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.
"The fuckin' multiverse..." he murmurs quietly while letting her take his hand and guide those fingers up his arm. It feels nice, which seems like a bad idea. He's not supposed to enjoy things like that, especially not from friends of his friends.
He should send her away, go back to his quite life in this shitty apartment and hope the world forgets him again. He can't bring himself to do it though, something about her seeing him, being here makes him feel alive in a way he'd forgotten he even could be.
"How did you and him get to know each other? I've barely spoken 10 sentences to the Natasha who was here."
"The fuckin' multiverse," Natasha agrees, her mouth quirking into a little smirk. It's all a little unbelievable. A little ridiculous. She always seems to find herself at the business end of some dangerous situation. Honestly, it's sort of nice to just have to deal with ridiculous instead.
Though she's sure the danger is still coming.
"Didn't have much of a choice. The Red Room contracted him to help with our training at first. Then he and I started going on missions together. That gave me time to navigate around the programming and get to know him." There's that same tone that's always there when she talks about the Red Room, like she's dutifully going through it because she knows it's better to talk about it. But there's a peculiar hint of nostalgia there too. "He'd sneak into my window at night. Said he slept better there."
"That sounds a lot more fun then sleeping in a cryo tank for hydra," Bucky muses and a grin he doesn't even know is forming starts to curl around his lips. He hasn't smiled like that in a long time but it's hard not to smile at the pretty girl who seems to have made him happy in some other world.
"He sounds like a lucky guy, Is it bad that I'm apparently jealous of myself?"
"He had a cryo tank too," Natasha answers, though it mostly seemed to be used on the heels of wiping him after too much humanity leaked through. She knew any time he disappeared for a few months or more what happened. The grin that starts at his lips is unexpected, and her brow arches, though she finds herself smiling back.
And she can't help but laugh a little, squeezing his hand. It's an oddly charming sentiment. And...not really a surprise, no. "No. It's weird to see the way your life could be." Something she's learning very rapidly as she tries to conceive of a version of herself that didn't know him well and ended up dead on Vormir.
The smile stays though he pulls the hand away from her, the touches feel too good. They're too much and he wants to lean into her, to touch her more but he knows he shouldn't, that he can't. She probably got pulled her for some important reason not to come be around him.
He takes a big drink of his vodka before pouring more and looking at her.
Maybe she's there for an important reason. Or maybe it's just some kind of...multiversal accident. A quirk of fate. She's been through enough weird shit by now to know that saying 'anything is possible' really is only the tip of the iceberg. She sits down on one end of the couch once he pulls back, settling into the cushion as she knocks back the rest of her own drink and holds out the glass for him to refill.
The question takes her by surprise. Her eyes meet his for a moment, and her mouth curls into a sad little smile. "Only every minute."
Something about that way she says it. Her voice is fond, but her smile is sad in a way that he's surprised rouses up something. It's not sympathy exactly, but some sort of feeling that he can't quite put his feeling on. Honestly, he's not great with feelings anyways.
He pours her another drink when she pushes the glass forward before sliding it back over to her with an awkward smile.
"So the universe dropped you off on a roof of a guy who's a version of the person you miss more then anything. Now that seems like it's playing a joke on you, no offense," he says before taking another drink of vodka. She hadn't actually said those words, but that was the vibe he'd gotten from the last comment.
"Wouldn't be the first time I thought I was the butt end of a cosmic joke," Natasha answers as she lifts the glass skyward in a mocking toast. She lowers the glass and takes another quick gulp. It does seem cruel.
Or maybe that's just the mindset she's been in. Adrift out in the world, chasing down enemies that wear the faces of friends. It's necessary work, but lonely.
She lapses into quiet for a moment, a thoughtful look on her face. If it's not cruel, and not random, what could it be? Some kind of accident. Magic. Teleportation. Weird science. What's the catalyst?
The comment about the joke makes him arch a brow in curiosity. It's humorous maybe, but also interesting and takes a dip of his drink. He's about to ask a question about what kind of other cosmic jokes she might have been the butt of but she's asked first.
"How do I know that you're not gonna go sell me out with my deep dark secrets if I tell you?" he asks but doesn't wait for the response before answering, clearly joking.
"I was thinking about how empty the world feels with everyone gone."
Natasha's mouth quirks a little, a clear recognition of the humor in his question. And it's a good thing he's not asking seriously. There's no way to say something like 'because I'd sell my soul before doing something to hurt you' and still sound casual. She can feel the warmth of the vodka in her head, a sure sign that she's just on the cusp of too much too quickly, and she sets the glass down on the table.
Her eyes lift to look at him when he answers for real. It's a sad companion to her own world, then. Surrounded by familiar faces and unable to trust any of them. She leans back in her seat before she answers. "I get how that feels." It's not a solution, or advice, and she's fairly certain he doesn't need those things anyway. It's always been about understanding between the two of them.
"You can stay here," he tells her without realizing how strange it sounds at first bofore adding. "I mean, while you're in this world or whatever. I wouldn't want you have to go off hoping that things were similar enough to find a safe house."
It's awkward but gentle, he very clearly doesn't offer that kind of help to people often. Not only just because he doesn't really have much of anything in his apartment, but because he doesn't feel like he owes people things.
Look, she likes to think of herself as pretty unflappable. Skrulls? Sure. Getting deposited into a different universe? Yeah, why not. So when she looks up at him, surprise evident on her face, it's pretty immediately clear that she wasn't expecting the offer.
But she is touched by it. Her eyes skim his face, her expression softening as she realizes that he means it. Genuinely. Even after she got literally dumped at his feet and confessed she's madly in love with another version of him.
Because even though he's gone, it's not really the kind of love that will ever become a thing of the past.
"You really mean that, huh?" Her mouth lilts into a little smile, and she leans her arm against the back of the couch so she can prop her head up on her hand. "I'd hate to inconvenience you." It's not a yes or a no. It's just a recognition that it's a lot to offer, and that she won't be put out if he's regretting making it.
"Well, the universe dropped you practically into my lap. So it would be the universe inconveniencing me if it was someone at all..." he almost feelings embarrassed by saying that. Did he insinuate that she's an inconvenience?
She's not, at least not to him.
"I mean..." he starts to correct himself and then shake his head again with a sigh.
"Look I don't know how to talk to women okay, I haven't done it since the 1930s."
She can't help but smile a little as she listens to him correct himself and shift his course. "Look at it this way," she points out. "You're talking to a woman that already knows that and likes what you bring to the table. So what's there to be nervous about?"
Well, that certainly catches him off guard because he shifts a little bit to look at her and leans into the couch with his side, arm resting over the back as if to look a little more submissive. Like she caught up in some moment and he's like a dog rolling over onto his back to show submission.
"You can't know that, I could be a completely different person then the Bucky you knew. In fact, I frequently get the idea that it might be the case."
Okay so he hadn't actually thought much about other version of him. Just that he must not be in very good shape or company given the fact that his only friend seems to have ditched him to go be with a girl and let him rot in Russia.
She watches the shift in his posture, listening to what he says. And it would be funny, if it wasn't sort of sad. This exact response is how she knows he's him. Confident in his skills but still somehow doubtful of himself. It's the root of that self-effacing charm that gets her every time.
Her hand drops, moving slowly until it settles lightly on the forearm that's draped along the back of the couch. She lets the quiet sit for a moment as she studies his face. There's a little smile lingering on her lips.
Look, she's never been one for speeches. But she knows what she feels when she looks at him. She could find him with her eyes closed. She could pick him out of a crowd with a mask on. She'd know him trapped in someone else's body or impersonated by a Skrull.
"I know." The response is full of easy, quiet confidence.
Watching her touch him and move is like time standing still. Moments and feelings rush past his eyes in a way he'd only heard described in movies. Feelings of familiarity and fondness that shouldn't be there. Is this some weird multidemensional shit? Or things he's forgotten.
He's not sure? Does it matter which one it even is?
He shifts on the couch to slide closer to her and quietly lays his head against her shoulder, simply adding.
Well, if she was surprised before, it's nothing to the jolt that goes through her when he shifts in to lean his head on her shoulder. It loosens something that's been stuck in her heart since she watched him slip off the cliff face on that damned, silent planet. She has to swallow, quiet for a moment. Her arm curls around him so she can slide her fingers into his hair, her head tipping to lean against his. She's glad that he can't see her face - she could probably school her expression if she had to, but it's going to take longer to hold back the brightness threatening to spill from her eyes.
"Seems unwise to argue with you," he says quietly closing his eyes as he just let's her touch his hair. It's familiar, gentle, and a way he knows he hasn't been touched in the longest of times. He's still fairly certain he didn't actually know Natasha in this life, but maybe some other one. Maybe this is all just some big cosmic joke.
"The world drops you off a pretty red head, who argues with that?"
"Guess even the universe knows you've got a thing for red heads."
There's an easy, well worn familiarity to the way she says it. Something she's teased his other self with time and again. Particularly when she puts on a risque dress that leaves him looking gobsmacked.
The pads of her fingers brush against his scalp as she lets her fingers glide through his hair. It's weird. Finding him - a version of him - again after all this time. Being on a world parallel to her own. Even if it just ends up being a night, maybe she can let herself have this. Worry about consequences in the morning.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no worries! <3
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."
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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.
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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?"
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"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.
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"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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He should send her away, go back to his quite life in this shitty apartment and hope the world forgets him again. He can't bring himself to do it though, something about her seeing him, being here makes him feel alive in a way he'd forgotten he even could be.
"How did you and him get to know each other? I've barely spoken 10 sentences to the Natasha who was here."
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Though she's sure the danger is still coming.
"Didn't have much of a choice. The Red Room contracted him to help with our training at first. Then he and I started going on missions together. That gave me time to navigate around the programming and get to know him." There's that same tone that's always there when she talks about the Red Room, like she's dutifully going through it because she knows it's better to talk about it. But there's a peculiar hint of nostalgia there too. "He'd sneak into my window at night. Said he slept better there."
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"He sounds like a lucky guy, Is it bad that I'm apparently jealous of myself?"
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And she can't help but laugh a little, squeezing his hand. It's an oddly charming sentiment. And...not really a surprise, no. "No. It's weird to see the way your life could be." Something she's learning very rapidly as she tries to conceive of a version of herself that didn't know him well and ended up dead on Vormir.
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He takes a big drink of his vodka before pouring more and looking at her.
"Do you miss him?"
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The question takes her by surprise. Her eyes meet his for a moment, and her mouth curls into a sad little smile. "Only every minute."
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He pours her another drink when she pushes the glass forward before sliding it back over to her with an awkward smile.
"So the universe dropped you off on a roof of a guy who's a version of the person you miss more then anything. Now that seems like it's playing a joke on you, no offense," he says before taking another drink of vodka. She hadn't actually said those words, but that was the vibe he'd gotten from the last comment.
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Or maybe that's just the mindset she's been in. Adrift out in the world, chasing down enemies that wear the faces of friends. It's necessary work, but lonely.
She lapses into quiet for a moment, a thoughtful look on her face. If it's not cruel, and not random, what could it be? Some kind of accident. Magic. Teleportation. Weird science. What's the catalyst?
"What were you thinking about when I dropped in?"
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"How do I know that you're not gonna go sell me out with my deep dark secrets if I tell you?" he asks but doesn't wait for the response before answering, clearly joking.
"I was thinking about how empty the world feels with everyone gone."
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Her eyes lift to look at him when he answers for real. It's a sad companion to her own world, then. Surrounded by familiar faces and unable to trust any of them. She leans back in her seat before she answers. "I get how that feels." It's not a solution, or advice, and she's fairly certain he doesn't need those things anyway. It's always been about understanding between the two of them.
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It's awkward but gentle, he very clearly doesn't offer that kind of help to people often. Not only just because he doesn't really have much of anything in his apartment, but because he doesn't feel like he owes people things.
So why does he feel like he has to help Natasha?
bucky pls why was that so cute
But she is touched by it. Her eyes skim his face, her expression softening as she realizes that he means it. Genuinely. Even after she got literally dumped at his feet and confessed she's madly in love with another version of him.
Because even though he's gone, it's not really the kind of love that will ever become a thing of the past.
"You really mean that, huh?" Her mouth lilts into a little smile, and she leans her arm against the back of the couch so she can prop her head up on her hand. "I'd hate to inconvenience you." It's not a yes or a no. It's just a recognition that it's a lot to offer, and that she won't be put out if he's regretting making it.
She'll find a way. She always does.
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She's not, at least not to him.
"I mean..." he starts to correct himself and then shake his head again with a sigh.
"Look I don't know how to talk to women okay, I haven't done it since the 1930s."
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She can't help but smile a little as she listens to him correct himself and shift his course. "Look at it this way," she points out. "You're talking to a woman that already knows that and likes what you bring to the table. So what's there to be nervous about?"
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"You can't know that, I could be a completely different person then the Bucky you knew. In fact, I frequently get the idea that it might be the case."
Okay so he hadn't actually thought much about other version of him. Just that he must not be in very good shape or company given the fact that his only friend seems to have ditched him to go be with a girl and let him rot in Russia.
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Her hand drops, moving slowly until it settles lightly on the forearm that's draped along the back of the couch. She lets the quiet sit for a moment as she studies his face. There's a little smile lingering on her lips.
Look, she's never been one for speeches. But she knows what she feels when she looks at him. She could find him with her eyes closed. She could pick him out of a crowd with a mask on. She'd know him trapped in someone else's body or impersonated by a Skrull.
"I know." The response is full of easy, quiet confidence.
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He's not sure? Does it matter which one it even is?
He shifts on the couch to slide closer to her and quietly lays his head against her shoulder, simply adding.
"Okay then."
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"Just like that, huh?"
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"The world drops you off a pretty red head, who argues with that?"
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There's an easy, well worn familiarity to the way she says it. Something she's teased his other self with time and again. Particularly when she puts on a risque dress that leaves him looking gobsmacked.
The pads of her fingers brush against his scalp as she lets her fingers glide through his hair. It's weird. Finding him - a version of him - again after all this time. Being on a world parallel to her own. Even if it just ends up being a night, maybe she can let herself have this. Worry about consequences in the morning.
"I'll stay."
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I apparently lost this reply so sorry.
no worries! <3