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."
"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.
Oh, she wasn't expecting him to almost shrink in on himself like that. To hide his face. She's seen him a lot of ways over the years, but never this disjointed. There's always been a small part of her that was angry that he sacrificed himself to let her get out, but it's hard to hold on to that spark, seeing him like this. It cost him every day. It's still costing him.
She should've run right back in.
"Hey." She leans onto the table and reaches out, running her hand up his arm. She wants to run her fingers through his hair like she used to, sit in his lap and whisper in his ear. But she's worried about pushing too hard, tipping him over the edge. Maybe she should have waited longer before contacting him. Her hand slides slowly up his forearm, giving him plenty of time to pull back if he wants to. But if he doesn't, she'll let her fingertips trace lightly over the back of his hand.
"I'm glad he kept me alive too. I would've hated it if I never saw you again. What are you thinking about?"
He doesn’t have words to tell her because he doesn’t know what he wants or what he needs or even what these feelings are. If there were thoughts there might be words but right now he had none of those either.
He doesn’t pull his hand away when she touches him, it’s like grounding feeling suddenly. If he had logic to the thought it would be obvious, the Red Room had always worked with both reward and punishments in his training. The rewards were small like outside food, like a small touch from someone to say good job, one time he’d had his hair washed for him even. The little bit of teasing humanity that they let him have was always amplified by the touches from Natasha.
It grounds him even to this day.
He rubs at his temples more in desperation, his head becoming worse, as if it really could at all.
He searches for words that aren’t there, before sighing.
“I don’t know, I can’t find words,” he says hesitantly, “I’m confused.”
They've really done a number on him. Especially, it seems, over the last few years. Once she was gone. Again she has to wonder if it would help if she just spilled it all to him all at once but...no. There's too much in his head already. Anything else has to come in its own time. And if there are things that don't make it back, she can be okay with that too.
Maybe not okay with it. But she can live with it if it means he's free.
When he allows the touch to his hand, but seems to rub his temples harder, she slides her hand back. Her fingers curl gentle in his hair, stroking through the strands, her fingertips just brushing lightly over his scalp.
"Let's take it one step at a time. What do you find the most confusing?"
He leans into the touches of her fingers, like it's the first thing he's finding relief in. It feels natural to him, familiar in a way he can't quite place but that doesn't bother him too much in this moment and there's more pressing things on the table.
He slows his rubbing of his temples though in reaction though he doesn't take his hands away yet because it's too hard to look at her with what he says next.
"You." It's a simple statement really, not that complicated at all when it comes to it. Everything about this was confusing a mix of new and old emotions.
"You said you don't need it," which she did, but he might be taking the wrong way in his mind, but he doesn't realize it. "You like it but don't need it. If you don't want me why are you here?"
His voice cracks a little bit as he says it. "To remind me that we had all this, whatever it was, sex, friendship, whatever.." he doesn't even truly understand the amount of emotion that's tied to it in himself yet either. "And then to tell me you don't need it anymore?"
"You don't seem like a cruel person, in my memories, so I don't understand it. It's confusing, maybe I just, don't know how to be a person anymore so it doesn't make sense to me."
This is hard territory to navigate. Even harder than she'd thought it would be, and she'd set the bar pretty high. The way he phrases what's confusing him is heartbreaking, her mouth turning down in a frown as she takes a slow breath. It's such shaky ground. She's used to knowing exactly where she's going to step next, sometimes three or four steps ahead. But there's no map for this.
Her fingers run gently through his hair again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you think I don't want you. I just - I don't want to put any pressure on you. You have a lot to figure out. Decades worth. All I've ever wanted is for you to be free to make your own choices. What I meant was that any way you are is exactly enough for me. I'm here no matter what."
His breath is shaky as he brings down his face away from his eyes which have just the slightest glint of tears he's holding back. Frustration tears? Emotional ones? Who even knows at this point but he doesn't let them fall, he holds back the emotion the best he can.
"Yes, I like having choices, but sometimes, they're too much?" he half asks, half tells her like he's still working through the explanation. So much about this new world was overwhelming and it was hard enough to have to decide what he wanted to eat, some nights recently he'd just skipped doing it because it was too much to his brain.
"How, what did I -- what did we do when I got overwhelmed in my brain before?" he asks quietly. "I don't want to have to search for what they are or ask, maybe you could, try some of them and I could tell you yes or no? Then it's still my choices?"
He bites his lower lip after he says it, that sounds more attainable to him. "I think I can handle choices between two things, but more then that is too much right now."
Natasha listens as he talks, her fingers filtering out of his hair once he lifts his face from his hands. She lets her hand drop to his shoulder and run down his arm, coming to rest over the back of his hand. Her fingers curl under to give his hand a gentle squeeze.
"I can see how that would be hard," she agrees, her voice thoughtful as she draws the connections in her mind. "Any time we were together before, there was always this - framework around it. The mission would end, or the sun would come up. We always had to go back to the Red Room. There's no framework anymore." She offers an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry if me coming here made things more confusing for you."
She never wants to make things harder for him. So if there's some way to make things easier...she's not entirely sure what will work. Might as well go in with the first thing that comes to mind. "Okay. Try this if you want. I'd ask you to close your eyes, have you take a deep breath. Just focus on what's around you now. What you can smell. What you can hear. We'd do that to try to have something stay in your memory. But it can work to focus too. What's here now is what's real."
He grabs her hand and squeezes it back, tight, but not tight enough to hurt. Holding it close like he was afraid to lose her.
"No." It's a firm statement, like he wants to stop her from even thinking that it was a bad call to come. "I, I want you here. I don't want you to think you shouldn't be here. You're the only one who can understand me right now."
He listens to what she says and does just that. Closing his eyes he takes a deep breath and tries to let his mind open. He stays completely quite for several minutes. "The sound of the dogs collar upstairs every time he moves around. The smell of those fries even long after they cooled down," he flicks his tongue against his lips with a sigh.
"The smell of your shampoo, or hairspray, or whatever it is," he doesn't really understand what all of those things are, but he knows that's one of the scents there.
"Can we...?" He trails off with a sigh letting go of her hand. "I don't like the table between us," he instead says, like stating a problem to be solved is much easier to do then to ask for something. He doesn't seem to like to ask.
Natasha smiles and lets him keep hold of her hand, running her thumb along the back of it in a slow arc. "Hey, don't give me all the credit. You can understand you too. I know you'll get there." She watches his expression, listening patiently as he works his way through the things that come first to his senses. It's a pretty good start, all things considered.
"It's a different shampoo than the one I used to use." Not something she usually thinks to tell people, but she can't be sure what will be hopeful and what won't in this instance.
His hesitant question is met with a look of fond amusement. "Do you want me to come over and sit on a chair next to you or sit in your lap? You can ask, when there's things you want. It's okay to ask. If it's not something I want to do, I'll let you know and we'll figure out something else."
"Yeah I doubt the Red Room was spending a lot on hair care," he says with a playful smile. "I remember cold quick miserable showers."
"It's hard to ask," he explains thinking about what she's offered and he just nods. "I think maybe in my lap? It's hard to know for sure," But the options are helping him anyways and he suddenly wishes there was a couch in this tiny safehouse. It's not much of one compared to the last two places he'd been saying but.
Hey, this one came with Natalia. He pushes back from the table a little bit dropping Nat's hand so he can make space for her on his lap.
"I know you want me to be able to ask for things.. I'll try, Natalia."
"They spent more for the widows to keep up appearances. But there wasn't any joy in it." Natasha likes taking care of herself now that she can do it for herself. She's found products she likes, a preferred water temperature. There's many times that she has to make do when she's on a mission. But it's one of the many things in her life she was glad to claim for herself.
She smiles at him as she stands up and turns easily, sitting down in his lap with her arm around his shoulders. "I want you to get there in your own time, James. Everything takes practice. Be patient with yourself."
When she sits in his lap and her arms go around his shoulders it’s like unlocking something for him. Not in terms of mind memory but in terms of muscle memory.
His face softens as he leans in to lay his head on her shoulder, his arms go around her waist and he closes his eyes and just relaxes into her in a way he didn’t even know was possible.
“This is what I needed,” he says s softly, “this is the first time I’ve felt safe that I can remember since I started getting my memories back.”
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“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…”
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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."
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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.
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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.
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"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.
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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."
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“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 .
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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.
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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.
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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."
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"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."
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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.
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"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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She should've run right back in.
"Hey." She leans onto the table and reaches out, running her hand up his arm. She wants to run her fingers through his hair like she used to, sit in his lap and whisper in his ear. But she's worried about pushing too hard, tipping him over the edge. Maybe she should have waited longer before contacting him. Her hand slides slowly up his forearm, giving him plenty of time to pull back if he wants to. But if he doesn't, she'll let her fingertips trace lightly over the back of his hand.
"I'm glad he kept me alive too. I would've hated it if I never saw you again. What are you thinking about?"
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He doesn’t pull his hand away when she touches him, it’s like grounding feeling suddenly. If he had logic to the thought it would be obvious, the Red Room had always worked with both reward and punishments in his training. The rewards were small like outside food, like a small touch from someone to say good job, one time he’d had his hair washed for him even. The little bit of teasing humanity that they let him have was always amplified by the touches from Natasha.
It grounds him even to this day.
He rubs at his temples more in desperation, his head becoming worse, as if it really could at all.
He searches for words that aren’t there, before sighing.
“I don’t know, I can’t find words,” he says hesitantly, “I’m confused.”
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Maybe not okay with it. But she can live with it if it means he's free.
When he allows the touch to his hand, but seems to rub his temples harder, she slides her hand back. Her fingers curl gentle in his hair, stroking through the strands, her fingertips just brushing lightly over his scalp.
"Let's take it one step at a time. What do you find the most confusing?"
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He slows his rubbing of his temples though in reaction though he doesn't take his hands away yet because it's too hard to look at her with what he says next.
"You." It's a simple statement really, not that complicated at all when it comes to it. Everything about this was confusing a mix of new and old emotions.
"You said you don't need it," which she did, but he might be taking the wrong way in his mind, but he doesn't realize it. "You like it but don't need it. If you don't want me why are you here?"
His voice cracks a little bit as he says it. "To remind me that we had all this, whatever it was, sex, friendship, whatever.." he doesn't even truly understand the amount of emotion that's tied to it in himself yet either. "And then to tell me you don't need it anymore?"
"You don't seem like a cruel person, in my memories, so I don't understand it. It's confusing, maybe I just, don't know how to be a person anymore so it doesn't make sense to me."
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Her fingers run gently through his hair again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you think I don't want you. I just - I don't want to put any pressure on you. You have a lot to figure out. Decades worth. All I've ever wanted is for you to be free to make your own choices. What I meant was that any way you are is exactly enough for me. I'm here no matter what."
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His breath is shaky as he brings down his face away from his eyes which have just the slightest glint of tears he's holding back. Frustration tears? Emotional ones? Who even knows at this point but he doesn't let them fall, he holds back the emotion the best he can.
"Yes, I like having choices, but sometimes, they're too much?" he half asks, half tells her like he's still working through the explanation. So much about this new world was overwhelming and it was hard enough to have to decide what he wanted to eat, some nights recently he'd just skipped doing it because it was too much to his brain.
"How, what did I -- what did we do when I got overwhelmed in my brain before?" he asks quietly. "I don't want to have to search for what they are or ask, maybe you could, try some of them and I could tell you yes or no? Then it's still my choices?"
He bites his lower lip after he says it, that sounds more attainable to him. "I think I can handle choices between two things, but more then that is too much right now."
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"I can see how that would be hard," she agrees, her voice thoughtful as she draws the connections in her mind. "Any time we were together before, there was always this - framework around it. The mission would end, or the sun would come up. We always had to go back to the Red Room. There's no framework anymore." She offers an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry if me coming here made things more confusing for you."
She never wants to make things harder for him. So if there's some way to make things easier...she's not entirely sure what will work. Might as well go in with the first thing that comes to mind. "Okay. Try this if you want. I'd ask you to close your eyes, have you take a deep breath. Just focus on what's around you now. What you can smell. What you can hear. We'd do that to try to have something stay in your memory. But it can work to focus too. What's here now is what's real."
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"No." It's a firm statement, like he wants to stop her from even thinking that it was a bad call to come. "I, I want you here. I don't want you to think you shouldn't be here. You're the only one who can understand me right now."
He listens to what she says and does just that. Closing his eyes he takes a deep breath and tries to let his mind open. He stays completely quite for several minutes. "The sound of the dogs collar upstairs every time he moves around. The smell of those fries even long after they cooled down," he flicks his tongue against his lips with a sigh.
"The smell of your shampoo, or hairspray, or whatever it is," he doesn't really understand what all of those things are, but he knows that's one of the scents there.
"Can we...?" He trails off with a sigh letting go of her hand. "I don't like the table between us," he instead says, like stating a problem to be solved is much easier to do then to ask for something. He doesn't seem to like to ask.
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"It's a different shampoo than the one I used to use." Not something she usually thinks to tell people, but she can't be sure what will be hopeful and what won't in this instance.
His hesitant question is met with a look of fond amusement. "Do you want me to come over and sit on a chair next to you or sit in your lap? You can ask, when there's things you want. It's okay to ask. If it's not something I want to do, I'll let you know and we'll figure out something else."
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"It's hard to ask," he explains thinking about what she's offered and he just nods. "I think maybe in my lap? It's hard to know for sure," But the options are helping him anyways and he suddenly wishes there was a couch in this tiny safehouse. It's not much of one compared to the last two places he'd been saying but.
Hey, this one came with Natalia. He pushes back from the table a little bit dropping Nat's hand so he can make space for her on his lap.
"I know you want me to be able to ask for things.. I'll try, Natalia."
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She smiles at him as she stands up and turns easily, sitting down in his lap with her arm around his shoulders. "I want you to get there in your own time, James. Everything takes practice. Be patient with yourself."
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His face softens as he leans in to lay his head on her shoulder, his arms go around her waist and he closes his eyes and just relaxes into her in a way he didn’t even know was possible.
“This is what I needed,” he says s softly, “this is the first time I’ve felt safe that I can remember since I started getting my memories back.”
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Pretend that last one asked about DC and not NYC my brain was mush last night
I gotchu!
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He might hold it against her, although it would be in a very different way.
ahaha just literally instead of figuratively
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