ostavil | open post

She'd first known him as Dmitri Petrovich, then as Vassily Buchanan, and finally, James Barnes, CIA. Different names and faces had been second nature to them both, and she'd relished the chase almost as much as the confrontation at the end of it. But those days of cat and mouse, cloak and dagger, were far behind them now, and she was slowly drowning in her past without much of a lifeline in sight.

Unless he agreed to this insane idea of hers.

She sighed softly, looking down at the floor. "I know you have." Her lips twisted ruefully. "And I don't blame you in the slightest." She looked up through her lashes again. "You know the risks. You know why and how they'll come for me." She tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "No one else can keep me alive." And that, she absolutely meant. "I don't trust anyone else to even try."

Did she want things to be this way? No. But of her very limited options, this one had the highest margin - and even that was slim - of success. She finally met his gaze again.

"I trust you."

"You're going to get me killed," Bucky says. Still, he signs off on the paperwork and really, the standoff had meant nothing. He was going to sign off on it as soon as she walked in and asked for him but he wanted to pretend he still had a little free agency in the world and that she didn't have him by the balls.

"The red's the natural, isn't it? Never looked right with dark hair, your skin's too pale. The blonde washed you out. The red looks more like it ought to be, I think." If she's not naturally a redhead, it's a darker blonde, and for some reason he doesn't think someone like her could have hair the color of dishwater. It's too plain and mousy for her.

"If we're doing this thing, we're doing it my way. I hope you're willing to stick to that. You want to go outside the box, you take all the liability with you. I'm only obligated to protect you if you behave and stick with me."

She started to snap something back, but before she could, he reached for the folder and scrawled his signature on the bottom of the page, effectively sealing both of their fates. For now, anyway. Then an eyebrow shot up when he mentioned her hair, and she kept from scoffing only by a huge dint of effort.

"...thank you, I think, for that riveting commentary on my aesthetics." She rolled her eyes briefly. "But to answer the question, yes, the red is natural. And a little eye-catching, hence the different colors."

Her temper rose again, however, when he reiterated about "his way", and Natalia crossed her arms and faced him, as stubborn as she'd ever been. "I get it, all right? And fine, we'll do it 'your way'. Although if that consists of locking me in a box in a federal institution, I think I'll change my mind."

"If I wanted that, I'd leave you here, darlin," Bucky says, pushing into her space. She's lethal and he knows that but he's also banking on the fact that she wants something that only he can give her and killing him in the middle of federal detention is probably going to end badly for her.

"Don't even know why you came downstate to turn yourself in unless you were thinking you'd blend better. I live upstate now," he explains. "And that's where we're going. No Manhattan shopping sprees for you. It's gonna be Amazon and what I go out and get for you until we can transition you into something safer."

It's the standard speech, yeah, but it's different with her. He's not normally compromised with his witnesses and he wonders if he should tell the brass that except they'd yank him from this and she needs him. He's not going to leave her high and dry.

"With you, it might be never. They're relentless and you don't need me to tell you that. Here," Bucky bends down and gets the pistol at his ankle. He hardly ever uses it and only has it as backup but he knows they'll have stripped her of everything before bringing her in here and he's not stupid enough to think HYDRA can't have gotten into the Marshals.

"Take that. I wanna think we're clean but you never know. I'm not leaving you unprotected and you can't just duck behind me and hope for the best."

She stiffened when he came too close, far too close, but she didn't back down. She did, however, glower up at him, not the first ounce threatened or intimidated. They'd gone too far beyond everything for that. Natalia almost hissed out that here was where her last mission had gone sour, where she'd been admitted to the hospital for the last two months, broken and unconscious thanks to being shoved out of a four-story window. But...later. Later, she'd impart all of those details, and perhaps even show off her set of brand new scars, marks he hadn't seen.

"--fine." If it would keep her alive, she could tolerate it.

But she drew aback a bit when he produced a smaller .38 and held it out. He was giving her a weapon? Well, he did have a point; though she hesitated before taking it, automatically checking the chamber and thumbing the hammer before clipping it to the back of her belt. "Your third backup," she couldn't help but quip, saturnine. "I suppose I should be flattered, da?" There was the Sig beneath his arm and the Glock behind his back, and God knew how many blades were hidden away, here and there.

"I--I appreciate this, James," she finally said, quiet. "...spasibo."

"Can't give you the Glock, doll. There'll be talk around the water cooler about whether or not we're sweet on each other," he says drily. Softer, and just against her hair, he murmurs something more private and intimate.

"I'm not letting them kill you if I can help it but I need you on my six too. They're gonna be after me the second I walk out of here. I'm surprised I got out as clean as I did and that's only because my agency wasn't dirty. None of my covers got compromised. All of yours are compromised, even your birth name. We have to reinvent you from the ground up."

He doesn't use unmake on purpose. He's heard her use it once in all the times he's met her and he had gathered the meaning pretty damn quick. He's not unmaking anything that makes her her. He's just got to file the serial numbers off so she's not registered anymore.

Now, he was entirely too close. Her breath caught when he stepped up again, and she felt her hair stir with the breath from his words. Every nerve ending she possessed came to instant attention, and she couldn't help but take a deep breath, the scent of him filling her nose and instantly transporting her back to Budapest, to Sao Paulo, to Athens...

If she turned her head only a fraction, her lips would graze his jawline, and she had to stop herself from taking that last minute movement, lest their skin actually touch. She wasn't sure she could handle it, if it did.

What he was telling her finally managed to reach her brain, however, and Natalia flicked her eyes up to his, still mesmerized by the icy blue, and slowly licked her lips, biting her tongue on a soft whimper she didn't dare let escape. "...you know I'll cover you," she told him, alto voice low, soft. "I have your back, James." Always. "Always, malyutka."

"Good, darlin. Let's get a wig on that hair and get you out of here. You can take it off in the truck but I don't want anyone shooting you on the steps before I can get you safe. Keep your hand on that trigger if something goes south."

He wishes he had an excuse to bring her out in a rougher hold that meant she'd be pressed up against him and then he realizes he does. He can cuff her and go out the back, make it look like some kind of transport before getting lost and into his own vehicle.

"Doll, I need to cuff you. We need to make it look like transport when we come out of here and then just lose them. We'll get this hair covered and cuff you but I won't do it so tight you can't work a hand free. Just thought I ought to tell you and not surprise you."

She knew it was necessary, but she absolutely hated having her hair pinned up beneath anything artificial. And although she didn't entirely like the idea of being cuffed, again, Natalia nevertheless knew it was the better idea. Thankfully, Barnes didn't latch them too tight; she could still roll her wrists comfortably enough.

They found a passable enough hairpiece to fit, although it was black and bobbed and bitchy enough to work, and thankfully she was cuffed in the front, with Barnes' backup nestled snug in the waist of her jeans, beneath the thin t-shirt. He yanked her down the back steps, growling orders in a stern, gruff voice. She purposely stumbled, lurching into him with a huffed rebound, glaring out from under the fringe of black hair.

Their escort sniggered, but she let it go, focused on keeping her feet and keeping it real enough to pass until they reached the Marshal's truck. She kept a careful eye on their surroundings as he unlocked and opened the passenger door, then hissed a disgruntled breath when he abruptly snagged her and shoved her into the seat.

"--not so rough, soldier," she hissed at his ear, jerking away with a contrived snarl.

"Playing the part, little spider," he whispers, a grin curving his lips before fading away. Once they're in the truck he starts undoing the cuffs for her. "Slide down in the seat a little so they don't see what you're doing and get those off. I want your hands free since I've gotta shift this thing. And, well, you're not actually a criminal."

When the city fades out into highway, he can breathe a little easier. Less likely to be tailed and if they are, more likely he'll catch it before it becomes a big problem. Spies like to hide in cities. Here, they're in the open and it makes them easier to see and bigger targets.

"Sorry if I was too rough. Didn't mean to be."

Yes, she knew. But did as instructed, sliding down just enough to keep from being seen, and to appear as a sulking fugitive might, not taking her hands out of the locks until they'd turned down the boulevard heading for the freeway.

"I know," she told him, half of a smile appearing. "It's just that I still have a few bruises that haven't healed all the way, and it's tender back there." Natalia then proceeded to read him in to her predicament, how she'd by some miracle managed to survive a fall from a four-story window, wake up in the hospital, regain what of her bearings she could, and then her ultimate decision to turn herself in. With caveats, of course.

"Don't ask me how I'm still alive," she reiterated, passing out the food from their drivethru order. She unfolded his double cheeseburger and handed it over, and placed his order of fries in the center console. "Because I have no idea." She unwrapped her chicken sandwich a little more slowly, frowning through the windshield. "...the last thing I remember before waking up was...falling. And Yelena standing in that broken window, watching."

"Didn't know. Sorry," Bucky says and he's genuinely sorry. He knew that Yelena had left her for dead but he didn't know where the wounds were, exactly, so he'd shoved her around like he'd do any other of his arrests. He slides his right hand over and pats her thigh, shifts it down to her knee.

"Got a jacuzzi tub in the master bath. It's all yours if you want it tonight. You probably earned it after the number she ran on you. I know you've been in the hospital and all that shit but it's different when you're out walking on it."

He knows. The slug he got in his shoulder still twinges now and then and that'd been years ago, right when he'd gotten out of the CIA and into the Marshals. Safer job. Mostly paperwork and witness relocation. Less solo work and none under assumed names. No more spy shit.

"I'm going to kill her after all of this is over." Said matter-of-factly, in between bites of cheap fried chicken and sesame bun. And she absolutely meant it. That yellow-haired bitch had signed her death warrant with that betrayal. Green eyes were flat, unforgiving. "I owe her that."

The offer of the jacuzzi tub perked her ears, however, and she nodded thanks. "Might take you up on that." Although the question of clean clothes was one she'd have to answer...later. It was a problem easily rectified, if she had enough time, a solid internet connection, and a laptop. "Although I'll have to borrow a shirt for a day or so, if you'd be so kind."

Then she asked, "...how's your shoulder?"

"Hurts when it rains," Bucky says. "Or after a long day. Or if I've been shooting anything heavier than a Sig or a Glock. I'll live, though. I did live. That's good enough for me."

They're at a stoplight now so he can look at her while they wait a bit. "I'll get you in the room with her so you can kill her, you know. You watch my back, I'll watch yours. That's always been our rule. We might have been working for the opposite teams but we never...I could have killed you a half dozen times. Never could do it."

You should have. She didn't say it. Just stared down at the floorboard, wondering not for the first time if this had really been her only option. Right before the light turned again, she glanced up with a tiny smile, saying, "Not the gift most girls dream about, but then I'm not like most girls, am I, James?"

The light turned green and the big truck began to roll again. She unintentionally thought about the times she'd spared his life, and opted not to bring it up. Something had kept the both of them from taking down the other; she'd never been able to fully explain it.

Finally, Natalia said, "...I'm sorry, you know. For bringing you into this." She reached over and placed a small hand on his thigh, in turn. "I really didn't have anywhere else to go."

"I know. I know I bitch about it and I'm going to keep bitching about it because those guys you worked for are relentless but even if the Marshals didn't want to let you have protection, I'd have done it on my own. I wouldn't have left you with nothing. I've got your back. I always had it, even when it wasn't...even when I wasn't supposed to."

Bucky covers her hand and squeezes it a little. "But I'm gonna moan about buying you clothes and cooking for two and having to stay in my fucking house for months on end. So be prepared for that. It's not as exciting when there's not government secrets at the end of the rainbow. This is going to be boring. It'll be paint drying for you. It was paint drying for me when I first got out and I had a job and a wife. We'll have to play Scrabble in Russian or something."

Natalia rolled her eyes to his whining, letting him squeeze her fingers but pulling her hand away, nevertheless. "Da, thank you for making me feel so much better about it, James." She snorted softly. "You don't have to buy me anything. I have plenty of money, trust me." It was just a matter of getting to it.

"And I know how to cook, so stop your bitching. You're not the prisoner, here. You're free to come and go as you please." She quirked a saturnine eyebrow his way. "You do remember that I'm a Soviet-trained assassin, right? I don't need you babysitting me twenty-four-seven."

"Yeah, and those assassins nearly damn killed you," Bucky points out. He eases the truck into a left turn and goes further out, away from the city and into houses that are further spaced and gently rolling hills. Hell of a lot different from Downstate, to be sure, and what Bucky had thought he wanted. Now he doesn't know what he wants.

"So forgive me if I'm a little paranoid. You want me to protect you, you gotta let me do it. You've got a weapon and I'll get you some knives but I'm not letting you out until I can be sure they're not out here. They know me in this community. People will miss me. They don't know who you are and you could be knocked off without anyone noticing. Just...give me some time first, okay?"

"You've always been paranoid," she pointed out with a small huff. It was one of the traits which had made him such a good operative, back then. Sitting back in the seat, she gazed out of the window at the softly rolling hills, idly wondering just how far into the back of beyond they were actually going.

"I wasn't arguing," Natalia added, trying to placate a bit. "I've already agreed to just follow your lead, so if you want me to stay boarded up in your cage, then that's what I'll do." ...until she sensed it was safe to push on, of course. "If anyone asks, just tell them I'm your crazy niece, expelled from collage due to being drunk and disorderly."

She had to laugh, shaking her head lightly. "I'll stay home and inside, detoxing or something. A broody social recluse."

"You're not my niece," Bucky says, violently shifting from first to third without easing it in. "You're not young enough to be my niece unless I look that bad at my age."

There's a little grey here and there but for the most part, he looks his age - or so he thought. Maybe it's just a dig and not an actual suggestion. He realizes he doesn't actually know how old she is and he can't trust the paperwork because spies, by nature, lie. He's used to doing it and selling every identity under the sun. Deep down, he was still Bucky, but all the same he was Vassily and Dmitri and Jean-Marc and all those other men too. To sell it, you have to be it.

His driveway is long and he thanks god it hasn't rained since his damn dog is barreling straight at the truck to say hello to him. "Colt, this is Natalia, Natalia, this is Colt. Sometimes he listens to commands and sometimes he doesn't."

The transmission gave off a screech of protest, and Natalia almost commented on it, but the dark thundercloud suddenly making its way across James's face gave her pause. Then she realized that he was offended at her insinuation that he was old. It was all she could do to keep from spluttering aloud. Which would, no doubt, have him pouting about for the next day or so.

She chewed on her lower lip all the way up the long graveled drive, absently pulling the pins from the wig and tossing it in the back seat, shaking out russet curls as the truck finally ground to a stop. Rather than apologize, or say anything to coddle a bruised ego, the redhead instead opened the door and slid out just in time to meet the wiggling ball of tan and black fur that barreled around the house, barking its head off and wagging like a fiend.

Immediately surrounded by the hyper fluff, Natalia laughed and held out her hand for a introductory sniff, then instantly began to rub silky furred ears, grinning right back. "Hi, Colt, aren't you a gorgeous boy? Da, you certainly are! So young, and handsome, just the prettiest boy there ever was, huh?" She carefully didn't glance over at her sulking jailer as she baby-talked the huge canine, but her lips were quirked and eyes sparkling with wicked amusement.

"He is the prettiest boy," Bucky agrees, laughing a little. "He's gonna be happy to have someone to play with all the time. I'm gone so much that he never sees me and now he's gonna have me and a pretty girl. He's gonna be beside himself."

At least Natalia likes dogs and won't be pissed when Colt meanders his way back into the house. Like it or not, dogs smell like dogs, and it just comes with the territory. She'd been all about Colt when he was a puppy - it's just when the puppy became a dog that she started taking issues.

"You gotta stay on property but you can come out. I've got some land and there's horses out in the back. If you like to ride, they're both good, and they need the exercise. I'm not going back into the office for a while, not until I'm sure you're relatively safe, but when I do you're not going to be left without something to entertain you."

So. Her beautiful Jean-Marc had retired and now lived...on a farm. She straightened from petting the dog to gaze around, inexperienced eye taking in the natural beauty of the landscape. She'd never really been out of the city before; this promised to be an experience, all the way around.

"Horses and dogs," she mused, spying the barn out behind the house. "I would have never guessed, Jean-Marc." And arched a sly eyebrow his way. But followed along when he headed inside, unlocking the door and ushering her into the house.

Nicely furnished, dark woods and tasteful furniture throughout, although she figured his ex-wife had taken her share when she'd moved out. Glimpses through doorways revealed a bright kitchen, dining room, and den, with a long hallway leading further in, presumably to the bedrooms and baths.

"Nice," she remarked, running a hand along the back of the dark leather couch. "A little too neat, but then you've always been a clean freak, da?" For some reason, the air was getting a little too close in here; Natalia felt the fine hairs on the back of her neck begin to prickle.

"Your Jean-Marc decided he didn't want to change names like he changes suits anymore," Bucky says. It's not harsh, though. It's hard to be harsh when Natalia is in his space and touching his things. There's tension in his belly, low, and he knows what kind of tension it is because it's always there when he's around her. It's why they've never killed one another, why they'd always fallen into bed instead of eliminating the threat each posed. They never helped each other, no, but there were chances to eliminate a rival that they didn't take.

"My Alexia is a redhead, your Jean-Marc moved to the country - things change, I guess." He leans against the wall right where the hallway begins, just watching her in his space. It's a good feeling, seeing this woman in his house.

"My bedroom is all the way in the back at the end of the hall. You have to go through it to get to the master bath. Should be towels in there and the top drawer of my chest of drawers has the kind of shirts you like. I still wear them."

She made a soft sound of agreement, still wandering slowly around the living room, letting her fingertips trail over things here and there. He mentioned Alexia, and she had to smile, though it was a bit rueful. "Alexia...I'd almost forgotten her." She'd been so many other people...just as he had been. Never once had they really been themselves, until now. And she had no idea what was going to happen, now that they were.

Her peregrinations brought her back around again, and Natalia paused just out of immediate reach; out of habit, not out of any sort of trepidation. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, the very personification of dangerous nonchalance, and she knew far better than to think him at ease, or casual. No, he felt it, just as she did.

That low, thrumming pull that had always been present between them, no matter the circumstance. The tidal yearning which had seen them crashing together not out of violence, but out of passion, desire. And even after five long, almost unbearable years, it was still here. God.

"...some things don't change," Natalia heard herself murmur, eyes never leaving his. "...do they, James?" She dimly heard him offer a bath and other necessities, but she was more or less rooted to the floor in that specific spot; her feet simply wouldn't listen when she urged them to move.

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