ostavil | open post

"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.

This one, knowing what she knew now, had Natasha flushing quite against her will, but smiling just the same when he finished the song. "I like that one, too, James," she told him, gingerly tucking one bare foot beneath her opposite leg. "Now you have me wanting to call this woman up and tell her what an idiot she's being, not even noticing your infatuation."

Then she bit her tongue, because she had absolutely no right whatsoever to say things like that, good God. Natasha cleared her throat, abashedly pulled more hair behind her ear, and desperately looked for something to cover her idiotic mouth.

"--what sort of guitar is that?" Safe question, right? "It's certainly lovely."

"It's a Gibson. It's better for this kind of playing than the main one I use, the Stratocaster. I was getting in a deal with Fender to have a custom one made that they could sell to people and say it was the Winter Soldier guitar," he explains.

"Luckily they don't care about my bar fighting and the deal is still on. Do you want to know the truth about the woman? The real truth?"

Natasha started to ask more about the guitar deal, but then Bucky abruptly froze her tongue when he mentioned his muse. She was of half a mind to say no, she didn't want to know anything more about this mystery woman who'd stolen his heart, and wasn't even kind enough to notice, and the other half of her screamed YES, who was she and how could she be so fascinating to garner this much of his attention??

Torn by indecision, Natasha finally blurted out a, "...sure," before the silence stretched out too awkwardly, and braided her fingers together in her lap, wondering just what the hell she'd just signed herself up for.

"She has a boyfriend and she doesn't look at me like that," Bucky says, more casual than he feels. "I'm not the kind of guy she'd want in her life. I mean, you have to admit I'm kind of a mess. You can't exactly take me home to mom considering I have an active court case and more ink than an office supply store."

Bucky laughs but it feels hollow.

"But I know if I ever got the chance to just show her, I'd be so good to her."

Natasha's sharp ear didn't miss the slight self-depreciation in his words. Hence her soft scoff, dismissing it with a gentle wave of one hand. "You're not a mess, James. I mean, look at you. Wildly successful, wonderfully talented, a heart of gold under all of that ink," she smiled at him.

"Any girl would be lucky to take you home to mom." Natasha chuckled lightly. "I bet you'd even bring 'mom' flowers the first time you met her. Am I right?" She had the suspicion that she was. But... "...it's too bad she's taken. I'd be the first one to tell her she's missing out on someone special, not giving you a chance."

"I bet you would," Bucky says. He can't take his eyes off her and he knows he's showing his hand. Natasha has got to know that she's the woman, she's the muse, she's the girl that he can't have.

"Hey, have you ever played a guitar? I could teach you. I haven't taught anyone other than my sisters' kids lately and it'd be good to teach someone with more attention span than a bumblebee."

The offer of a guitar lesson pulled her out of the ocean in which she'd been floundering, wallowing about in sheer envy of a woman she had no business disliking. Honestly, Natasha. She shook her head, long curls swaying with the movement.

"No, I haven't." She couldn't help a little laugh. "I have no musical inclination whatsoever, I'm afraid. Don't even know if it runs in my family." Oops, she hadn't meant to delve into her own personal life. "I...don't even know how to read music, or what the notes mean, or where to put my fingers." She held up long-fingered hands.

"I'd probably tie them in knots, honestly."

"Well, c'mere and let me teach you," Bucky says, motioning her over. He wants to share this with her since he can't share other parts of himself. A music lesson is something he can do without letting on to his feelings, he thinks.

Bucky settles down in the floor and opens his legs a little so Natasha can settle between them.

"If you come over here, I can show you how to hold it and everything."

That was such a bad idea. Horrible, really. Natasha watched as the musician settled down on the thick carpet, nonplussed. And before she even realized she was going to do it, she left the couch and joined him on the floor, a little abashed but following his lead to back in between his knees, the better for him to bring the guitar in front of her.

"...like this?" She was almost hesitant to touch it, the smooth wood gleaming under the lamplight. Naturally she'd seen others hold the instrument and play it, but doing so herself seemed awkward and foreign now that it was her turn.

Of course, that could have been attributed to her current predicament, with a very attractive tutor seated so close and snug behind her.

"Mmmhmm."

Sitting like this, Bucky could smell the light scent of her shampoo and it made him just want to bury his face in Natasha's curls for a little while. Instead, he takes her right hand and pulls it up to lay on the frets while the left is there to strum the strings.

"Mm, okay, so to play you have to hold down the strings at the frets and them strum, okay?"

"Okay..."

It wasn't easy, bending her fingers to fit the correct way. Natasha frowned in concentration, trying to find the right grip without letting the guitar slide out of her hands. Her fingers were indeed a little clumsy, ending up getting tangled with Bucky's over the strings.

She laughed lightly, saying over her shoulder, "See? What did I tell you. Hopeless." Trying again, craning her head to see her fingers press over the frets, she observed, "...and I have no idea what to press to even make the right notes."

Bucky narrows his eyes for a moment and looks at how she handles the strings. It's like his nephew, actually, and the problem had been that he was left-handed, not that he was clumsy. Bucky takes Natasha's hand and pulls it away before flipping the guitar over.

"You're a leftie, aren't you? My nephew Ben is left handed. I'll get you a guitar that suits you later but for now, we'll play this one upside-down and see if we can't get you started. I'll move your fingers while you strum, okay?"

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