"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.
She can hear it all in his voice. All that nostalgia. The longing that bleeds in around the edges. He's so alone that it's almost enough to break her heart. That's something that she knows more than a little bit about. Before the other him was sent to the Red Room, it had just been her against the world. Always watching her own back. Always waiting for the knife in the dark. The betrayal.
She wouldn't have made it out alive without him. Or - alive, maybe. But not living. The last few years have been a stark reminder of that. What was the point of everything without someone to share it with?
After a moment, her fingers drift idly through his hair, and she answers, "sounds like it's been lonely here." It's not sympathy, exactly - more like understanding. Like what she's really saying is 'I know exactly how that feels.'
"It has been," he murmurs quietly just enjoying her fingers. It takes a while but he works up the courage to let his arm drape across her lap and squeeze one of her thighs firmly. It's not sexual, but is fond, like he's trying to thank her for this. Whatever it is.
"What happened in your world? After Thanos. Here a bunch of people died, and then Steve decided to just fuck off to the past." The words sound sharp, hurt, like he's still not really quite over being left out in the cold of the future without anyone else.
She can tell that it's a gesture of - solidarity, she thinks. Maybe a little bit of affection. Just two isolated people finding an unexpected moment of peace among some admittedly weird circumstances.
There's a lot of bitterness in his voice when he talks about Steve. And she gets it, even though she has a different perspective on it. "He went back to the 40s in my world too. Hard to resist the lure of a chance at having a life." She couldn't even begrudge him for it. He'd sacrificed so much over the years.
"And if you went back to the past, Natsaha, would you let them do those things to him all over?" It's a question to her, but clearly about Steve, about some of the bitterness he'd allow to fester over the years since he'd departed.
He'd never admitted that to anyone. He's not sure why he's telling her it now, but he hopes she'll be on his side. He desperately wants for anyone to be on his side in this, it's felt like forever since he's had anyone.
Well, that response certainly brings everything into sharp relief. Her head tips a little, and it's quiet for a moment as she considers her response. What the most important pieces of the puzzle are.
"I can't speak for the Steve in your world. But my understanding is that you wouldn't know even if he did go back and rescue you. Your past is already your past. He would have created a - alternate timeline, because from his point of view, he was still living out his future. So there could be another Bucky out there that was rescued. His path just diverged from yours."
Her hand slips from his hair so her arm can curl around his shoulders, giving him a gentle squeeze. She know that's hard to hear. That there's no changing what happened to him. Even if Steve tried.
"But if I'm answering for myself, no. Even if I knew I would be making another universe or even a thousand other universes. Nothing would be able to stop me."
Yeah okay. That feels like so much, arms around him he turns into her closer and buries his face in her neck. That's a lot, it's so much to take in to think about. Is she right, could he have tried and made a mess of it. Really would this world not be changed?
She does seem to know about other worlds though so there's maybe no reason that she wouldn't know about this as well.
"That sounds like a bunch of bullshit..." he mutters against her neck in protest.
She can tell her answer is difficult to swallow. But she's grateful for the quiet moment when his face presses against her neck. It's too familiar a feeling. Like vertigo. Like standing on the cliff again not knowing that he's the one that's saying goodbye for the last time. Her arm stays around his shoulders as she leans her cheek against his head and lets him stay there.
When he finally speaks against her skin, she can't help but chuckle a little. "It's time travel, milii moi." The term of affection slips out of her lips unthinking. "If the universe can pluck me out of my life and drop me on your roof, anything could be possible."
"Sounds familiar," he mutters against her neck. His metal arm slides down around her waist as he stays tucked close. He doesn't even register that he's murmured that because the idea that the term milii moi sounds familiar seems wrong.
Why would terms of endearment in Russian mean anything to him? Why should that be a thing. Clearly he just spent a lot of time in a hydrotank working for hydra and being a project right.
That's all he knows. A weapon. There's nothing else hiding back in his memory. He won't even allow himself to think of the option. No, clearly this is just some weird multiversal thing. He's getting some ping off her because she loves another version of him.
It takes her a second to figure out exactly what it is that sounds familiar. The idea of being plucked up by the universe? No. More likely that affectionate little nickname that had slipped out all unthinking. He's always been the only person she can let her guard down around. No surprise that there's an echo of it here.
"Does it?" she muses. If this Bucky didn't have any relationship with the Natasha from his universe, it was conceivable that he'd overheard it somewhere on a mission. She knew better than to get her hopes up that there might be something to unlock in his brain, or that he might have been dropped into this universe too. She knows how hard it is not to be able to trust your own mind.
So when she continues, it's just to share why she's said it at all. "I usually just called him James. Sometimes milii moi when we were alone. It must have been on my mind."
"Yeah, I don't know why," he mutters softly. He was supposed to have gotten all his memory worked out in Wakanda, that's what they told him. However, ever since coming back from dusting it'd been more of a mess then he cares to admit. Not that he has anyone to admit it to.
"I think so. He usually called me Natalia." Most of the people she considers close to her call her Nat or Tasha. He had been the only good thing about the Red Room. Using the Russian form of her name had always been a nice reminder of that shared history.
"This must be weird to hear." Another version of himself happy when it seems so far away here. The loneliness of his apartment presses in from all sides, like an unspoken reminder that this is a very different place from the one that she knows. "I'm sorry if it brings up any unpleasant memories."
"No--!" it's a quick response to the suggestion that he doesn't like it. Like he's afraid that she'll pull away or leave. He'd like her to stay, he likes laying here with his arms around her, being held by her. He likes the way her hair smells just like her, even though he's not sure what that means.
Why should he even know what she smells like. He shakes his had.
"What I mean is, it's nice to hear that at least somewhere else, I got to have a good run. I wish I could tell you about what she was like here though, but I didn't really know her. Just that she was close to Clint and Steve."
Natasha can't help but smile to herself at the quick way he answers. It once again reminds her of the Bucky she knew years ago, when he was still finding his way back to himself. To the person he wanted to be. Her posture doesn't change despite her comment - she's still leaning back into the couch, her arm curled around him as he leans into her.
"That's a good way of thinking about it," she answers. Because it is. Being able to reflect that some other version of him had some good in his life. Even if that means that he's experiencing the counterbalance. "I'm glad she had them. It's okay that you don't know much about her. Unless she didn't go through the Red Room, I can probably guess what her life was like."
It's easy to stay tucked against her. In fact, as their conversation unwinds he relaxes even more into her. It's odd, he'd always thought if he ever did get around a woman again he'd want to be the one to be tough and manly and hold them. yet, something about this Natasha relaxes him in a way he can't explain.
"It's like you're here, scratching the part of my back that I can't normally reach," he explains quietly just resting near her. "Like it's been itching for so long I didn't even know it could be relieved."
She can feel the tension seeping out of his muscles slowly, bit by bit. Like there's a part of him that had still been waiting to thaw out. How long has he been holding himself together like this, through stubborn minded determination? Years, she suspects. James - her James - was always her safe place to land, and she'd been the same for him. This one had been alone for quite some time.
A little smile quirks at the corner of her lips when he speaks again. Even though she knows he's speaking metaphorically, she shifts her arm so she can graze her nails lightly, slowly up and down the line of his spine. Not really scratching his back so much as reaffirming that she doesn't disagree with the thought. After a few moments, her hand comes to rest in the middle of his back, just below his shoulder blades, and she does actually lightly scratch his back there. Right in the spot it would be impossible to reach on his own.
"Well then, if this is all the universe wanted me to do while I was here, I'm going to consider this a trip well spent."
"Literally too I guess," he mutters against her neck. He would die of embarrassment if anyone saw this. If anyone knew that he let himself fall into some strange red heads arms and melt like it was the end of the world. Perhaps he too had held on too tight. Maybe he should have sought out some company. One day or another somewhere in the world there was probably someone he could have found so he wouldn't seem so desperate.
"Do you think it'll pull you back soon? How does this normally work for you?" she's been so composed over this time he just assumes that she's been up to something like this before. There must be a reason that she's so calm about the mess they're in.
She lets out a little snort of laughter when she hears his muttered comment. "Couldn't resist," is all she says. Would it help, if he knew that she didn't think there was anything desperate about what he was doing? They're in an incredibly unusual circumstance. He's been alone for a long time. She's not going to hold it against him if he can find some respite here, for however long she can stay.
His question surprises her a little, and it's quiet for a moment as she considers her answer. Evidently she's been holding it together pretty well. And she can only think of one reason why that might be. "There's a girl named America that can punch her way into different universes. This has never happened to me before, though. I guess it's just - you know, once you spend a few years fighting shape shifting aliens, your tolerance level for what's weird goes way up." Another quiet beat before she adds on, "and if it let me see you, I figure it can't be that bad."
"So you're telling me that a girl is gonna come punch through to my apartment and steal you?" he asks teasingly. It sounds so absurd to him that it's hard not to suggest. He shifts against her for a moment before pulling back and giving her a look like he's really seeing her for the first time.
"Damn, it's hard to believe that any version of me is good enough to pull someone as gorgeous as you."
The corner of her mouth twitches in amusement at the way he phrases the question. Which - honestly, fair. It's a weird power to have. It only gets weirder. "There's apparently an entire universe made up of wet paint. She's got bigger things to worry about than me," she informs him. Her tone is as dry as ever, which makes it sound like she might be joking. Unfortunately she isn't.
Maybe in the grand scheme of things, that's why she's not having an existential crisis yet. At least she hasn't been turned into wet paint.
She can't help but chuckle a little at his line, and without thinking, her hand comes to rest on his face. Her thumb brushes back along his cheekbone. "No one else ever came close. You've got a lot more going for you than you know."
Something about the compliment unlocks a piece deep within his brain. It's not a specific moment, but a feeling. Something about safety or warmth with Natasha, a feeling of belonging that had been filed away behind lock and key deep inside a vault of faulty memories.
He never trusts his memories, they've been tampered with too many times to be trusted. Yet it's a feeling, not a memory that rushes over him with those touches and compliments.
He reaches a hand out to brush over the side of her arm as he gives her a serious, contemplative look.
"Well then, Natasha, is he gonna bet me up if I try to kiss you now?"
Natasha almost jokes that he's a little too dead to beat anyone up - an unthinking instinct to fall back on humor when she's uncertain. Instead, she reconsiders, her expression thoughtful as she studies his face. Would he beat himself up? Maybe in the beginning, when they'd been possessive of their time together. But she does think he'd have grace for this other version of himself that was so lonely.
The other important question to consider is if she's going to beat him up if he tries? She hasn't even been interested in looking at anyone else over the past few years. Maybe it's just the fact that it's another version of him, the nostalgia of it, and if she's honest with herself - how lonely she's been.
So the corner of her mouth ticks into a little smile as she says, "I think you could get away with it."
"Good, cause I wasn't gonna care..." He says before he's got a hand curled around her neck fingers stroking up the back of it.
He leans in and kisses her gently. It's fond and warm and somehow fucking familiar in a way that he can't put his finger on. Is it just that it's a good kiss? Or is there memories being unlocked somewhere deep in there.
It doesn't matter, he closes his eyes and falls into it. Like like's fresh air and anything he could ever want in life.
Natasha can feel his fingers on the back of her neck. How many times has he - the other he - done this over the years? Too many to count. She has to close her eyes and tell herself that it's not fair to this version of him to be lost in memories. He's always been enough for her exactly the way he is. Maybe 'as another version of you' is just an extension of that.
So she lets herself enjoy. Lets it deepen. Even trying to stay grounded in the moment, its hard not to lose herself in the familiarity of it. So much so that she finds herself shifting to straddle his lap, though she has the presence of mind to leave enough space between their bodies. Her fingers sink into his hair and she lingers for a few long minutes before tipping her head to let her forehead rest against his.
"He might beat you up for a kiss like that," she murmurs, a hint of a smirk at the corner of her mouth.
He melt's a little when she's in his lap. His hands going to her hips stroking them carefully as he kisses her like there isn't a care in the world.
When she breaks the kiss he smiles at her like she's hung the moon. It's a compliment, the idea that he might be bothered by it. Apparently he didn't forget how to kiss during his seventy years in the ice.
"Yeah well, I'm pretty sure I learned it all from you -- Kept having flash backs to kissing you, familiar. You sure you're not putting your old memories in my head?"
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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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She wouldn't have made it out alive without him. Or - alive, maybe. But not living. The last few years have been a stark reminder of that. What was the point of everything without someone to share it with?
After a moment, her fingers drift idly through his hair, and she answers, "sounds like it's been lonely here." It's not sympathy, exactly - more like understanding. Like what she's really saying is 'I know exactly how that feels.'
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"What happened in your world? After Thanos. Here a bunch of people died, and then Steve decided to just fuck off to the past." The words sound sharp, hurt, like he's still not really quite over being left out in the cold of the future without anyone else.
"He was the only person I really knew."
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There's a lot of bitterness in his voice when he talks about Steve. And she gets it, even though she has a different perspective on it. "He went back to the 40s in my world too. Hard to resist the lure of a chance at having a life." She couldn't even begrudge him for it. He'd sacrificed so much over the years.
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He'd never admitted that to anyone. He's not sure why he's telling her it now, but he hopes she'll be on his side. He desperately wants for anyone to be on his side in this, it's felt like forever since he's had anyone.
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"I can't speak for the Steve in your world. But my understanding is that you wouldn't know even if he did go back and rescue you. Your past is already your past. He would have created a - alternate timeline, because from his point of view, he was still living out his future. So there could be another Bucky out there that was rescued. His path just diverged from yours."
Her hand slips from his hair so her arm can curl around his shoulders, giving him a gentle squeeze. She know that's hard to hear. That there's no changing what happened to him. Even if Steve tried.
"But if I'm answering for myself, no. Even if I knew I would be making another universe or even a thousand other universes. Nothing would be able to stop me."
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She does seem to know about other worlds though so there's maybe no reason that she wouldn't know about this as well.
"That sounds like a bunch of bullshit..." he mutters against her neck in protest.
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When he finally speaks against her skin, she can't help but chuckle a little. "It's time travel, milii moi." The term of affection slips out of her lips unthinking. "If the universe can pluck me out of my life and drop me on your roof, anything could be possible."
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Why would terms of endearment in Russian mean anything to him? Why should that be a thing. Clearly he just spent a lot of time in a hydrotank working for hydra and being a project right.
That's all he knows. A weapon. There's nothing else hiding back in his memory. He won't even allow himself to think of the option. No, clearly this is just some weird multiversal thing. He's getting some ping off her because she loves another version of him.
That must be it.
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"Does it?" she muses. If this Bucky didn't have any relationship with the Natasha from his universe, it was conceivable that he'd overheard it somewhere on a mission. She knew better than to get her hopes up that there might be something to unlock in his brain, or that he might have been dropped into this universe too. She knows how hard it is not to be able to trust your own mind.
So when she continues, it's just to share why she's said it at all. "I usually just called him James. Sometimes milii moi when we were alone. It must have been on my mind."
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"I'm sure he liked that though."
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"This must be weird to hear." Another version of himself happy when it seems so far away here. The loneliness of his apartment presses in from all sides, like an unspoken reminder that this is a very different place from the one that she knows. "I'm sorry if it brings up any unpleasant memories."
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Why should he even know what she smells like. He shakes his had.
"What I mean is, it's nice to hear that at least somewhere else, I got to have a good run. I wish I could tell you about what she was like here though, but I didn't really know her. Just that she was close to Clint and Steve."
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"That's a good way of thinking about it," she answers. Because it is. Being able to reflect that some other version of him had some good in his life. Even if that means that he's experiencing the counterbalance. "I'm glad she had them. It's okay that you don't know much about her. Unless she didn't go through the Red Room, I can probably guess what her life was like."
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"It's like you're here, scratching the part of my back that I can't normally reach," he explains quietly just resting near her. "Like it's been itching for so long I didn't even know it could be relieved."
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A little smile quirks at the corner of her lips when he speaks again. Even though she knows he's speaking metaphorically, she shifts her arm so she can graze her nails lightly, slowly up and down the line of his spine. Not really scratching his back so much as reaffirming that she doesn't disagree with the thought. After a few moments, her hand comes to rest in the middle of his back, just below his shoulder blades, and she does actually lightly scratch his back there. Right in the spot it would be impossible to reach on his own.
"Well then, if this is all the universe wanted me to do while I was here, I'm going to consider this a trip well spent."
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"Do you think it'll pull you back soon? How does this normally work for you?" she's been so composed over this time he just assumes that she's been up to something like this before. There must be a reason that she's so calm about the mess they're in.
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His question surprises her a little, and it's quiet for a moment as she considers her answer. Evidently she's been holding it together pretty well. And she can only think of one reason why that might be. "There's a girl named America that can punch her way into different universes. This has never happened to me before, though. I guess it's just - you know, once you spend a few years fighting shape shifting aliens, your tolerance level for what's weird goes way up." Another quiet beat before she adds on, "and if it let me see you, I figure it can't be that bad."
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"Damn, it's hard to believe that any version of me is good enough to pull someone as gorgeous as you."
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Maybe in the grand scheme of things, that's why she's not having an existential crisis yet. At least she hasn't been turned into wet paint.
She can't help but chuckle a little at his line, and without thinking, her hand comes to rest on his face. Her thumb brushes back along his cheekbone. "No one else ever came close. You've got a lot more going for you than you know."
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He never trusts his memories, they've been tampered with too many times to be trusted. Yet it's a feeling, not a memory that rushes over him with those touches and compliments.
He reaches a hand out to brush over the side of her arm as he gives her a serious, contemplative look.
"Well then, Natasha, is he gonna bet me up if I try to kiss you now?"
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The other important question to consider is if she's going to beat him up if he tries? She hasn't even been interested in looking at anyone else over the past few years. Maybe it's just the fact that it's another version of him, the nostalgia of it, and if she's honest with herself - how lonely she's been.
So the corner of her mouth ticks into a little smile as she says, "I think you could get away with it."
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He leans in and kisses her gently. It's fond and warm and somehow fucking familiar in a way that he can't put his finger on. Is it just that it's a good kiss? Or is there memories being unlocked somewhere deep in there.
It doesn't matter, he closes his eyes and falls into it. Like like's fresh air and anything he could ever want in life.
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So she lets herself enjoy. Lets it deepen. Even trying to stay grounded in the moment, its hard not to lose herself in the familiarity of it. So much so that she finds herself shifting to straddle his lap, though she has the presence of mind to leave enough space between their bodies. Her fingers sink into his hair and she lingers for a few long minutes before tipping her head to let her forehead rest against his.
"He might beat you up for a kiss like that," she murmurs, a hint of a smirk at the corner of her mouth.
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When she breaks the kiss he smiles at her like she's hung the moon. It's a compliment, the idea that he might be bothered by it. Apparently he didn't forget how to kiss during his seventy years in the ice.
"Yeah well, I'm pretty sure I learned it all from you -- Kept having flash backs to kissing you, familiar. You sure you're not putting your old memories in my head?"
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I apparently lost this reply so sorry.
no worries! <3