"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."
This Bucky reminds her so much of the one she knew years ago. From when he was still learning how to navigate the world, how to figure out his place in it. It's a peculiar feeling of déjà vu in the way it's layered on top of the déjà vu she's already experiencing from him being here to talk to at all.
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.
If Bucky was in a normal mood he'd joke about the comment that she'll stay. He'd tease her that she better once she's already got her hands in his hair. Something about anything else making her a tease or the like.
Today he doesn't have it in him. He can't find the words to say much of anything so he just considers her comments for a minute or two staying quite. It's easy to want to let this moment last for as long as it can.
After a while he breaks the silence with.
"I didn't know I had a thing for red heads either. But upon reflection I did once use our train money home at Coney island trying to win a prize for a cute red head, Steve was pissed."
The corner of her mouth twitches in a little smile. She remembers that story. It's enough to distract her, at least for the moment, from how alone he must feel here. Where's the line? Should she let him know the things she knows, or pretend like everything he shares is a unique revelation? They might just be crashing into an existential crisis. But honestly, it's been a few years since she's had one. Might be time to shake things up again.
And at the end of the day, when it comes to him - or some mirror universe version of him - she can't be anything but honest.
After a beat, she asks, "was her name Dot here too?"
Even though he'd closed his eyes he opens them, shifting to look up at her from his spot on her shoulder lips curling into a smile.
"She was, that's wild."
Like, he's know the multiverse exists but this is the first time he's ever been dealing with it when it has anything to do with himself. It's really hard to wrap his head around even when she says that, but it feels good to hear.
When he shifts his head, she lets her fingers slip free from his hair, angling her head to meet his gaze. "Good wild or bad wild?"
She can tell which way his answer is likely going to go based on his smile. But it still feels like one of those things that's worth asking. Of all the weird things that have happened to her over this years, she's pretty sure this is the weirdest.
Not only in part because she's slowly realizing that part of what makes this weird is that she's never thought about the universe as being particularly nice. If pressed, she might go with 'indifferent.' But this feels a lot like something she's needed, and it's so rare that she gets to indulge what she needs.
"Weird mostly," he says still smiling at her. He presses his head into her fingers a little bit more seeking out the attention, it's been decades since he's felt something like this and even if it's just for a bit he's gonna enjoy it.
Things go quite again for a bit, letting things be. He's never been much of one to force conversation or make things go places they aren't going to naturally go. However one question floats to the top of his head and he can't help to ask it.
"Your guy, yeah, you loved him a lot right? Would he be upset at this right now?" It's a weird question, asking about what another version of yourself would think about something. Yet, he's never had a proper relationship, he can't imagine what his own answer would be so he has to ask Natasha.
She can't help the quiet chuckle that escapes her lips when she feels his head tip into her fingers. Like a puppy that's not done being scratched behind the ears. But she obliges him, because of course she does, her fingers curling back into his hair to rub against his scalp in idle, meaningless patterns.
There aren't many opportunities to just sit and let it be quiet, so she's not in any particular rush. Especially because the other end of this is a lot of figuring out how she got here and why. Maybe even if she has to go back or if she could just...be here. Selfishly.
His question is met with a thoughtful hum. She doesn't bother correcting him that there's no past tense when it comes to the way she feels about the Bucky from her universe. He's been gone for years and he's still the only one for her. Apparently no matter what world she's on. After a moment, a smile twitches at the corner of her mouth. "I think he'd be amused, actually. 'If it has to be someone else, at least it's me.'"
"I haven't had a girlfriend since before The War, but I could imagine myself saying something like that if I did..." it sounds a little fond and a little sad when he says it. Like it feels like something he's missed. It's been almost two years since they all came back from the blip, two empty years where nothing has settled quite right expect an empty apartment in the change of the world and Sam occasionally bothering him about things.
Maybe that's why he'd been so easy to not argue with Natasha. Something deep inside him wanted something, anything to cling on to. To not be bitter about the fact that he lost Steve to time, and Steve even just let him be there and tortured for decades. To wish that he was old and time could just move on instead of drudging on at the pace it's going.
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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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Today he doesn't have it in him. He can't find the words to say much of anything so he just considers her comments for a minute or two staying quite. It's easy to want to let this moment last for as long as it can.
After a while he breaks the silence with.
"I didn't know I had a thing for red heads either. But upon reflection I did once use our train money home at Coney island trying to win a prize for a cute red head, Steve was pissed."
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And at the end of the day, when it comes to him - or some mirror universe version of him - she can't be anything but honest.
After a beat, she asks, "was her name Dot here too?"
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"She was, that's wild."
Like, he's know the multiverse exists but this is the first time he's ever been dealing with it when it has anything to do with himself. It's really hard to wrap his head around even when she says that, but it feels good to hear.
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She can tell which way his answer is likely going to go based on his smile. But it still feels like one of those things that's worth asking. Of all the weird things that have happened to her over this years, she's pretty sure this is the weirdest.
Not only in part because she's slowly realizing that part of what makes this weird is that she's never thought about the universe as being particularly nice. If pressed, she might go with 'indifferent.' But this feels a lot like something she's needed, and it's so rare that she gets to indulge what she needs.
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Things go quite again for a bit, letting things be. He's never been much of one to force conversation or make things go places they aren't going to naturally go. However one question floats to the top of his head and he can't help to ask it.
"Your guy, yeah, you loved him a lot right? Would he be upset at this right now?" It's a weird question, asking about what another version of yourself would think about something. Yet, he's never had a proper relationship, he can't imagine what his own answer would be so he has to ask Natasha.
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There aren't many opportunities to just sit and let it be quiet, so she's not in any particular rush. Especially because the other end of this is a lot of figuring out how she got here and why. Maybe even if she has to go back or if she could just...be here. Selfishly.
His question is met with a thoughtful hum. She doesn't bother correcting him that there's no past tense when it comes to the way she feels about the Bucky from her universe. He's been gone for years and he's still the only one for her. Apparently no matter what world she's on. After a moment, a smile twitches at the corner of her mouth. "I think he'd be amused, actually. 'If it has to be someone else, at least it's me.'"
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"I haven't had a girlfriend since before The War, but I could imagine myself saying something like that if I did..." it sounds a little fond and a little sad when he says it. Like it feels like something he's missed. It's been almost two years since they all came back from the blip, two empty years where nothing has settled quite right expect an empty apartment in the change of the world and Sam occasionally bothering him about things.
Maybe that's why he'd been so easy to not argue with Natasha. Something deep inside him wanted something, anything to cling on to. To not be bitter about the fact that he lost Steve to time, and Steve even just let him be there and tortured for decades. To wish that he was old and time could just move on instead of drudging on at the pace it's going.
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I apparently lost this reply so sorry.
no worries! <3