brushpass | threads

"HYDRA and the Red Room worked with each other for decades in my world," Natasha answers. There's more details she could give - missions, cover stories, associated organizations. But she's aware that would be a lot to share with him right on the heels of revealing that she'd known the other him.

Her mouth pulls to the side a little, like she's not quite successfully containing a smile. "This is pretty weird, huh?"

Was that a thing? Could it have been here? That would be crazy right, someone would have mentioned that. It would be in a file somewhere and someone would know.

"It's really fucking weird," he admits. He doesn't know what the right thing is to say or do, should he lead her off the roof? Does she want to go somewhere on her own? He wouldn't blame her if they had the kind of relationship he had with Natasha, attempted murder a few times.

"So uh, can I help with something or... I don't really know what to do here?"

There's a lot of things that she needs to do. Like, the money she has on her probably isn't good her. The likelihood of her phone working is slim to none. Her weapons will probably work, so at the very least she could go sell them somewhere if need be. She should poke around to see if this Natasha has any of the same secret caches that she does, provided no one cleaned them out for her. And she should probably tell Clint at the very least that she's here.

It's an exhausting list of things to do when it's apparently late in the evening. And she could use some time to get oriented. "Depends on what you're up for," she answers. "I could use a drink."

"I'm pretty sure I've got a bottle of vodka in the back of the freezer," he offers giving her a half hearted smile. He's not sure if she should even be offering the Black Widow vodka, is that too stereotypical? It's all he as though, he doesn't really drink because he can't get drunk, just keeps it around for the odd occasional.

He motions her to the door off the roof and leads the way back down to his building pulling his keys from his pocket.

"I'm sure there's many other people you'd rather be running off to around here, Clint, Yelena, Banner..." he says opening the door to an apartment that is depressing. It's sparse like barely anyone lives there.

Natasha's not sure it's a good idea to go with him, because he doesn't exactly look like he's keen for company. But she's also pretty sure it would be unforgivably rude to say 'I know the universe literally dropped me on your roof but I'm gonna scram.' So instead, she says, "sure. I'll be pissed if vodka tastes different here."

She follows him down the stairs, and quirks her brow when he mentions Bruce along with Clint and Yelena. "Banner and I don't really talk much. I'll find Clint and Yelena, though." Her head turns to look into the apartment as they step inside and she has to stop for a moment. It's the most visibly rattled her composure has been. She feels like she has vertigo.

It's his apartment, but...sad. Empty. None of his stuff is there. None of her stuff is there, left behind from the times she stayed over or purchased to leave there on purpose. It's the worst kind of déjà vu. "James," his name comes out of her mouth without her really thinking, and she's reaching for him as she turns toward him. Her hand stops halfway there, and she touches his shoulder lightly for just a moment. "I'm sorry I didn't know you here."

"Oh, in this world I think Natasha had some thing with Bruce, Steve mentioned it once.." he mutters softly with a frown. Was that awkward to say? He figured maybe she should know about that, it sounds like it might be something different then what she was used to.

As they're headed in and she touches his shoulder he pulls back a little instinctively. He hasn't been touched by anyone in that sort of friendly way in a long time and it makes him question what's going on. It's not right and there's something she's not telling him.

"Why are you saying that? What aren't you telling me about your world?"

"Bruce, huh?" Natasha considers it for a moment. It's not something she's really entertained before, but then again, no one else ever really stood a chance with her in her world. Not when there was a soldier that couldn't forget her no matter how many times the world tried to make him. The only other person that truly understood what it felt like to be a weapon in the shape of a person.

Her hand moves away easily when he pulls back, palm up as she moves her arms in careful arcs until they're folded. It's a fairly obvious gesture of contrition, a promise she won't touch him again. Maybe it's a little protective as well. A physical wall she can use to stack the bricks of her composure on.

The wall is still shot through with cracks. There's a moment of silence after his question, and she weighs the balance of truth against lie as she watches him. Her expression is mostly neutral, but her eyes are sad. Finally, she settles on, "when the other you died on Vormir, I was the one with him. He jumped to save me." Her mouth pulls to the side a little, like she's trying to make her face do what she wants it to. Something that's usually effortless. But the well of emotion in this confession is too deep. It has its own gravitational pull. Turns out she can't even escape it in another universe.

It's concerning, the way she knows just out to position her body to let him calm from the touch. Or at least it would be if Bucky had time to think about it. Instead that explanation hits him like a ton of bricks. Face staying surprisingly neutral but giving little hints that his brain is processing the rapid amount of new information and trying to keep composure.

They were on Vormir together wherever she was from. The idea that he chose to be the one to go over that cliff doesn't bother him nearly as much as he would have guessed. Of course he would jump, he's the one here with no family, no friends, no life. Quite frankly he probably would have been happy to do it in this world as well.

"I'm sorry you lost him..." he mutters because what else do you say about that and turns to his freezer to dig out the bottle of vodka before reaching for a couple of rocks glass in the cupboard. He keeps his back turned to her because this all starting to quickly all become too much and he can't even put his finger on why.

Natasha watches him walk into the apartment, his back to her, and gives it a moment before she follows him. It lets her steel herself with a breath. Try to wrestle all that love she still has for him - the other him - back where it belongs. Its not fair to put any of this on his shoulders. He's never owed her anything before. He's not going to start now just because he's still alive.

"Thank you," she says finally as she moves into the apartment. Still giving him some space as she leans against the wall near the kitchen. Part of her wonders if she should just leave. The rest of her is pretty sure that's just her latent urge to put her head down and keep running when things get hard. And that it would be unforgivable to give him that kind of information about his other self when he's so...alone here.

"Any time you want me to leave, just point at the door and I'll go. No hard feelings. And uh, if you have questions. I'll answer them." There's not much else she can offer. But there are worse places to start than the truth.

"Are you asking me to kick you out?" he asks raising an eyebrow as he turns to her to hand her the glass. It's a curious look, like he can't quite figure out who exactly this woman is or why she's here.

"Forgive me, we've spoken more words then I ever did with the previous Natasha so I never really picked up on her quirks if you're sending some kind of message I'm not picking up," he explains. It's true they'd barely known each other, which was one of the reasons it was so confused why it hurt so much when he found out she was dead.

It's a nervous smile after he takes a sip of the vodka looking over his glass at her. It's been forever since anyone has come to visit, or has really taken any interest in him. He's in no rush to push her away.

"If I didn't want to be here, I would've kept going down the stairs when you turned off on this floor," Natasha points out mildly, the corner of her mouth ticking up into a little smile. She accepts the glass as he hands it over, watching him as he explains his question. He looks...not confused, exactly. Maybe lost. Or out of place. She wonders if she looks the same way to him.

It strikes her that she's never seen him quite like this before. It's a little bit like the times they'd erased her from his memory, but muted - stretched.

Belatedly realizing it's probably disconcerting for her to be watching him like she can see directly through him to what he's thinking, she takes a sip of the vodka. She can't conceive of a world where she wouldn't try to talk to him. Even if they didn't share the Red Room in common here. "Well, what have you been up to here, then?"

"Just got back from chasing some super soldiers around Europe with Sam," he says with a shrug like it's no big deal. It's really not that exciting compared to the idea of shapeshifters that Natasha was just speaking about.

He has a hard time concentrating on her face whenever he glances at it. It's like she's looking at him, seeing more of him then he can explain. It's like she knows something about him that he doesn't, and then it dawns him on him.

"You were close to him, weren't you? Is that why this is so extra weird?"

"You already said that," Natasha points out with a smile. "I wasn't talking about work. But if that was your nice way of telling me to fuck off out of your personal life, it was well done." There's a sparkle of mischievous humor in her eyes that makes it clear she really means it. It's funny too that all of her extensive training never prepared her for this. Maybe she can forgive herself her missteps - first not looking at him at all, then looking too much. There was no happy middle ground.

Her expression shifts back into something like neutrality when he asks if she had been close to the other Bucky. Maybe he didn't - understand how Vormir worked. It's entirely possible Clint has never explained it thoroughly in this world. It had certainly taken her a while to make an account of it. For just a moment, she thinks about lying to him, but again draws the conclusion that it would be unforgivable.

"When you get the soul stone from Vormir, it's in exchange for the soul of someone you love." It's an answer from an oblique angle - he'll draw the conclusion that he draws, and he can ask her for more information if he really wants it.

He's taking a bit to think on how he wants to respond to that accusation as he takes another swig of vodka before setting the glass down and looking at her directly. He's about to say something about how he doesn't have a personally life, everyone he knows is dead but then she hits him with the information from Vomir.

"I didn't know that..." he mutters softly still looking at her. Barton was married though, that means it was different right? Clearly this other version of Natasha could have platonically loved a version of him, that's all that meant right?

Why is his brain tell him there's something more, hiding behind lock and key in his mind.

"When I found out she died, I was sad, but I didn't know why," he says softly. Surely this can't be too bad of an option, she's going to go back to her world or something right. Maybe she was sent here to make him understand.

Something about the way he says it makes her think that he means 'sadder than he should have been.' It's quiet for a moment as she mulls that over, taking another sip of her vodka. It's an odd thought for her to wrestle with. Even if there was something locked away in his memory, she's not the Natasha that would be in there. Would she just be dooming him to mourn her all the more acutely? The way that his ghost from another universe walks everywhere in her shadow? And he's certainly had enough people playing around with his memory to last him nine lifetimes.

But at the end of the day, she knows what the answer is. If their roles were reversed, she'd want him to try.

"Can I try something?" she asks finally. "If you were sadder than you thought you should be, there could be something in your memory. I'd have to move closer to you and touch your prosthetic arm. You can tell me to stop at any time." She doesn't know if it will work. They're both - quite literally - different people. But maybe there are echoes, somewhere out there in the universe.

He desperately wants to be able to hold his attention on her but there’s something that makes him keep looking away. He finds something in him to glance back but then on eyes dancing about the room, not focusing on any specific thing.

When she asks the question he looks down at his hands, takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

“I don’t really understand, but okay,” he agrees.

He’s used to dealing with enough holes in his memories after Wakanda. Yet, somehow it never seems to get any easier.

Natasha sets her glass down on the counter before she moves closer. Even though she's not usually one for speeches, she talks as she moves, not wanting to startle him. Her voice is low and even. Like she's approaching a wounded animal. This too is painfully familiar. How many times has she bailed the other him out of the wreck the chair turned him into? Even if there's nothing there to uncover, maybe this Bucky still needs someone willing to try.

"There's a couple of things. We used to have fun, sparring together. By the time he joined my training, no one else had been a challenge for years. But there was still a tap out code. Here." One of her hands takes his prosthetic one gently, sliding around to cup the underside. There's no hesitation in the way she touches him. Her other hand moves up, her fingers pressing against his forearm in a slow, deliberate pattern.

"Later on, when I started breaking through his programming..." she trails off, not exactly sure how to phrase it. Her fingers move, stroking lightly down the length of his forearm and over his palm.

With his eyes closed it's easy to just concentrate on the feelings, trying not to think too deep of meaning. It'd been something he'd learned about over the time since he'd been in Wakanda, just letting familiarity take over his mind. He tries to imagine what it might be like to be in those sparing times.

"Lucky dog, getting to spar with a pretty girl..." he mumbles half under his breath, even though she can her him, it's pretty obvious it's a half subconscious thought he's voicing while trying to imagine memories.

The last comment is what makes him open his eyes and frowns.

"You broke through his programming? Not Shuri and the team in Wakanda?"

Her mouth curls in a half smile when she hears his quiet comment, though she doesn't call him on it yet. It's clear that he's deep in thought and she doesn't want to interrupt the process. No matter where it ends. Honestly, if she'd had time to think about it, she would have expected this to hurt more. But there's something - it's not nice, really, but something right about trying to help this version of the man she loves look into his memories.

Natasha meets his eyes when he looks at her, head tipping thoughtfully as she considers his question. Her fingers are still moving idly along his arm. "We did. I think I was the fault in the code," she answers, sounding amused by her choice of terminology. "We never got rid of it completely, but it wasn't functional anymore. Were the Wakandans able to remove it entirely?" she asks, scanning his face as she gives his arm a gently squeeze. "That's incredible."

He bites his lower lip at the comment, it's weird to imagine some places so different and yet so the same. She knew who he was right when she saw him yet it sounds like their worlds weren't so close at all.

"Yeah it took a while at it was tough, but they got it," he explains. He leans just the slightest bit into her touch, not sure why but it feels relaxing. It'd been a long time since he felt anything like that, the gentle touch of a friend. No one had really cared about him in a long time. At least not since before Steve left and even that was complicated. Not that he blamed Steve for leaving.

"Who's left in your world?" he asks and his face shows the curiosity but also because he feels very much alone in this moment.

It's interesting, the way he leans into her touch like that. So subtle. Almost like he's only subconsciously letting himself. And it's funny to think that it's something that is only so familiar to her because she's seen it in some mirror of him a hundred times or more over the years. That he probably has no idea she can see it. She wonders if that's fair. If it matters.

There's a thoughtful look on her face as she considers his question, one hand still gently clasping his arm as the idly traces a slow, circular pattern over his palm with her thumb on the other hand. "The people that are left are really scattered. I was talking to Clint pretty regularly but he's still out on the farm. I was mostly working solo. Helping out with things here and there."

"I have no idea where he is, we never really got along here..." Bucky mutters. He wonders if that's true of many worlds or even why that might be. It's all so unclear but he's not surprised to hear that Natasha would be close to Clint anywhere.

He slows his talking just to take in the pattern she's tracing. There's something familiar about it but he's not really sure what it is or how that could be.

"That feels like something I should know," he adds softly.

"You boys were always taking shots at each other in my world too," Natasha answers, sounding oddly fond as she says it. Though she does tack on after a moment, "verbally." She wouldn't want to see a situation where they got in an actual fight, because she's pretty sure they'd manage to one shot each other and then she'd have to go find them in the afterlife and kick both of their asses.

It takes her a second to realize what he means, and she smiles a little as she looks at him, her fingers still moving in the same idle way. "Like a memory or something you just like?"

Somehow the idea that another version of himself is annoyed at Clint isn't surprising, but he doesn't have time to dwell on it when the next question is being asked. It's a good question and not one he's particularly sure of. His eyes stay closed as he thinks about it before opening them and look up at her.

"Familiar? But also not quite right, like maybe I used to be used to something similar, but not that specifically?" it's a half question, half statement and the words 'just like you' hang on his lips because he can't bring himself to speak them.

Though she can't tell specifically what he's thinking, she knows there's something there. It's in the way the end of his sentence is clipped, like there's a second half he's not quite sure he knows how to dive into.

"Well, I am from a different universe." Her voice is all wry humor, like an unspoken recognition of how profoundly weird it is that she's been dumped here in the middle of a mission. "How about this?" She releases his prosthetic arm and lets her fingertips trail lightly down the length of his other forearm instead.

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Bleh I missed this tag somehow.

no worries! <3

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