely. She knows what it feels like. She knows what it feels like to be unmade.

When he opens his eyes he meets her gaze. He realizes then that he really has grabbed her arm, cybernetic fingers curled around her wrist tightly. He lets up suddenly, pulling his hand back, an apologetic look on his face.]

Sorry. I'm sorry.

[ She doesn't answer until he lets go, and her first instinct had been to put him on his back, but like him, she's had to relearn those initial instincts. Natasha takes a deep breath, then another, and once again meets Barnes' eyes steadily. ]

I did not lie. I told you that I haven't been following you and I haven't. And I didn't know you'd show up at that Denny's, either. It was just a hunch, one that actually paid off.

[ Her wrist throbs and she can't help but rub at it. She might well have a bruise there tomorrow. ]

Steve never asked me to talk to you, though. [ Her mouth quirks in a small smile. ] Actually tried to forbid me from talking to you, actually. But...since I don't work for Steve, well, here we are.

[It's hard for him to think after that. He clams up, setting his hands down agains the blanket on the floor, just so they won't be in motion. So he can gain control again.

He's gaze is far away, unsteady until he can practically feel her smile, and then he glances up at her again.]

So he didn't ask you to come here and be with me.

[ Natasha shakes her head, giving another sigh and tucking a stray curl behind an ear. ]

No, he didn’t. That was…that was just…me.

[ He’s back to twanging again; she can feel his tension, his mistrust, without even trying. Maybe she’d done more harm than good, coming here, and isn’t that just wonderful to know? ]

If…if you want me to go, James…then I will.

[ There are a thousand and one thoughts in his head right now. Trying to figure this out, figure her out. Calculating the options, the dangers, the right protocols. He has to shut them down, because he can't do this anymore. He doesn't want to do this anymore.

The worst part of it is though- he hates that he hurt her.

He's quiet again, just staring her down for the longest time...and then he stands, heading into his kitchen area. He goes to the fridge, pulling the top freezer part open and grabs an ice pack before returning.

When he sits, he pulls a leg up against himself and holds the ice pack out to her, for her arm.]

Here. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I don't want you to go.

[ She doesn't move until he does, sliding over to put her back against the couch, ignoring the ache in her right wrist. But she takes the ice pack with a short nod, cradling that wrist in her left hand. ]

I know you didn't. [ The tiniest shrug. ] And...I might have deserved it. A little.

[ It might have been easier just to call, except that she knows he'd have never answered. And she's a master of misdirection, innocuous happenstance, and sometimes...sometimes she really hates it.

But hearing that he didn't want her to leave furrowed her brows; what? ]

--wait, really?

[Yeah, maybe she did deserve it, but he still shakes his head. It was so mindless the way he reacted, grabbing on to her. He can't stand it.

He wouldn't have answered if she had called, she's right about that. But Steve was wrong. Bucky does trust him. He's been building up his memories, figuring out who he is. Remembering who Steve is.]

Unless you wanna go. You don't have to stay.

I...all right.

[ She'd fully expected him to throw her out; it's such a surprise that he's allowing her to stay. It isn't often that anyone surprises Natasha Romanoff, so point for James Barnes.

She has to shake her head and give a rueful little chuckle. ]

...not really excited about slogging through the bright morning looking for another couch to crash on, so, all right. I...spasibo, Dzheyms.

[Maybe he's lonelier than he thinks he is. Or maybe Steve asking her isn't enough of a reason to kick her out. Either way.

Her speaking Russian still makes him incredibly uncomfortable, nervous even, as he pulls his sleeve further down on his arm again.]

How many times have you met me before this?

[ She notes it, but it's just language. It doesn't have the power to hurt him anymore. ...does it? And if he lashes out every time he hears it, there's going to be problems. ]

Twice. A month ago, then three months before that. Only in passing. We never engaged. I was looking for signs of life, nothing more.

[ Beat. ]

...if it helps, you've made considerable progress each time.

[That's what he keeps trying to tell himself as well. It's just language, but it's not. It's the cause for his unraveling. It's a weapon inside his scrambled brain. He isn't lashing out, though. He's just trying to work through hearing it each and every time.

Alright, he did lash out this time, but it was for other reasons entirely and he's feeling guilty for it in spades.

What he's trying for now is to get back to where he was before that. Relaxed in a way he hasn't felt for a long time. He's trying, but it's hard.]

What made you engage this time?

[It does help considerably, hearing that he's made progress. She would know, after all.]

[ Natasha turns her wrist over, icing the other side. She's not really sure why she "broke parameters" and put herself right in Barnes' path. Curiosity, for sure? To spite Steve's overt paranoia? Maybe, just a little.

...or maybe because she knows how miserable it is, day after day, being alone. With no sunrise on the horizon. ]

I'm not... [ Another sigh, deeper this time. ] I know you're lonely. And miserable. [ A rueful twist of lips. ] I've been there. And it's hell, James. [ Natasha meets his eyes again. ] I can't claim to understand everything you've been through, but I know what it's like to be afraid all the time. To never know where the next threat is coming from.

[ She averts her gaze once more, abstracted. ] I was like that. For a long time. Until Barton managed to get through, to prove that I wasn't alone. [ Now her eyes catch his, and they've never been clearer. ]

That I didn't have to be, anymore.

[His gaze falls down to her wrist, even as he listens. It's easier to look away. In some ways he embraces the guilt as well. It means he has his conscience back. He has his own thoughts to control. He's not a mindless killing machine, he can feel things now. Doesn't mean he wants to cause more harm, though.

Eventually he does lift his gaze to hers again, feeling something inside of him clench up in a different kind of way. She knows how he feels, day in and day out. That's exactly it.]

Is that what you're trying to do now? Prove that I don't have to be alone?

...maybe?

[ When he asks like that, it sounds like an accusation. Maybe it's her own conscious talking, chastising her for interfering. But he's still a person, and she knows better than any therapist just how hard it can be to swim out of that sort of lake. ]

Kind of?

[It's not an accusation. He doesn't mean for it to be. He's considering her words, though. Her intentions. Her reasons for being here tonight.

He's been desperately trying not to drown and he might even be doing an alright job of it, but there's always something missing.

The fact that he went from not wanting human interaction at all, to asking her to stay, he can already feel what that missing thing might be. He doesn't want to be alone, but he's felt like that's the only way to be safe.]

Kind of?

[ She doesn't answer for a few minutes. ]

...I guess I wanted to find out who you were, now. The Soldier, or the man. And just see how you're doing on your own.

[ Her eyebrow goes up then, head tilting as she looks back at him. ]

I honestly wasn't expecting you to let me come up here, though.

The Soldier would not have let you come up here.

[The man-- well. The man might be weaker, even if more paranoid. This time it feels more like an accusation from her, though- like he's slipping up in some kind of way. Like this was some kind of test he failed.

He sighs, dragging his fingers through his hair. It's softer than usual and less of a mess. She did a really good job with it.]

It seemed like you needed my help. You're friends with Steve so I felt like maybe I could-- trust you. I wanted to try.

[ An accusation's so far from the truth it's come around again from the other side. Natasha can't help a soft smile, tucking her chin slightly. ]

I'm glad, James. [ Said in a low, soft, almost vulnerable tone. ] I'm glad you wanted to try.

[ It says so much about his mental state, that he's healing, or trying to. That he doesn't want to be just a mindless killing machine any more. That he can come back from almost a century of unspeakable trauma. ]

Will...do you think you'll want to try again?

[ The thing of it is, she did lie to him. She lied and that makes things harder, but not impossible. She's not here to drag him out of hiding, or manipulate him in any kind of way- he hopes not, anyway. He's still on the alert for anything out of place, but mostly she's simply here with him, trying to talk.

So far, she's only been kind and gentle with him. He's the one who hurt her.

He shifts a little, slowly moving to sit closer. Once he's settled again he reaches out cautiously and slides a hand under hers, taking the ice pack and placing it over a spot where he sees the a bruise already starting to blossom. ]

Yeah. I think so.

[ She keeps still when he shifts around to sit beside her. And watches quietly as he slips his hand beneath hers, cradling the ice pack in a large palm. She does hiss, however, when he moves the cold pack to a tender spot, but she doesn't pull away. She knows he's trying to help. ]

Okay.

[ And this time, in English: ] Thank you.

Sorry.

[He says quietly, watching her face for further signs of distress, but it evens out, and he knows the ice will help, even if it smarts right now. Sorry isn't a word he's said in about a century, and it sounds more foreign than anything, but he's using it in spades tonight. He's not sure if that's a good or a bad thing.

He nods at her thank you, then sits quietly with her. Over time his shoulders relax a little more once again, and he doesn't feel like he needs to be ready to run. ]

Thanks for telling the truth.

[ At least they're close again, that's a good sign. And there's gentleness in his touch, when before she knew he'd been nothing but a weapon, primed to fire at a master's command. ]

It's all right. I've had worse. [ A brief attempt at levity. Which fades with his next statement, and Natasha sighs very softly. ]

You've been lied to enough, James. [ She gazes at her wrist held against the ice pack in his larger hand. ] You deserve the truth.

[ This is closer to how he used to be. Someone who always tried his hardest to care for others. His mother and father, his sister, Steve. He never did actually want to go to war, not like Steve did, no matter what all the museums and history books say about him. ]

Doesn't make it any better.

[He mutters, because it really doesn't. He doesn't want to be a weapon.]

Well- thanks for that. How's it feeling?

[ She's read all of those things, trying to learn the man behind the war machine. To compartmentalize Steve's memories into living flesh, maybe to see if there's anything left of Bucky in James Barnes/The Winter Soldier. She's come to the conclusion that there's a tender but broken heart behind that titanium, beating shallowly, but it's still there. ]

No... [ She slowly lifts her wrist, winces when she rotates it, but she does before returning it to the ice. ] But it'll heal, though. [ A double entendre, that one. ]

It's numb, right now, but it'll be stiff later. Although it's turning a nice shade of purple, see? [ And she chuckles quietly. ]

Dennys

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)