brushpass | threads

He doesn't even entirely notice that he's speaking Russia, it's like his brain looked at Natalia and said, ah, you speak Russian with this woman. He holsters the knife and steps in further holding up his bag.

"I wanted plums," he explains and crosses the space to the table, staying far enough away from her that it wasn't strange or uncomfortable, but not enough to be threatening in any way and he moves to sit down setting the plums on the table. His eyes narrow a little bit watching her in consideration as he listens.

At least he didn't have to worry about that yet, he knew Steve would never give up on him even if he wanted him too, and that was getting exhausting. This house? This house he'd been expecting Natalia to show up at some point if she didn't hate him for shooting her so many times. It had been the safe house they'd set up on their plan to escape everything, although he wasn't sure what had happened with all that, it was still a big missing hole. He had remembered the house though, a sneak away, a set up on a different mission when their handlers had been far away. Maybe Natasha had never even been here and it was a pipe dream.

It hadn't surprised him to see her there, even if it was too much to process.

"Sam is the guy with Steve? Why are they following me so much?" He asks reaching for a fry and eating one, the salt tastes good. Like some sort of locked away memory.

There's a momentary pause as her eyes lower to his bag, and then she looks back up at him. There's a glimmer of mischief evident there. "Just plums? Are you planning on making a cobbler?" It's all a little forced casual, like she's leaning in to the sparks of humor on purpose. It's an indirect angle, but she figures it's going to be more likely to put him at ease than...well, Steve Rogers and his star spangled head on directness. Don't get her wrong, she's already prepared to call Steve a good friend, but they have very different styles.

It's been years since she's been here, and the years haven't been kind to the property. She almost can't recognize it. Which is maybe a good thing, because it's already hard to look at him without seeing an overlay of memories. Just on the other side of the room, she'd leaned up and whispered his name in his ear to rattle his missing time loose. It's never been easy to coax those memories free. Something tells her it's going to be even harder now. There's too many years stretching between them.

She waits until he takes a fry before eating another one, a thoughtful look on her face as she considers his question. "Sam's the guy with Steve," she confirms. "Falcon. He's got the exo-wings. They're following you because Steve is worried about you, and Sam wants to help him. There's a fairly comprehensive search happening for you. I don't think the term 'unprecedented international cooperation' would go amiss."

The fries are good, but she wishes she had the foresight to get a drink with them. She's going to consider it a victory that he's tasting them, at least. "Steve wants to find you before anyone else can. He wants to keep you safe." She leans forward, folding her arms on the edge of the table as she waits to see how that lands.

At least she can congratulate herself on her composure later. She's spent most of the last several years convinced she'd never get to talk to him again.

"Was there some intense cooking training in the Red Room that I have forgotten about?" He asks playfully, a smirk crossing his lips. It's a reaction he doesn't even think about, spurred on by her playfulness and whatever memories of it were hiding in the back of his head. He's honestly shocked by the way he spits that out to begin with.

Yeah, international incident, all that. It feels like it would be easier if Steve would just let him disappear into the world, but he was hard headed and he knew that would take forever for him to give up, if he ever even did that.

He reaches forward, face leveling off, and grabs another couple of fries as he looks at her with his eyebrows a bit furrowed, like he was trying to read her. He had memories of being able to, of knowing what looks meant what, but he couldn't unlock that part of his brain to know what to look for and it frustrates him.

"And what about you Natalia? What are you here for? To hand me over to Steve Rogers? To extract revenge for the times I shot you?" he hints that those memories have come back, but he plays it a little closer to the vest with the more personal ones. It's obvious that there's bits and pieces as he'd found himself here, but he didn't want to give up too much information before he understood what the entire plan was.

He'd seen her files, running around with the ugly blonde with the bow. Who knew what else they might be up two those two.

"Yeah, they send us all on Iron Chef as part of our training," Natasha quips without missing a beat, deliberately choosing something so absurd that it won't threaten the work he's doing on his memory. It's such an easy, playful exchange, but she knows he's not out of the woods yet. But it is clear that some things have started returning to him. The reference to the earlier time he shot her. The use of Natalia.

She meets his scrutinizing look, her face neutral for a moment as she considers her response. How much is too much to say? Is there a line where she could say too little and have that be equally frustrating?

After a moment, she lets a little smile lilt across her lips. There's clearly something more important than the rest to start with. "What're a couple of bullet holes between brainwashed Russian assassins, huh?" She leans back in her chair and folds her arms, her head tipping to the side a bit as she looks at him. "I had someone in my corner after I got out of the Red Room. Figured you deserved to know someone's in yours. I'm not going to hand you over to Steve and I'm not interested in revenge. I just wanted to see how you were doing, James."

He doesn't know what Iron Chef is but he knows that it's a joke so he chuckles along with it because it's easy. It's simple, really, the way the tension relaxes with the chuckle, at least for the moment when he's smiling at her before it's derailed back to more serious conversations.

"Is that who the strange man with the bow is? Barton, I believed they called him Ms. Avenger?" he asks, carefully, not indicating any sort of emotion, just making it clear that he'd had time to read up on all her escapades that had been dropped.

That was the interesting thing about Natasha's file though, it made no mention of him. Yet he's sure the memories that he's got aren't lies. That they aren't some figment of his imagination because why would they even be there if not? Some program put in by his handlers to make him turn back on her? He didn't want to go down that train of thought at all.

James, she called him James. It's like another lock being undone hearing that. She can hear him say it multiple times.

James it's a simple soft word whispered against his ear.

Your name is James. She's sitting on his lap and has her hands on his face, like she's going to tell him everything.

JAMES! A scream from across some sort of gunfight he has no memory of.

"You been reading up on me?" the comment is delivered lightly, as if he's been facebook stalking her and not reading her full classified service history on the internet. Though to be fair, it could also be on facebook. She's actively trying not to look at spaces where she can read people's commentary on the things she's done.

Of course, there are holes in her files. Every spy has secrets. One of her biggest secrets is sitting across from her.

"Hawkeye," she answers the question more seriously after just a moment. "Clint. I got on SHIELD's radar in a bad way a few months after I got out of the Red Room. They sent Clint to kill me. He made a different call."

It's quiet for a moment, and she studies his face like she's trying to figure out what's going on in his brain. Leaning forward again, she plucks out a fry and holds it out to him with a little smile. "French fry for your thoughts?"

"There's a lot of redacted stuff in that file, even if it's been leaked everywhere," he admits with a shrug, "So I don't really know how much I know. I know you're somehow working with my old best friend. I know that you got a lot of good you've done since defecting," he says shaking his head.

He leans over and grabs the fry from her fingers, thinking about the fact that he doesn't really know what he's even getting himself into with this. Why does he care, why is he even asking. It's been so long since he'd seen her, surely it was none of his business.

"So Clint, he's your partner?" he asks anyways, it's a nebulous question unclear of what he means, romantic, work, it was all the same. She was the widow he always asked for, his favorite, the one he worked with even before everything else. Perhaps it was all the same kind of jealousy to him, even if he couldn't relate to everything that was in his brain, or understand why he was upset at the idea that Natalia had someone new for that.

One of her shoulders arches in acknowledgment when he points out there's a lot redacted in her file. It's true. There's enough there to give the average person a good idea of everything she's done over the years, but there's still some details that couldn't be preserved even on secure files. Much of her work for SHIELD has been off books. Defecting from Russia has put her in a unique position where she's valuable for that kind of work.

Her fingers hold on to the other end of the fry for a moment as he grabs it, her eyes studying him before she lets go. There's a glimmer of amusement there as she processes his question.

"More or less. It's more of a team situation now. Why?"

“Why?” He asks curiously, “You’re the one sitting at my dining room table when I come home from the market, and yet it’s weird that I’m asking questions?”

He brings his fingers to his forehead, rubbing gently at his brow. It’s a tell, that his head is bothering him, sometimes actual headaches, sometimes it’s just iOS memory and the struggle for it.

His voice doesn’t sound frustrated though, or angry. More just like he’s trying to make sense of the situation.

“Is it so bad that I want to understand where you’re coming from?” He doesn’t know what to make of her answer, if her relationship was any specific type.

People tend to misunderstand her value to SHIELD. She's a well trained fighter, skilled at languages, but what she's really good at - innately good at - is reading other people. With a little time and effort she can usually get at the heart of what drives someone. It's a skill that balances on the edge of a knife. It makes her good at gathering intel, annoying to play poker with, and downright dangerous if she decides she wants someone to cooperate with her.

Luckily for Bucky, all she's ever wanted is for him to be happy.

"I didn't say it was weird you were asking questions," she points out mildly, a thoughtful look on her face as she watches him rubbing at his brow. "You can ask me anything you want. Why I'm in your memories. Why I don't want revenge. But you asked if Clint was my partner."

If he didn't want her to find him, he wouldn't have come to this place. The puzzle pieces slot together and the corner of her mouth lifts just a fraction.

"We're not involved romantically."

Okay, so she has a point. He may have gotten a little defensive but he can't help it, not with the mess that was his head, not with the annoyance the last few months have been around avoiding Steve, and apparently a guy called Sam.

Not when the woman who was creeping in every corner of his brain, more and more flashing back. He doesn't get the chance to see her face change because he's too busy with his hand in his face but when she shares that he looks up with a nod. It's freeing, like he had been concerned about that idea even if he didn't really fully understand why.

Sure, he had memories of being romantic, or at least sexual with her. But he also had them of shooting her a couple different times.

"You're in a lot of my memories, that keep unfolding more and more. Hell, I got hit with a few more flashes just since you joined me," he sighs and reaches fore more fries to distract himself.

"You in lingerie eating French Fries was absolutely not something I would have guessed was hiding in my mind," He adds with a playful smile. "What do you want to tell me? Why you don't want revenge? How about you tell me how you are somehow calling me James in my memories?"

It's too much sometimes, and he doesn't know what to ask. Like they're playing a game, but he doesn't know what to even start with or what the rules are. The memories can be frustrating in that way, the ones around her are far more fractured then the ones before he was The Soldier.

It feels like a game, because these kinds of conversations are sometimes safer when they're hidden behind a veil of humor. They both have so much blood on their hands. It's hard to admit what they might have meant to each other in the Red Room without also acknowledging the terrible things they did. So the first answer she gives is punctuated by a quick shrug of her shoulder and a playful, "what can I say, I'm full of surprises."

But she lets the humor settle so she can answer the questions more seriously. To let him know that she understands that this is a very real, very scary thing that happened to him. For decades.

"There's nothing specific I want to tell you other than making sure you know I'll answer your questions when you have them. And I don't want revenge because...in the Red Room, it was the only life I knew. They raised me. Trained me. Made me a weapon. Time with you was the only good thing I had in there for a long time. One of those times was with the lingerie and the fries." She can't help but smile a little, but there's still something undeniably sad in her eyes that she doesn't bother trying to hide. "Sometimes I was able to help you remember things. Not a lot. But enough. You remembered the name James that time and it seemed to anchor you to the other memories when I used it."

It’s hard to concentrate on some of it, so many things. Some of it conflicting with its things he found himself. He knew that he had been brought in himself to help train those girls.

“They took me in there to train you, all of you, I read that much even if it’s not clearly in my head. Sparring a bit, maybe,” he clarifies with a shrug. He remembers missions with Natasha more then anything else, not so much of the day to day life, it must not have made as much of an impression.

Even if his brain wasn’t used to reading Natasha’s face, it’s easy to see the sadness. “I’m glad you had a name to call me, weird that I came up with James though, no one called me that much but my dad,” he gives her a half smile.

“I’ve been reading the history books on my previous life as Captain America’s best friends, piecing that bit together…” he explains.

He presses his hands to his face again, rubbing at his head, the memory work can be rough sometimes, but it was more then just that this time. “Tell me a story of something we did, it can be anything, doesn’t have to big bit or important…”

"You had a hard time remembering your life before. I'm not surprised it was a name that didn't get used often." Department X had spent years tinkering with his mind before Natasha knew him. It makes sense to her that some things were able to slip through the cracks - things he wouldn't necessarily be thinking about or focusing on. Still, she's glad to hear he's looking into his time with Steve when they were younger. The history books won't tell him everything. But it'll give him a starting point. And it means he's thinking about that part of his life.

The fact that he can't seem to remember the parts of his life that have her in them feel like a shadow that might crash down on her. But she's careful not to look over her shoulder at it. Her own feelings can wait until later when she's got an empty hotel room and a bottle of vodka. He's just managed to cut the lead on him for the first time in decades. She can't - she won't - begrudge whatever it is that floats to the surface.

Her eyes drift around the interior of the room as she mulls over what she can tell him. Maybe it's not the right story, but being here she can't help but think about it. And maybe having some pieces of it will help him put the puzzle together. "We were here together once on the tail end of a mission. There was an old tape deck here then. We danced to the tape that was in it. We were going to come back after we escaped but I got out and you didn't. I never thought I'd see this place again."

"I like that you call me James," he adds quickly, he doesn't want her to think that he doesn't like the name, or that it wasn't real. Every time it comes into his memory it's like a breath of fresh hair, something melting way a little more at whatever ice was locking up things.

He glances over at the area where there would be just enough space for some dancing, focusing on it in silence for a minute, as if willing his memory to find this place. His face is strained until it breaks, a smile coming across his face. He's found it, that memory tucked away and he starts humming the song in the tape deck. He doesn't have the words, or know the song name, but the melody is there, and he watches for Natasha's reaction to make sure it isn't false.

"One question though, why did I call you Mrs. Popov when I asked you to dance with me?" it's curious to him. Strange, everything he'd seen was Natasha Romanoff, Natalia Romanovoa, nothing to give that name or a suggestion that she'd ever been married in some way. Why does the idea of her having been married bother him? The same way that stupid archer did too.

"Good. I like calling you James." She'll respect it if he tells her he prefers Bucky. It will take getting used to, but she'll respect it. Her gaze shifts back to his face, a half smile coming to her lips when he starts humming. "It's called Time After Time. Cyndi Lauper." It wasn't the right decade for that song to be popular when they danced to it, but it made sense for that to be one of the tapes someone had on hand in Romania.

She's surprised when he asks why he called her Mrs. Popov, though she keeps it off her face. The memories seem to be picking up speed as he focuses on them. Though she's not sure that she should just hand entire pieces of his life to him. It doesn't matter to her what way he comes to her - well. It matters because she's always hated what they put him through to wipe him. The way they force him to shuffle and hide his memories from himself. But she'll welcome him with or without memories the same way she always has.

"For one of the missions we went on together our covers were married. The name of that cover was Raisa Popov. You were Janis Popov." It's true enough without being the whole truth. He can come to that in his own time, if he ever gets to it. Their silly romantic notion that they could consider themselves married since the Red Room would never allow it.

"Time after time," He says before continuing to hum a little bit. He listens to everything she says nodding, it makes sense. Of course they would have had cover like that, easy way to keep them together without it being suspicious.

"Do you have a device that can play the song? I think I'd like to hear it all?" he asks, he's not sure if she does, he assumes they can get it somehow later if not. He didn't currently have any electronics as he keeps having to dump them on the move, not worth the risk of being found.

Of course, she'd found him anyways.

Everything she's telling him makes sense, it fits with his memories, but almost too well like it was just the edge pieces of a puzzle coming together purposefully leaving the rest out. He wants to ask why he has memories of them doing, physical things together, far beyond public kissing that would be in missions. Surely, that wasn't part of it right? The Red Room didn't have that much control over them to force that?

Plus what if it was worse and it was somehow his fault, or forced, he didn't fully know what his brain was capable of. It wasn't what he could really imagine, but his brain and memory were shit, tossed into a blender and pureed. Stranger things could have happened.

"When we worked together, did I ever hurt you?" He asks quietly eyes narrowing in concern.

"Yeah, I have a device that can do that," she answers, a quirk of humor in her voice that she can't quite hide. He sounds like a grandpa. Not that she can blame him for not being up to date on terminology. But it can still be funny. She pulls a phone from the pocket of her jacket and opens up youtube. After queuing the song, she slides the phone across the table to him so he can play it when he's ready. "You can have that phone if you want. It's a burner. It can't be traced but it's still a good idea to turn it off when you're not using it."

She can tell he's mulling something over, but she waits patiently. His worried question is met with an immediate shake of her head. "Never." It's a question that requires a more thorough answer, but she's not going to make him wait for the crux of it. Not with that look on his face. "In training, you were as good to us as you could be. There was always a line where holding back would have made the handlers do something worse. You were good at toeing that line."

It's quiet for a moment as she looks at him, and then let her eyes skim over the items in the room. "On missions, you were always trying to protect me. Even when I didn't want you to." She lets out a breath as she finally looks back at him with a sad smile. "I meant what I said. And I know it might be hard to hear. We did a lot of bad things when we worked together. But my time with you was the only good thing I had in there."

It’s easy to see the tension related to talking about it all, it’s the first time he’s really noticed her looking away, there’s something more there but he doesn’t want to push. She’s doing so much for him, answering his questions that it’s the least he can do.

“I believe you, Natalia.”

And he does, she has no reason to lie to him about anything that he knows of. He bites his lower lip in thought about the way she says things, about him being the good part, it really does paint a stronger photo then he would otherwise imagine.

He doesn’t want to let his mind longer though, this woman seems upset or sad or something - he doesn’t quite know the emotion all he knows is the urge to make it better in whatever it is. He presses play on the video and the song cues up and he takes a moment before getting up from the table and moving around it to where she is.

“Dance with me, spider” he’s not sure where the term of endearment comes from yet again. It just slides of his tongue naturally, and he holds his hands out for her .

Natasha isn't surprised by the nostalgia she feels as the song starts up. Hearing it in this place again, it's like watching her memories unfold into a translucent layer over the present. If nothing else, she'll consider it a victory if she can give him back some good memories from his time in the Red Room.

And then he asks her to dance. Her head tips back so she can look up at him, one brow quirked with a little smile playing over her lips. It's certainly not what she expected. But she knows she can't turn it down.

"I'm not exactly wearing the shoes for it." It's a dry observation, a quick nod of humor to give him something to distract himself with if he needs it. And it's true, besides - her boots are well worn in and comfortable but they're built for walking and running and fighting. Not dancing. It doesn't stop her from placing her hands in his as she gets to her feet. She'll let him lead and decide how he wants to position them for the dance.

"Shoes hm? I seem to remember some barefoot dancing in hotel rooms with you wearing nothing but my shirt.." he says with a half smile, it's like he can't help it. Sometimes she just says things that get his brain going in a way that he couldn't imagine.

It doesn't matter what the dancing is like, he has a vague idea that he knows more proper dances, that actually he has some sort of rhythm but he just tries to recrate the dance that they'd done in that memory to the best of his ability. He puts his one arm around her waist and the other continues to hold her hand they just kind of rock a little bit. He can't help but look down at her and take in all her beauty, she's gorgeous, and still it's so clouded in his mind. He has to stop thinking about it and just feel the music.

As the song comes to an end, he leans in to give her a quick, chaste kiss on the lips. It's a daring endeavor that makes his heart race afraid he's crossing a line. Was this what it was like to shoot his first rocket launcher? Maybe. But he pulls away after the quickest of lip brushes and goes over to turn off the phone which has started playing some sort of advertising. He's blushing as he looks away from her and can't bring himself to look for her reaction.

"You always liked seeing me in your shirt," Natasha banters back easily. He's got enough to sort through in his head. Some of her answers can stay light. And it's not like it's a hardship to flirt with him.

She tries not to let her own mind wander as she moves in to the dance. Despite her protests about footwear, she still moves gracefully, following his lead as they move slowly to the beat of the music. When his hand settles on her back, she lets one of her hands run up along his arm to rest on his shoulder.

And even though she's trying to stay out of her head, she must have gotten a bit lost anyway, because the quick kiss takes her by surprise. Her mouth curls in a half smile as she watches him hurry across the room. "Wow. Running across the room after you kiss someone. Bold move, James." She ambles across the room after him and sits back down in her chair. She's quiet for a moment as she teases out how she wants to phrase what she's going to say. "I'm glad you did that if you wanted to do it. But you don't have to if you think that's all I want from you. I'll have you around any way you come. With memories or without them." There's a glimmer of amusement in her eyes as she offers a cushion for the sentiment with a twist of dark, dry humor: "I'll be glad if we can stop shooting at each other, though."

"I know that I liked kissing you a lot, also know I fuckin' hate that idiot with the bow," he explains turning off the phone as he settles across from her grabbing a plum from his bag on the table and running his fingers over it.

"I still like kissing you, but I figured you know, it shouldn't be more then that 'til more shit gets figured out," he says honestly. He was still the suave flirty ladies man he'd always been with her but more of that old fashioned, being proper sort of feelings were coming through when it came to physical affection.

"Actually, might have run away quicker because I was more afraid that you wouldn't like me kissing you after you know, all that shootin'" he adds honestly, blushing a bit more and takes a bite of plum to distract himself a bit, but he's still looking at her, like he's trying to get a better read about all this. "I'm good on the cease fire though."

Edited 2023-05-27 02:37 (UTC)

"That idiot with the bow is the only reason I'm still alive," Natasha answers mildly. His sacrifice to get her out of the Red Room would have been for nothing if Clint hadn't made a different call when SHIELD sent him after her. It would've worked, too. She hadn't been watching the rooftops for someone with two sticks and a piece of string. He'd taken her completely by surprise.

It was only natural he become her best friend after that. For her, at least. She likes having people around her that challenge her. That can surprise her. Just...in different ways for different people. How could anyone hold a candle to the soldier that never completely forgot her, no matter how many times his handlers pulled his mind apart?

"I still like kissing you even after all that shootin'," her voice playfully mimics his accent on the last word, the corner of her mouth twitching up just a little. It's not that she's impressed by him being suave, exactly, so much as she's always liked how much he likes being suave. "But like I said. I don't need it. I'll meet you where you are."

He's looking at her like he's trying to puzzle out the whole situation by sheer force of will. She remains at ease under his gaze, resting her chin on her hand to return the stare with an arched brow.

He sees the way she talks about Clint and it causes a look of embarrassment to cross his face. He doesn't look away but it's almost like he's making himself as small as possible as he hears it. He knows he's the asshole for this one and he's just going to have to figure out a way to keep that topic off the table.

"I'm sorry, I'm glad he kept you alive," he mutters and drops his eyes looking down as he says it like he can't stand to look at her. "I'm sure he's really great and everything you could want in a partner."

Bucky really doesn't have a clue of how many times they tore apart his mind, it's way more then he ever could imagine in truth, more and more often in the last few years. He was a threat, breaking his programing more often the longer it went on. In the years after Natasha was gone it was like all his energy went to fighting it.

He doesn't know where he is, which makes it hard to offer to let her meet him there. He's the perfect Soldier who has never lacked in the ability to follow an order, an instruction, execute a plan. Now he sits here, unable to look up at her again, frustrated with himself for saying such rude things, and he doesn't even understand why half of it is.

She keeps telling him that she doesn't need it. Does she mean she doesn't need him? Should he just tell her to go, that it's fine, he doesn't need her hear? It would be a lie, and that entire through makes his head seer so he sets down the plumb and buries his face in his hands as he starts rubbing his temples.

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