brushpass | threads

He wouldn't be surprised to hear she'd saved the day in a dive bar in Manhattan. There's not a lot he could learn about her that would be more surprising than the easy way she takes his arm.

He manages to only look about half as awkward as he feels.

"Hard to show a girl a good time on a bike," he says, and then amends, "At least not for a night on the town. Now if you want to take an afternoon and get out of the city when it's warmer, then I can bring out the bike."

When they get to the car, he holds the door open for her.

Honestly, all things considered, she's certainly had dates that started off significantly worse than him only looking half as awkward as he feels. Though she's not sure what that says about her. Or the general quality of the dating scene in New York.

Probably best to blame it on the dating scene.

"Oh, how chivalrous," she says, giving him a fondly amused look when he opens the passenger side door. She keeps talking as she gets in. "That does sound like a good time. Maybe even better if I grab a bike too so I can race you out there."

Bucky makes a sound, not exactly agreement, but acknowledgment. There's not exactly a delicate way of saying that would spoil half the fun. "That's one way to make things exciting," he says instead. "Pretty sure you'll beat me, though."

He closes the door carefully, after her feet are safely inside and circles around to climb in himself.

"My bike's almost as old as I am."

What he lands on is a pretty good compromise between the two. And there's a good chance she's picked up the underlying meaning regardless, given the fond little smirk she shoots his way as he carefully closes the door.

When he joins her in the car, she's just finishing buckling her seat belt.

"Oh, I don't know. Vintage models will surprise you."

The comment takes Bucky off guard and he has to clear his throat to keep from laughing a little too loud, and a little too abruptly. He isn't prepared for it, and for a moment he feels a little outclassed in the flirting game.

Then he turns the ignition.

"Yeah, they can, when you give them a chance." He ducks his head a little, keeping his eyes forward. "And if you can put up with a few repairs."

She watches the way he ducks his head as he answers. It's oddly charming. When the engine starts, she turns her head reflexively to check the rear view mirror. Making note of the car parked behind them, who's walking down the sidewalk. Old habits die hard.

"Newer models can have repairs on them too," she points out, settling in her seat with a smile. "It depends on the kind of miles you've been driving." And she's certainly driven some hard miles over the years.

"I guess there's that," Bucky agrees. He knows enough not to argue—self-awareness might not be his greatest strength, but he does know enough about what Widows go through not to dismiss it, and enough about what Natasha's been through. She has her scars too.

"Maybe that can be a plan for when the weather eases up. Take a ride up state, enjoy the scenery."

Natasha can tell by the way that he reiterates the idea of enjoying the scenery that he has something specific in mind. Likely her perched on the back seat with her arms around him rather than racing him on another bike. It's sweet, to think that he might look forward to something like that. Sweet enough that she doesn't tease him about it.

Yet.

"Sounds like a good way to spend a Saturday to me," she agrees. "Let me get the address for the bar for you." She pulls her phone out of her pocket and pulls up her GPS app, setting it to take them to the dive. Once the navigation is active, she props it up in the cup holder between them, angled so he can see it.

"So how was the first week of the new year?"

"Uneventful, mostly." Which in some ways is a blessing; in others, it makes him restless, like a little itch under his skill while he waits for something to go wrong. After so much time jumping from one battlefield to another with only a brief break in Wakanda, he doesn't trust downtime. "I think most of the city is still nursing their hangover from New Year's Eve."

He glances down at the GPS, nodding.

"How about you? Staying out of trouble?"

"So you're going a little stir crazy, then." The observation is delivered non-judgmentally - there's maybe even a hint of understanding there. Which shouldn't be a surprise, coming from the woman who only vacations under duress. While she likes her life, appreciates that she has something to come back to...in many ways, it's harder to be like that. Just normal. Day to day. Her life has been weird and high octane for so long that the balance feels off.

But she knows that just means it's important to make the time for coffee and chats with her neighbor. And dates.

"Me? Always." She doesn't even try to make the lie sound convincing. After a moment, she adds on, "I'm prepping for an undercover mission. Should be heading out on Tuesday."

"And you can't tell me anything about it or else you'd have to kill me?" Bucky asks without any seriousness. He's sure that there's plenty about it that's classified and extremely need to know, and if anyone could kill him it might be her, especially if she tried while he was driving and not expecting it, but... well, maybe that's what makes it funny?

Or maybe his sense of humor is questionable these days.

"Are you going to be gone long?"

"Oh, absolutely." There's a twitch at the corner of her mouth like she's trying not to laugh as she leans back against the head rest, giving him an amused look. It's the kind of joke that might not land with another audience but, well. She gets it. The nature of classified work means she often can only give even the most basic details of what she does.

"Why, are you gonna miss me?" The twitch finally turns into a smile as she asks the question lightly, flirtatiously. "Probably just a week, maybe two."

"Good to know how long to wait before I start knocking on doors." Whether her employers or her contacts or her targets, he leaves vague. He doesn't really have any plans to scour the world for her, and his tone stays relatively light.

But as he says it he confronts the fact it's not not true either.

Bucky doesn't have a whole lot of people left. Makes it easy to imagine going to extremes to make sure he doesn't lose them.

Natasha chuckles and rolls her eyes, amused and fond. It's one of those joking comments that she could easily see having a grain of truth to it. And it's sort of endearing to think that he might worry about her. Most people don't, and she doesn't look for it. But he knows better than most that all it takes is one misstep, one bad second, for everything to go haywire.

"How about I give you one of my burners when you drop me back off tonight? I'll text you when I'm done."

"Yeah?" He wasn't really angling for something like that, but there's a flash of something when Natasha offers. Not quite relief, and definitely not excitement, but a certain warmth. He's... pleased, might be the word for it.

Flattered, a little.

That she'd think of him.

Maybe glad to have something to look forward to.

"Sounds like a deal. You can tell me how it went after you've debriefed."

Natasha can tell that her guess about the tone of his joking comment was spot on. A little smile lingers at the corner of her mouth as she tips her head enough so she can look over at him.

"Yeah. We can meet for brunch." An incongruous place to confirm details of a mission, but she finds that people are typically to involved in their own lives to listen closely to other tables when they're eating.

They're getting closer to the dive she programmed into the phone, so she scans the street for parking. "We're almost there. Grab whatever spot you see first."

Bucky nods, using the pretense for a moment of silence as he sits straighter. It's not that the conversation is unpleasant. Just the opposite, really. But... well, it's been a long time since he had to carry a whole side of a conversation on his own.

Natasha handles it well, but it's still helpful to take a moment to center again.

Make sure he's not embarrassing himself.

He parks the first open spot he passes.

"Should have enough time for a drink and a game of darts, you think?"

It might help him to know that it's not likely that the average person would be able to tell that it's been a long time since he's had to hold up conversation. The unfortunate flip side to that is that she's adept enough at reading the beats of a conversation that she can tell when he's centering himself. She doesn't think of it as something to be embarrassed of. It's just part of the way that he communicates. During the pause, she shuts off the navigation on her phone and slides it back into her clutch.

"Oh, definitely. Especially if I trounce you like I'm planning to." It's a playful challenge, delivered with a quick smirk. It's second nature to check her surroundings before she gets out of the car, and she does the perfunctory visual sweep before she climbs out of the passenger seat to meet him on the sidewalk. "By the way, whatever you do, do not order the tequila."

"Why, what's wrong with the tequila?"

He hadn't planned on ordering it, but now he needs to know. Besides, he's not so slow he misses an bid for a new conversation topic.

"Are we talking bad, or bad?"

"Bad."

The emphasis on her response is impossible to miss, and she shoots him an amused look. It's clear that she's probably not going to elaborate on what exactly it is that makes the tequila so bad. That she might even be egging him on to see if he'll order it.

Which is why she tacks on after a moment, "unless you like drinking paint thinner."

"I don't know. Maybe that'd be strong enough to do something for me."

He meant it as a joke, but it comes out a little off, maybe a little bitter. It would be nice sometimes if he could get just a little drunk. Just to take the edge off.

He shrugs it off.

"But definitely not for the taste."

She can tell he's trying to make light of it. But it still comes out - just a little flat. Like maybe he's trying to make himself think it's funnier than it is.

"Have you had a chance to try Asgardian mead?" she asks as she pulls the door to the bar open so they can step inside.

It is, as she promised, an absolute dive. There's a fair number of people inside, but thankfully not too crowded.

Seems like the kind of place a person can disappear in. That makes it kind of comforting.

His fingers twitch to take the door from her, but he reminds himself that it's literally a new century. They can take turns with this.

"Haven't had the pleasure," he says, holding the door open once he's inside. Split the difference? "I haven't actually had much of a chance to hang out with Asgardians socially."

Or maybe he just hasn't hung out socially much.

"Maybe I should have asked on New Year's Eve?"

"They tend to be...boisterous when they drink." It's the nicest way she can think of to caution him. She likes Thor, she's enjoyed meeting Valkyrie, Loki is Loki. "I'll reach out and see if someone can send a bottle your way."

She's pretty sure the challenging part will be getting them to limit it to one bottle.

Slipping her coat off as she approaches the bar, she turns her head to look over at him with a smirk. "There's no secret top shelf whiskey here."

"I'd be more disappointed if there were." He follows her, trying not to loom. Or lurk. Or stalk. Or any of the other expressive verbs Sam likes to use for him when he's making people around him uncomfortable.

Luckily, no one here seems to be paying too much attention.

"Maybe that means it'll be a reasonable price." Then he adds, wincing. "Not that I'm cheap when I take a girl out."

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Sorry for the delay!

no worries! <3

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