ostavil | open post

"Look, Steve's pretty good at staying invisible. It's kind of a talent of his, actually. As far as music goes - yeah, I'd love to put out a stripped down acoustic album with love songs on it but it's not gonna sell. I'm not gonna sell that looking like this."

Bucky gestures to himself, the tattoos and the biker boots and everything in between. He's developed an image and it's not the kind of image people associate with something besides metal.

"No one is gonna want that kind of album from me."

One eyebrow went up. "How do you know? How can you know unless you try? You said yourself most of your fanbase is female, and trust me, any female would spend the money to listen to just you singing with your guitar."

She bit the rest off, because adding, Well, excluding me, would not only be impolitic, but a total and complete lie. Rather than continue down that dead-end road, Natasha said instead, "You're successful enough to afford one flopped album, James."

Another bite of salad, then she added, "And if it sells, then so much the better. At least you'd be doing something you want to do, right?"

Bucky draws absent little circles on the table with his fingertip while he thinks about it. It's something he'd like to do, something softer, but he doesn't want to fail. It's not so much about the money as it is about being liked but he doesn't know how to explain that to Natasha other than to come out and say it and that makes him sound like a little boy.

"I don't want to fail, is the thing. And it's not about the money. It's about me. It's about doing well. I don't want to fail at anything."

It's a heavy thing to admit, though, and he keeps his eyes down as he says it.

Natasha heard the change in his voice, saw the small circles drawn on the tabletop. She didn't respond right away, and when she did, her own voice was softer, encouraging.

"Hey." And a smile, just for him. "You have a wonderful talent, James. And an amazing voice. Anything at all that you sing would go platinum, I have no doubt whatsoever." She chuckled, impulsively reaching across the table to give his hand a brief, light squeeze.

"Believe in yourself, James. I do."

Bucky looks up and sees Natasha smiling and he knows he's in trouble. He's smiling back and he knows it's soft and sweet, not the cocky guy he can be in public. This path is treacherous but he guesses he's walking down it anyway.

"Well, if a girl like you believes in me, maybe I'll give it a shot. I'll have to write something, though. I don't have anything written for that kind of album, just more stuff for the usual."

She felt her cheeks heat from his offhand compliment - surely he didn't mean something like that, right? But his return smile caught the breath in her throat, just enough to be noticed. Drat the man, he had no business being so...so...sincere!

"I have faith," Natasha replied after a long moment. "You'll be great at it." And no, she wasn't stroking his ego simply because he was her client. She'd listened to his music, read through the lyrics, and was savvy enough to recognize true talent when she saw it.

"Then I'd better get to work and stop dawdling at lunch with redheads," Bucky teases, laughing softly. There was a way for him to have said that professionally and he hadn't so he is in a prison of his own making. He sighs a little.

"You can hit me when I do that, by the way. The...joking thing." Bucky isn't going to go and call it flirting because putting the name to it makes it real and he needs to not do that now.

"Yes," she agreed, glinting a little over her salad, "you better." She chuckled along with him, unconsciously liking how their voices blended together. She couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, but there was enough resonance between their tones that it sounded...nice. Especially when they laughed at the same time.

Oh, God.

by some miracle, the waitress stopped by before she had to answer the rest, inquiring if they wanted take-home boxes or more drinks. Natasha thanked her, and declined; she doubted she'd have much of an appetite for the rest of the day. And she too needed to get back to work.

"I'll call you later," she promised, shouldering her purse. Then remembered to add, "--about the youth concert. That ok?"

"Yeah. The youth concert. Look, I'll be in contact, promise. Lunch is on me and the next one is on me too. I'll get you hooked on this place. You'll see."

Bucky grins at her and fishes out his keys before tugging on his helmet and heading back to the house. Writing is a process that's sometimes fast and sometimes slow but he's got two songs out before dinnertime. Of course he does. He shouldn't call Natasha but he does anyway. This is not appropriate.

She was just getting out of the shower when her cell rang. Alex was off on maneuvers for the week, thank God, so Natasha answered after wrapping snugly in a large towel. "Hello? James? Everything all right?" Surely nothing else had happened, but why would he be calling this late in the evening? She'd given her number to Wilson, assuring him that it was fine to call at any hour, but so far, it hadn't been an issue.

"Did you lose your keys?" She knew her smile echoed in her voice. "Bail money? What did I say about the drinking, hmm?"

"Nope, got my keys and I don't need you to bail me out. I wrote two songs." Bucky says it like he's a little boy again, bringing a girl dandelions so she'll want to play on the swings with him. It's stupid and hopeful and innocent and a whole bunch of things he shouldn't be doing with a woman who has a boyfriend.

"I was thinking I could come by your office and play the next time you're not dealing with headaches. I mean, if you wanted to hear them before anyone else did?"

"Two?" That was remarkable. And she was genuinely surprised; she'd only meant for him to give it some thought, not to actually go home and write music! "James, that's wonderful! I'm...I'm assuming you're talking about the album we discussed at lunch, right?" Otherwise, why would he be calling her about it?

"I'd love to hear them, yes, please." It was hard to keep the happiness out of her voice, because he'd actually listened to her advice. And sounded so excited himself, if a little...well, shy. Before she could think about it, Natasha heard herself saying, "Well, I'm at home right now, and Alex will be out of town until the weekend...would you like to come over?"

Oh, God.

The second the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to take them back. But she couldn't, not without explaining why. And those were reasons that she didn't even want to examine herself. Damnit!

"Oh? Yeah, I can come over with my guitar and play them for you," Bucky says. "It'll be good to have the feedback, honestly, because I'll know if I need to change anything."

God, he feels like he's sixteen.

"Can you text me your home address? I can take the bike over, it's no big deal. I've got room to strap my guitar on."

Lord, she was in so much trouble. "Um...sure. Just...let the doorman know you're expected, and he'll buzz you in. I'm in eight-oh-four." After hanging up and texting her address with trembling fingers, Natasha dropped her cell and bolted for the closet, tossing the towel aside as she pyrooted through her clothes.

Half an hour later saw her dressed - for the seventh time - in a soft lavender woolen sweater and comfortable black yoga pants, and parked in front of her mirror, absurdly despairing over her clean face. Should she put on makeup? Style her hair? Her eyes were too bright, too green, against her pale skin, and her long curls hung in disarray down her back, still damp from the shower.

She dithered too long, because she'd only managed a little bit of blush and a single coat of lip gloss - scarlet locks still long and loose - when the doorbell rang, startling her out of her ablutions with a soft gasp.

Getting up to 804 hadn't been difficult and while the doorman had given him several questionable looks, he had let him go up without a fight. Not that Bucky would get in a fight with him - the guy looked like he could take about twenty guys out in a minute flat.

The door swings open and Natasha is in a sweater that's the palest purple he's ever seen and looks...nice. Fresh. Too good for a guy like him. Of course, he shouldn't be thinking about a taken woman and he is so that's never a good line of thought.

"Hey. Brought the guitar and the new pieces I wrote. You ever have a private session before?"

It was just unfair, how gorgeous the man looked windblown, casual, and grinning. Natasha could absolutely understand why the majority of his fanbase was female. And why a good chunk of the male fans fantasized right along with the girls. God.

"James. Hey. Um, come in." She stood aside to let him in, closing the door behind the guitar case. The apartment she shared with the Air Force pilot was spacious, elegantly furnished, tastefully understated. Not too many personal things; most of the furniture was themed to go together.

"...I haven't, actually." Natasha chuckled as she gestured him from the foyer into the living room. "Come to think of it, I haven't attended a real concert since college. Over ten years ago." She twirled a stray curl around a finger, oddly nervous. But smiling shyly. "...does that make me boring?"

"A little. But it makes you good at being a PR Lawyer," Bucky says, laughing softly. That shy little smile makes his stomach flip in somersaults and he knows he has to get it together before he does something that crosses the line and truly upsets Natasha.

He settles in a chair and pulls out his guitar. He'd gotten one of the acoustic Gibsons out for this and not his Fender, thinking the warm sound of the Gibson would be better suited for these songs.

"I'm still working on these so you have to promise to be gentle, all right?"

Taking the tease for what it was, Natasha chuckled along with him, then took a seat on the sofa nearby. She watched with unfeigned interest as Barnes opened the case, took out the truly beautiful guitar, and began tuning it slightly.

"No harsh commentary," she agreed, nodding, even crossing her heart. "I promise." Still, that he'd been so inspired just after their lunch together was...touching. "Thanks for calling me," Natasha said softly, cheeks flushing a light peach. "I'm...surprised that you did, but, really glad, at the same time."

"Well, this was your idea," Bucky points out. "So you should get to hear them before anyone else."

Bucky rarely gets a chance to sing like this or play things that are slower and don't have pounding drums behind them. It's just him and his guitar, the richness of his voice not amplified by anything and buoyed by the warmth of the instrument beneath his hands.

The lyrics are about wanting a girl he can't have, about watching her and wanting to be near her but how every touch is stolen and kept a secret just to himself. When he's finished, he looks up at Natasha for approval.

"Yeah?"

Leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, chin propped on a hand, Natasha listed as Barnes' voice flowed around the room and over her like silken water, the guitar's gentle accompaniment only a backdrop. The song rose and fell, lyrics resonating deep in her secret soul, a place she scarcely knew existed.

When the last note faded to its finish, she was almost afraid to break the spell, until Bucky looked over at her with eyebrows lifted, asking for her thoughts. "...beautiful," she murmured, then slowly straightened, a touch of sadness coloring her eyes dark.

"And you wrote this just today?" A pause. "Who was she? A girl you knew? Or know?"

"I know her," Bucky says softly. He knows he's going to give himself away because he's never been able to keep a secret but this isn't the time or place to do it. It's absolutely the wrong place to do it, considering Natasha's alone and her boyfriend is gone for work.

"I wish she could get to know me," he says finally. It's true, everything he said, but at least it doesn't give him away completely. He taps his fingers against the wood of his guitar.

"Do you think it'll sell?"

Her heart gave a lurch, hearing that, an insane surge of white-hot jealousy surging upwards for this unknown woman, this female who dared hold this man's fascination. But Natasha kept it under wraps - this really wasn't the time or place for such things, and she had no business being envious at all.

Smile never wavering, she replied, "...she must be extraordinary, to have caught your eye like that." Natasha deliberately pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, lowering her eyes briefly. Then answered, "I think it would. It's a beautiful song, James. Really." Her expression softened, gazing at him. "I'd buy it."

"She is extraordinary," Bucky says, smiling shyly at the thought of it. "But she's not mine to have. She belongs to someone else. That's the heartbreak of it all, I guess, but nobody likes songs about happy endings."

This song is longing and desperate in ways and he'd poured his feelings into it. It's something he's proud of, terribly proud.

"The other song is about her too. She's very inspirational."

Oh God, he was pining over a woman he couldn't even have? Natasha felt her heart break for him, just a little. "Oh, James," she heard herself say, brows furrowing, "that's so terrible. I really hate to hear that." Nevertheless, he was right; no one liked happy endings anymore. Which was sad, really. Especially for this man, whom Natasha was beginning to understand harbored a sweet, gentle heart beneath his 'bad-boy' veneer.

She considered asking further, but sternly reminded herself that it was none of her business, and opted to focus on the music, instead.

"Really? She must be, if she gave you enough creative energy to finish two entire songs in a single afternoon!"

"The other one is a little happier," Bucky says, taking the opportunity to shift to the side for a moment and at least show off his work. Doing that means he won't do something inappropriate like look at Natasha's mouth or touch her with his hand or, God forbid, try to kiss her.

"It's about the fantasy of when I can be with the girl," he explains. "It's just in my dreams, of course, but it's a little wish fulfillment to keep the hope alive. They can't all be sad songs."

He plays it, the tempo faster, and when he's done singing about stolen days on the beach, he looks to see what she thinks about it.

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