"I hope you're not going to try to go in order of release," Natasha comments with a chuckle. Even if she suspects that might actually be the case. She hums thoughtfully, considering her recommendation based on the fact that both Le Guin and Tolkien lean decidedly fantasy.
"Definitely get through the Chronicles of Narnia if you haven't. And I haven't read all of them, but I think you'd like the Discworld series by Terry Pratchett. I'd say they're sort of comedic fantasy. They're very clever."
He's only half kidding. He doesn't intend to read every book he might be interested in in order of publication, but... well, it gives him a place to start when he's trying to sort through the things he missed.
"I could use a few more laughs. I'll keep him in mind."
"We could start a book club." She's also only half kidding, but she's not opposed to the idea. Having someone to talk to about the books is nice. Having someone to sit around while you both read quietly is even nicer. And she's pretty sure that's more along the lines of what he'd consider a good time.
"There's enough of them to keep you busy for a while. Over thirty of them."
"That'll take me the rest of this century with how much free time I get these days."
It's a joke, but one he figures she'll understand. There's always something. Even when they're trying to get some rest (or legally required to), they always get dragged into something.
The down side of not being able to look the other way when things go to shit. Steve must have rubbed off on Bucky all those years ago.
"But having someone to read with wouldn't be the worst."
There really is always something. And often one something after another. "Maybe I'll introduce you to e-books so you can read on the road." Natasha doesn't actually use e-books herself all that often. She's really mostly saying it because she's pretty sure that his reaction is going to be entertaining.
"Could be fun," she agrees with a little smile. "I'll have to invite you over sometime soon."
"If I knew it would get me an invitation, I might have brought it up sooner—"
Bucky is about to say more, but he's spared having to figure out what he intends to say next when the waiter reappears. He slips in with their first course, setting plates in front of Natasha first, then Bucky as he leans back to make room.
He glances up at their server, watching the young man pale, then nods and mutters a thanks to send him scurrying off.
Natasha's eyes lift to watch the waiter, and she glances back at Bucky when he pales. Her mouth pulls to the side as she holds back a laugh, and instead orders a second round of drinks before the waiter makes his exit.
She has to agree - the roast on her plate looks perfectly done, there's a vegetable medley with some kind of glaze drizzled on it, and mashed potatoes sprinkled with chives. "It really does," she agrees as she picks up her fork and brings it to the roast, finding that it's tender enough to take a piece without a knife. "By the way, if I knew you were waiting for an invitation, I would have made one a lot sooner."
"We're off to a good start. I can identify everything on this plate." No foams. No mysterious smears or purees. No strange surprises.
Not that he would have actually been scared away if there'd been a carrot froth, but he's willing to make fun of both himself, and nonsensical fancy food.
He shrugs off the second part though.
"Not exactly waiting for it, but I don't want to invite myself over either. Just waiting for the right time."
"What, you thought I'd lead you astray?" Her tone is amused as she asks, as if in recognition that...yeah, she'd absolutely lead him astray. But only if it would be something they'd both find entertaining. Especially when it comes to food.
Besides, as much as she enjoys experimental dining, carrot froth isn't really where it's at.
"You know, I knew I was forgetting something," Bucky says, turning his face toward his dinner for a brief moment. It's a joke, but it's also the kind of joke that's sort of true—he has no idea how he was going to decide that.
Or, now he guesses he had no idea.
"Figured I'd know it when it happened. This doesn't seem like a bad time.""
Natasha can't help but smile a bit, watching as he looks down at his plate. He's got this...contemplative sort of charm that he doesn't seem to even recognize as charming. She's not entirely sure he recognizes many or even any of his positive traits.
"Well, you figured right," she answers. Her gaze is thoughtful, like she's trying to decide whether it'll put him at ease or not if she continues. She's curious enough to find out how it lands. "And I enjoy spending time with you, so I'm glad you figured right and acted on it."
"You know, it's a lucky guy who can hear that from a pretty girl," Bucky says, glancing up and flashing a quick half smile. As fast as it is, it's genuine, reaching all the way to his eyes.
He does enjoy Natasha's company, and he is lucky she seems to find something to enjoy in his too.
"Pretty and smart, even. Generous. A guy could do a lot worse."
"Wow, I'd say 'flattery will get you everywhere,' but it might be unsporting if I try to make you blush this many times in one night," Natasha answers, smiling back at him. It's a lighthearted joke, solely because she's confident he wouldn't exactly know what to do with a genuine compliment in return.
"Besides, it's purely selfish," she adds, the smile edging back into a smirk as she quirks a brow at him. "No one else gets my Russian jokes."
Don't let it be said Bucky doesn't appreciate when she shows him a little mercy. Natasha is a formidable opponent in many respects, but when it comes to social niceties and verbal sparing he knows he's out she's got him outclassed.
"Definitely a bonus. Plus, always fun to talk behind people's backs in front of their faces."
"And here I thought you old fashioned folks had more manners than that." Something in her tone makes it clear that not only is she teasing him, but she has been thoroughly disabused of that notion. Thanks largely to her long friendship with Steve - who is both the most polite and most ornery person she has ever met in her life.
"See anyone around worth talking about in Russian?" she asks with a half smile. She doesn't doubt for a moment that he's scoped out everyone seated around them the same way that she has.
"It's still good manners if they never know." That is absolutely not true, but it's a logic that's served more than one busybody, polite elderly neighbor and lady from church when they justified gossiping for at least a hundred years.
"I'm not sure there's anyone here worth talking about in French, let alone Russian."
"Are these Schrödinger's manners?" Natasha asks, clearly entertained by the idea as a smirk tugs up the corner of her mouth. As if the manners are both good and bad so long as no one is observing them directly. Not that she has any leg to stand on as regards to gossip. Some of her best intel has come from neighbors and community members that can't help but chat amongst themselves.
His comment about talking in French prompts a genuine laugh. "Well, depends on what you think is worth talking about."
Bucky's smile turns a little more mischievous, and he glances over his shoulder before shrugging. When he speaks, he switches to French. It should be no surprise he speaks it well. Even before he was the Winter Soldier, deployed on the European front.
"Well, there's that guy's hair plugs," he suggests as he turns back. "French has to be the best language to talk about people's style. Especially if it's bad."
It's certainly not the kind of gossip she was expecting. One of her brows arches and she lets out a chuckle as a quick smile curls her lips.
His French is as good as she would have expected, and she lapses easily into the same language when she answers. "Well, not everyone can be blessed with hair like yours. You would think someone wearing a jacket that expensive would spring for a better hair system, though."
"No accounting for taste." Bucky says it, still in French, with a sort of flat, philosophical delivery. Then he cracks a smile again ands switches to English.
Among other things, he's not necessarily all that interested in talking about the other diners hair or shoes.
"Exactly the kind of thing you gossip about in French."
"Isn't that the truth?" she answers easily, lightly amused and smiling at his delivery. It's not exactly a sustainable topic of conversation, and she's not surprised when he switches back out of the language.
"Add in gossip about wine and food and we'll have the full trifecta," she muses, joining him back in English. It's maybe not a fair assessment of the French, but well. The topic is gossip after all. "What kind of thing would you like to talk about in English?"
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"Definitely get through the Chronicles of Narnia if you haven't. And I haven't read all of them, but I think you'd like the Discworld series by Terry Pratchett. I'd say they're sort of comedic fantasy. They're very clever."
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He's only half kidding. He doesn't intend to read every book he might be interested in in order of publication, but... well, it gives him a place to start when he's trying to sort through the things he missed.
"I could use a few more laughs. I'll keep him in mind."
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"There's enough of them to keep you busy for a while. Over thirty of them."
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It's a joke, but one he figures she'll understand. There's always something. Even when they're trying to get some rest (or legally required to), they always get dragged into something.
The down side of not being able to look the other way when things go to shit. Steve must have rubbed off on Bucky all those years ago.
"But having someone to read with wouldn't be the worst."
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"Could be fun," she agrees with a little smile. "I'll have to invite you over sometime soon."
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Bucky is about to say more, but he's spared having to figure out what he intends to say next when the waiter reappears. He slips in with their first course, setting plates in front of Natasha first, then Bucky as he leans back to make room.
He glances up at their server, watching the young man pale, then nods and mutters a thanks to send him scurrying off.
"Looks good."
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She has to agree - the roast on her plate looks perfectly done, there's a vegetable medley with some kind of glaze drizzled on it, and mashed potatoes sprinkled with chives. "It really does," she agrees as she picks up her fork and brings it to the roast, finding that it's tender enough to take a piece without a knife. "By the way, if I knew you were waiting for an invitation, I would have made one a lot sooner."
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Not that he would have actually been scared away if there'd been a carrot froth, but he's willing to make fun of both himself, and nonsensical fancy food.
He shrugs off the second part though.
"Not exactly waiting for it, but I don't want to invite myself over either. Just waiting for the right time."
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Besides, as much as she enjoys experimental dining, carrot froth isn't really where it's at.
"How do you decide it's the right time?"
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Or, now he guesses he had no idea.
"Figured I'd know it when it happened. This doesn't seem like a bad time.""
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"Well, you figured right," she answers. Her gaze is thoughtful, like she's trying to decide whether it'll put him at ease or not if she continues. She's curious enough to find out how it lands. "And I enjoy spending time with you, so I'm glad you figured right and acted on it."
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He does enjoy Natasha's company, and he is lucky she seems to find something to enjoy in his too.
"Pretty and smart, even. Generous. A guy could do a lot worse."
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"Besides, it's purely selfish," she adds, the smile edging back into a smirk as she quirks a brow at him. "No one else gets my Russian jokes."
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"Definitely a bonus. Plus, always fun to talk behind people's backs in front of their faces."
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"See anyone around worth talking about in Russian?" she asks with a half smile. She doesn't doubt for a moment that he's scoped out everyone seated around them the same way that she has.
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"I'm not sure there's anyone here worth talking about in French, let alone Russian."
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His comment about talking in French prompts a genuine laugh. "Well, depends on what you think is worth talking about."
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"Well, there's that guy's hair plugs," he suggests as he turns back. "French has to be the best language to talk about people's style. Especially if it's bad."
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His French is as good as she would have expected, and she lapses easily into the same language when she answers. "Well, not everyone can be blessed with hair like yours. You would think someone wearing a jacket that expensive would spring for a better hair system, though."
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Among other things, he's not necessarily all that interested in talking about the other diners hair or shoes.
"Exactly the kind of thing you gossip about in French."
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"Add in gossip about wine and food and we'll have the full trifecta," she muses, joining him back in English. It's maybe not a fair assessment of the French, but well. The topic is gossip after all. "What kind of thing would you like to talk about in English?"
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After a beat of facing what seems like a brick wall of possible choices, he asks, "How's Yelena doing?"