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Natasha listened without comment, only occasionally glancing over at Wilson as Barnes went on. When he'd finally run down, flopped back, and crossed his arms, she nodded, agreeing without saying so.

"I understand," she told them both. "And your vehemence just now is exactly why I put the VA on the list." She eyed the musician a little firmly, a perfect eyebrow going up over shrewd green eyes. "Willingly sharing something that is so important to you bespeaks of your sincerity. Which, might I remind you, is extremely important that we repair."

Wilson spoke up then, scooting forward in his chair and eyeing his savant a little wryly. "Don't worry, Miss Romanoff," he assured her. "We'll take care of it. Won't we, Bucky?"

"Yeah, yeah. We'll take care of it. I've got a condition, though," Bucky says. He looks at Natasha and the way the light highlights the lines of her body and wishes, for a moment, he had Steve's hand at art instead of his own at music. It'd be hard to capture the exact perfection of this moment in anything other than a visual medium. Still, that's a distraction, and he has other things to say and do today.

"You have got to stop calling me Mr. Barnes. It makes me think I'm in front of the judge or something. If you don't want to use Bucky because you think it's too familiar or something you can use James. It's my first name, nobody really uses it."

His family does but that's not relevant at the moment. What is relevant is getting Natasha to get on board with calling him something that doesn't remind him of being in trouble at school.

"I'd be more comfortable if you called me James. It looks like you're going to be stuck with me for a while and if you're going on the Christmas card list and everything, we've got to at least be on a first name basis. Or you be on one with me. I figure I'm not allowed to call you Natasha. Haven't tried it yet, anyway, because I like my head on my shoulders."

She'd intended to listen carefully when he mentioned a condition, already marshalling a few arguments to offer in turn, but the request actually brought her up short. Natasha had to stifle a small chuckle, not missing Wilson's exasperated roll of eyes and theatrical, silent sigh. Her lips twitched, that was the only expression she allowed.

"...that's...certainly not what I was expecting," she had to admit, because it was, really, true. Then, surprising even herself, she added, "...but I believe I can accommodate you, at least halfway. I prefer to keep my relationships with my clients strictly professional," as anyone with a business brain in their heads would, "but I suppose I could call you 'James' when we are out of the public eye, at least."

Natasha tilted her head, for once actually curious. "Would that suffice?"

"That's fine," Bucky says, willing to take that. It's probably better for her to be formal in public anyway considering the reason they're doing business but he hates being formal in private. He hates being formal anyway but sometimes you gotta do things you don't want to do.

"You want me to call you Miss Romanoff still or is it a mutual first name basis?"

Sam starts sputtering in protest but Bucky doesn't care. He just wants to know how this professional relationship is gonna be.

She hesitated only a moment before responding, arranging the files into their former neat order and closing the folder.

"I suppose it wouldn't do any harm if I returned the favor. James." It was the least she could do, she supposed. The man did seem to be trying to repair his reputation; perhaps he was sincere about this.

"However, I suggest we wrap things up and get moving. The press conference is scheduled for eleven, and it'll take at least an hour to get across town. Shall I meet you gentlemen there?"

Bucky nods. "All right then, Natasha it is. And yeah, we'd better get going. I'll try to make it seem like I'm not reading it but obviously I'm not gonna go off script. It's not something I want to make a habit of, doing shit like this."

Sam claps Bucky on the shoulder. "Look, we know. You've just got to keep that temper to yourself and you'll be fine. Miss Romanoff is the best in the business. If she can't clean you up, no one can."

The press conference goes off pretty well and Bucky takes a few questions that seem benign before breaking away. He doesn't actually see Natasha again until Friday morning when he's due to go to the VA and he wants to make his boundaries clear.

"All right, you're gonna keep the press out of the building like you promised? Please?"

"Of course." Natasha gently took Barnes by the arm, steering him towards the front lawn and a small group of press. "Step this way, first, and answer a few questions before going inside, please."

She'd vetted the current gathering, making sure and making it clear that the only questions to be asked were legitimately about volunteering for veterans, and some personal thoughts on the military in general. The press conference had been a success, a pleasant surprise, which had done much to smooth her own opinions about the musician.

"Three or four, then they'll decamp and you'll be able to make your visit, Mr. Barnes. Simple and easy."

"This stuff just means a lot to me. I know it might not mean so much to anyone else," Bucky says. Still, he knows he has to do the song and dance for the press and he does it as best he can without answering anything too personal.

Once that's done, he gets to do what he wants to do and sits down with his guitar and plays a few songs before just talking. It feels good to talk, to share stories with these guys about being over there and listening to what they went through and how it affects them. He's a regular here so there's no pretension, no thoughts about him being famous, nothing but him just being a veteran talking to veterans.

The press pull him out early and it's all he can do to keep from lashing out but he needs to be a good boy right now. He poses for the requisite pictures and then he finds Natasha and touches her arm.

"They came in early," he says, gritting his teeth a little. "I don't like that."

Natasha had promised Wilson to keep an eye on their charge, so she discreetly followed along during Bucky's visit, taking a seat well behind the regulars and listened quietly. Observing. It was a little surprising that the man could actually play and sing, without electronic amplification, and she found herself enjoying the sound of his voice, another private surprise.

But then a few reporters stepped over their boundaries, shattering the good-natured spell, and the publicist wasn't too surprised by Barnes' reaction. After she'd sternly shoved the press out, she returned to her client and took the temper as was her due.

"I apologize, Mr. Barnes. They were explicitly told not to interfere, and I'll be speaking to their superiors immediately. I'll take care of it, don't worry."

"Please do," Bucky says, jaw tight. "I know it's...I know it's not your fault and I'm trying not to get angry and make a scene but it's really hard right now. This is my time with them. They trust me because I don't bring a bunch of attention in here and I don't want them to stop trusting me."

Trust had taken a long time to build, considering that he seems like a pampered celebrity and not one of them, and he doesn't want it ruined by a few paparazzi being assholes.

"I figure if anyone can handle them, it's you."

"Why don't we call it a day, and you head on home while I make some phone calls?" And she had several to make, up to and including having a few journalists terminated from their commissions. Violations of privacy weren't anything to take lightly.

"Mr. Wilson asked if you'd meet him and Mr. Rogers for lunch at the Galleria, also. I think it might be a good idea." Then Natasha stepped away to speak with the hospital director for a moment or so, giving Bucky time enough to wrap up his visit. After that, she pulled out her cell phone and began dialing numbers, countenance stony, resolute.

Bucky finishes up with the vets and covertly watches Natasha have a pretty intense phone call. He knows he needs to get a move on if he's going to have lunch with Steve and Sam but he feels like it's kind of rude if he doesn't at least extend her an invitation to come along; she's done a lot for him this week and he doesn't like not recognizing that.

Hey. It's James. You wanna tag along for lunch? I'm taking the car, you don't even have to hang onto me on the bike.

The text arrived during the middle of her last call, and when she disconnected, she took a minute or so to cool her blood pressure. Having those particular conversations never went over very well, and she hated having to have them, but there were consequences to every choice, and the reporters had been told, damnit.

Reading the message, however, did make her smile slightly, and she headed outside for a breath of air. Apparently her client was still inside, and that was fine; he could have as much time as he wanted to spend with his compatriots.

Thank you for the invitation, James. I really appreciate. But I wouldn't want to impose;m you should enjoy the afternoon with your friends.

Still, offer is definitely open for you.

Bucky is slightly disappointed she doesn't make it but he still has a fantastic time with Steve and Bucky. The paparazzi get a few pictures of him but that's expected and really, this is one of the most wholesome things he could be doing after this week. He hates that his weekly visit to the vets turned into a show but Natasha seems to be handling that.

"So, guys, should I get Natasha a present?"

Sam laughs softly. "Don't get attached to her, Bucky. She's so professional that I'm pretty sure the grass frosts over when she walks on it. She's good at what she does but I think she's immune even to your charm."

Across the table, Steve quirked a brow. "Wow, Sam, you make her sound like The Ice Queen, or something. Surely she's not that frosty, right?"

Sam chortled. "I dunno, but man, she's got a tough outer shell. Our boy here was flirting like Steve McQueen on steroids, and she just let it roll right on off." He grinned at Bucky, more than amused. "Still, it's about time we find you a new serious girlfriend, might keep you outta any more trouble." He took a bite of his sandwich, then propped elbows on the table. "Any ideas?"

Steve weighed in with, "Hey, what about that really good-looking, nice lady from your last tour, the press manager? What was her name...Dot something?" The blond grinned. "She was more than available, Buck, wasn't she?"

"A little too available if you ask me," Bucky says, just a little grumpy about it. Dot seemed to be interested in the stage presence more than just him and it makes sense - it's what most women want. Bucky wants someone who just wants him for himself.

"She was nice but I don't like it when people are blinded by the celebrity. Natasha is appealing because she seems completely immune to it." Steve considers that for a moment before looking at the two of them.

"Invite her over for the cookout, then. All she can do is say no and then you'll go on as you have.

Bucky thinks it's not a bad idea so he picks up his phone and texts Natasha again.

Hey, sorry to bother you but the guys want you to come over to the cookout tomorrow and I'd like you there too. Please?

Natasha was in the middle of another meeting with a difference client when the text arrived. Customarily keeping her phone on silent during live meetings, it was several hours before she had the opportunity to check it. Seeing the message again made her smile; it seemed that Mr. Barnes was determined to draft her into his little cadre of "one of the guys". It was flattering, really.

And what was the harm? Just a friendly afternoon of barbeque and beer. Who knew, maybe she'd actually enjoy herself for a change? And there was the possibility that Alex might even join her; he'd said that his weekend was free, amazingly. They spent so little time together as it was. So, that in mind, she forwarded her reply.

I'd be delighted to accept, James. Thank you for the invitation. Would it be permissible to bring along a friend? And casual attire, yes?

Bucky hadn't been expecting a plus one. He figured Natasha didn't live with anyone or anything other than a cat or a goldfish, given how she handled him, but he realizes there's very little he knows about her and there's nothing in her office that says anything about her personally.

Bring whoever you want, we've got plenty of room and plenty of food. If you've got a dog, they're welcome too. Brooklyn loves playmates.

The following afternoon, a Mustang convertible arrived at the Barnes mansion in Malibu, and was admitted entrance thanks to the redhead in the passenger seat. A tall blond was driving, and whatever he thought about the place, he kept to himself as he parked the car and opened the door for Natasha.

He did, however, say, "Surprising, you mingling with a client," with a slightly cynical smile. Natasha, comfortably casual in a cashmere blouse, white silk slacks, and sensible flats, merely shrugged. "He invited us. I accepted. He seems a decent bloke, compared to the usual."

Alex offered his arm and chuckled, remarking, "Well, he invited the cat, so that smacks of a little weirdness."

"I'm sure it was just a joke," the redhead quipped back. "We're just here for the food and the beer, da?"

Everyone else at this cookout is dressed far more casually than Natasha and her companion but these cookouts are always casual. They're for family and friends, for staff that are basically friends, and, of course, all of the pets.

Bucky is a little shocked to see that Natasha's brought a guy with her but he makes his way over anyway and offers his hand.

"Hi, I'm Bucky," he says, smiling at Natasha and the guy. "I know Natasha but I don't think we've met?"

At least Alex was correct in jeans, an untucked polo shirt, and his flight jacket. He took the sunglasses from his nose and returned the handshake, firmly, saying, "Alex Shostakov, US Air Force." Tall, blond, and perfect, right down to the chiseled cheekbones and brilliant blue eyes, the pilot casually appraised their host, finally giving a small nod.

"Thanks for the invite, Mr. Barnes." His smile gleamed. "My girl's talked about nothing else since yesterday afternoon."

At his side, Natasha smiled dutifully, meeting Bucky's gaze and gave her own tiny nod of affirmation. "Well, yes. I might have brought Liho with us, too, but she doesn't really do well in crowds." A beat later, she added, "Our cat."

His girl. Well, Bucky's interest in Natasha was apparently inappropriate but he guesses it's not his fault for not knowing she was attached. If he'd known, maybe he wouldn't have flirted with her, but now he does. Still, she's beautiful and it's hard not to look.

Natasha mentions the cat and he laughs; no, cats don't do well in crowds and especially not outside.

"Yeah, she might not like my dog too much. Get some food and grab a drink, mingle around. Everyone's great."

Indeed, the backyard was full of people of all ages, colors, sizes, and social statuses. Predictably, after a few introductions, Alex deposited Natasha near the buffet with a few of the band member's wives, and strolled off to make his own conquests, just as he always did. "Men" didn't need to have their "women" always underfoot, after all.

So Natasha pasted on her "professional" smile, nibbled from her plate now and again, and made polite small talk where she was required. She knew Alex would be keeping a close eye on her, despite his apparent nonchalance, so she didn't dare leave the open yard. Far worse if he actually came looking for her.

She did meet Brooklyn, Bucky's dog, who quite promptly charmed her to a chaise lounge so that she might sit and scratch silky ears, and Natasha sat for a while doing just that, watching the waves out over the Pacific; truly, a stunning landscape.

Bucky comes and finds Natasha after a little while when he realizes his dog has taken her off to a corner by herself. Brooklyn is good at stuff like that - he's just a mix from the pound and God knows what's in him but it doesn't matter. He still lives like a king.

"See that you made a new friend," Bucky says, grinning at her. "Where's your guy? I figured you'd be making the rounds with my sisters and stuff. They all seemed to really like you."

Natasha glanced up as the shadow fell over her, politely smiling a hello at the party's host. "He's a sweet boy," she agreed, ruffling furry ears and stroking the dog's head. And God knew, animals didn't expect her to "mingle" and "make connections" everywhere she went. But that line of thought was sour, so she shoved it aside.

Only to have Barnes ask about "her guy". "Alex?" Natasha took a quick gulp of her cocktail, waving with her fingers. "Oh, over there somewhere, probably regaling the other guys with stories of his daring and prowess, like most pilots do." The breeze tossed her ponytail, and she absently pulled red curls out of her face.

Hearing that his sisters thought well of her was...nice, but she gave a slight shrug. "Oh, actually I'm not much of a joiner. I do enough of that for a living. Still, it's nice to be invited." Another small, polite smile. "You really do have a lovely home...James."

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