brushpass | threads

Bucky is a super soldier. He should be able to parallel park.

Do those things have anything to do with one another? Probably not, really, but he has more than enough experience with tactical driving that it would be embarrassing if he couldn't manage it.

"Fifteen minutes isn't bad. More time to argue."

It only seems fair that he can use it as a reason. Because she'll absolutely tease him with a good job, super soldier if he doesn't get in the spot easily.

"Oh yeah? Got any topics in mind, or should I riff?" She takes a moment to pick her phone up and turn it off as she talks. "Maybe the Dodgers."

"Can't be the Dodgers. They're dead to me." Which kind of doesn't sound like they're a bad topic for an argument when he puts it that way.

He does, in fact, pull into the spot without so much as an adjustment.

He's pretty sure he wouldn't have lived it down if he hadn't.

"Wow, that's a shame. They're my favorite team." The statement was made in that playful, sarcastic tone she uses to make it clear that she's lying. She's never had an opinion on a sports team in her life. She doesn't dislike sports - for example, she's always happy to watch a game or go to a game. It's just not something she spends time on when left to her own devices.

She looks over at him with a smile once he's got the car parked. "Ready?"

"Yeah," he says with half a smile himself, and he means it. Natasha has a way of making this easy. Or, at least easier than it's been on his past when he's tried and failed to flirt with women.

Maybe because he doesn't have to explain why he is the way he is.

"How about you?"

Natasha hums thoughtfully, her eyes on him with a serious face. She lets the moment stretch just long enough to make it seem like she might be thinking about her answer. And then she lets the smile return. "Looking forward to it. Come on, old man. I'll let you open my door just this once."

There is something easy about it, and not just because she likes to flirt. It's rare that she goes out with someone that knows who she really is. He's glad to not have to make an explanation, and she enjoys not having to wear a mask.

"Ha. You never know. You might get used to it." He ducks out of the car and circles around to get her door, offering a hand up. Natasha is perfectly capable of doing all of that without help, but that's not the point.

The point is that he gets to take her hand in the process.

"Careful, you'll get stuck with me if that happens." The warning is delivered lightly as she takes his hand to step out of the car. The old fashioned sensibilities are considerably more charming when the person is legitimately old fashioned.

Once the car door is closed behind them, she shifts her hand to link their fingers so they can cross the street.

"You're real close to figuring out my strategy here," Bucky jokes, doing his best not to sound serious as he says it. He has a hard time not sounding serious in general.

It's not a long walk, but he enjoys it.

"Warm enough?"

Natasha can tell that she's joking. Even if she has a sneaking suspicion that there might be some truth to the strategy.

"Can't complain," she answers, because it's honestly not bad given how harsh winters could be in Russia. "But I won't say no if your arm winds up around my shoulders."

Who is Bucky to say no to an invitation like that? He wets his lips, then flashes half of a smile, a little more certain than before as his arm slips from her hands to around her shoulder.

She fits there comfortably.

"You were saying?"

Once his arm is around her shoulders, she slides her arm around him, hand resting on his back as they walk up to the door of the venue.

"Pretty smooth move you got there," she answers, tipping her head to give him a mischievous little grin.

"Turns out I have a few moves left in me," he says, still ducking his head slightly as they walk. He can't entirely keep from smiling at the comment.

"Maybe rusty, but it doesn't mean they're not moves."

"Nothing wrong with a little rust. I could argue that it adds some charm." It certainly adds authenticity, which goes a long way with her.

She can see through the glass doors that the interior is dimly lit, and it looks like the screens are lit up further into the space. It'll be interesting to see what the art is like in this atmosphere. "What will I have to bribe you with to get you to take a picture with me?"

"I don't know," Bucky plays along, angling a look down at her as though he has to think about it. As though he wouldn't eventually grouse along go along with it. "What are you offering?"

Natasha pretends to consider it as they move inside. There are a few people mulling around in the lobby, with some signs up to point them towards the exhibit.

"I'll let you try my dessert."

Humming for show, Bucky squeezes her shoulders slightly. "Guess for a bite of your dessert, I might be able to make the sacrifice."

He'd have done it anyway.How's he supposed to say no to someone who actually cares enough to ask.

"If it's chocolate."

"Not even going to try to barter for two bites? People are going to think you're going soft." She cautions him playfully with a quiet chuckle, her hand rubbing his back between his shoulder blades. "Is there any other kind of dessert worth trying?"

There's a beat as they meander in the direction of the exhibits. She amends, "cheesecake."

"I can take a pretty big bite." He huffs, mock defensive. "And it's not about whether it's worth trying, it's about if it's worth letting you have photographic evidence."

He pauses a beat, then adds, "With cherries?"

Natasha lets out a snort of laughter at his feigned defensive response, because she can vividly picture him chomping half of a slice of cake in one bite. "Don't worry, the evidence is just for me."

Lifting a free hand, she indicates one of the exhibit rooms coming up that doesn't seem to have many people inside. "I like strawberry better. But I wouldn't turn down cherry."

"I could be convinced to have strawberry." A very serious negotiation. It's been a while since Bucky just got to be unserious. He got a little of it, maybe, with Sam's nephews. Kids were easier than adults, in a lot of ways.

"Don't suppose they have milkshakes, huh?"

"And we didn't even have to bicker about raspberry first," she answers with a grin. It's nice to see that he can let himself joke around. Might have to accuse him of relaxing by the end of the night.

"Could be. If not, I'm not opposed to finding a diner after. As long as it's not past your bed time." There's a hint of teasing humor in her voice as she says it.

Coming to a stop in the first room, she watches one of the screens, smiling. The projected image is a field of sunflowers, waving gently in a breeze. It slowly shifts into a swirling and sparkling sea of constellations. "This is pretty cool."

"Ah, there's the jokes at the old man's expense." He glances down at her face, taking in the humor, the way she looks when she smiles. It takes a beat before he can pull his attention away and turn it on the screen.

What he sees there earns a slight puckering of his forehead. He rolls his lip between his teeth thoughtfully.

It's pleasant. Peaceful, even. Probably not a bad accompaniment for a meal.

"Is this really art?"

"If you ever start wearing suspenders, it's all over," she answers, with a note of playful warning. She's confident that no one will be able to resist snapping them.

At his question, she hums thoughtfully. "What is art?" The way she asks makes it clear that she doesn't expect an answer. "If it's beautiful, or makes you feel something, or think about things in a different way, then yeah. I think it's art." Turning, she looks up at him with a smile. "Ready for your close up?"

"Not going to give me a chance to get out of this, huh? Might as well get it over with."

He huffs, pretending to be more long suffering than he is.

"Then you can tell me if your selfie is art."

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