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?"
Her hands run over his shoulders and along his upper arms as she enjoys the feeling of his hands on her hips, warm and familiar.
The look of surprise on her face is impossible to miss when he says he's having flash backs. Could that be possible? That he has his own memories from this universe that are turning up with the reminder? Or...somehow, he fell through to this place himself when he jumped off the cliff.
Leaning back so she can look at him intently, her hands frame his face. "I'm not psychic, so those memories are all yours. What do they look like?"
He doesn't miss it, which makes it all the more interesting. His fingers stroke along her hips and he closes his eyes trying to focus on whatever the memories and feelings he was unlocking as they sit there.
"Nothing too descript. Your head sleeping on a pillow. Touches, kisses, sexual things that' I'm far too embarrassed to be telling you about..." he says with a shrug before opening his eyes to look back up at her.
She studies his face even as he closes his eyes. Her thumb runs gently along his cheekbone as she waits, listening thoughtfully as he describes what's been tumbling back into his memory.
When his eyes open, there's a hint of a smile at the corner of her lips. "You did those things with me - or a version of me. What's there to be embarrassed about, James?" As if to reinforce her point, she lets go of some of the space she's holding between them, settling in closer.
"You think so?" he asks but let's his arms pull her closer so she's tight against his chest. A hand moves up to stroke through her hair as he hums gently considering the possibility.
"You think if I had a relationship like that with at Natasha she'd be jealous of you?" it's a mirror of the question he'd asked about her but he can't help but be curious. Natasha he knew felt like an echo, like it was hard to believe that he could have been with someone like that. It feels good to holder her, but her explanations aren't quite making sense when it comes to his memory.
One shoulder lifts in a shrug. It's a spare gesture, but she's just indicating that it doesn't really matter what he thinks. He's allowed to think and feel however he wants. She's just presenting him with one possibility. She lets her head tip in towards his fingers as she settles in against his chest. One of her hands is still on his face, her thumb moving in a gentle arc across his cheekbone again.
Even though she knows the answer to his question immediately, she doesn't answer quite that quickly so she can choose her words. "People like us don't often get to be happy. I wouldn't be able to begrudge you any happiness." It's similar to something she said to her Bucky before, when they'd talked about the Red Room. How she always hesitated to say there were times she was happy there, but there had undeniably been times that they were happy together.
Bucky's fingers stroke over her hips holding her close to him. It's a quiet consideration as he leans in to letting his forehead against hers with a gentle sigh. He tries to let himself be present but it's hard as murmurs of sounds of her fill his memories. Words that can't be made out, memories that can't be pinned down.
"I'm sorry, this is still so strange..." He mutters against her lips but then kisses her again, it's long and soft this time. Not filled with passion like the first one was, instead just a kiss, like he's seeking the answer to her question. If they could be happy in this moment.
His skin feels so familiar under her fingertips. The warmth of his chest as she leans into him is like a home she never thought she'd get to go back to. Even so, she indulges the kiss and lets it linger. It's so hard to keep herself rooted in the moment, to not get lost in memories of her own. There might not be enough room in his apartment for all of their ghosts.
After a few long moments, her lips part from his. She's smiling a little as she brushes his lower lip with the pad of her thumb. "Your whole life is strange. This is par for the course."
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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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The look of surprise on her face is impossible to miss when he says he's having flash backs. Could that be possible? That he has his own memories from this universe that are turning up with the reminder? Or...somehow, he fell through to this place himself when he jumped off the cliff.
Leaning back so she can look at him intently, her hands frame his face. "I'm not psychic, so those memories are all yours. What do they look like?"
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"Nothing too descript. Your head sleeping on a pillow. Touches, kisses, sexual things that' I'm far too embarrassed to be telling you about..." he says with a shrug before opening his eyes to look back up at her.
"They're all fuzzy though. No details."
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When his eyes open, there's a hint of a smile at the corner of her lips. "You did those things with me - or a version of me. What's there to be embarrassed about, James?" As if to reinforce her point, she lets go of some of the space she's holding between them, settling in closer.
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"You think if I had a relationship like that with at Natasha she'd be jealous of you?" it's a mirror of the question he'd asked about her but he can't help but be curious. Natasha he knew felt like an echo, like it was hard to believe that he could have been with someone like that. It feels good to holder her, but her explanations aren't quite making sense when it comes to his memory.
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Even though she knows the answer to his question immediately, she doesn't answer quite that quickly so she can choose her words. "People like us don't often get to be happy. I wouldn't be able to begrudge you any happiness." It's similar to something she said to her Bucky before, when they'd talked about the Red Room. How she always hesitated to say there were times she was happy there, but there had undeniably been times that they were happy together.
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"I'm sorry, this is still so strange..." He mutters against her lips but then kisses her again, it's long and soft this time. Not filled with passion like the first one was, instead just a kiss, like he's seeking the answer to her question. If they could be happy in this moment.
He hasn't been happy for a very a long time.
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After a few long moments, her lips part from his. She's smiling a little as she brushes his lower lip with the pad of her thumb. "Your whole life is strange. This is par for the course."
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I apparently lost this reply so sorry.
no worries! <3