ostavil | open post

About three weeks after the youth concert, Bucky's cell phone rang with a familiar number. Natasha Romanoff was on the other end of the call, and when it connected to Barnes' voicemail, she immediately inquired, "--James?" Far from her usual smooth cool tone, this time her voice was shaky, strained, and quivering just enough to be heard.

"James, are you there?" Traffic sounded in the background, along with the heavy sound of rain on pavement. "I know it's been a good while, but...but I was hoping...hoping you might, um, be able to...to pick me up, if at all possible. I'm without my purse, so I can't get a taxi--" A horn blared, followed by her swift gasp, then her voice appeared again.

"Please, when you get this, give me a call? ...please, James?"

Then the line clicked off, silent.

Bucky hadn't been with his phone right that second but when he walks back into the kitchen to snag it, he sees the voicemail from Natasha and listens to it. Shit. She'd sounded upset and obviously she'd be scared if she was stranded so he tugs on his shoes while he calls her back.

"Hey, Natasha, it's me. Sorry I didn't pick up - I was in the other room. I want you to stay on the phone with me okay? I'm gonna come get you in the Mustang - it's the blue one. Gimme the address? Tell me more or less where you are?"

She nearly melted with relief when she saw her phone light up again. "James, oh thank God. Um...I'm at the Galleria, right across from my apartment building. I'm not sure which entrance...but I can meet you at Macy's?"

The rain was coming down harder, and she was soaked from running, fleeing, really, but that was of little import right now. The important thing was to get away.

"I...I don't know the street address. I just know it's the biggest mall in Ingelwood. And it's storming here, so please be careful...okay?"

"Storming? Nah, worry about you. I can drive in some rain even if we don't get it all that often here. I'm from Brooklyn, Natasha. You wanna tell me what's going on or do you want to tell me in the car? I've got a long drive and I don't want you getting off the phone with me while you're by yourself."

She isn't in a bad neighborhood, necessarily, but Natasha sounds shaken up and scared and Bucky doesn't want her to feel all alone until he gets there. He wants her to know she's there for him.

"Keep safe and if something happens, tell me and call 911 okay?"

She drew in a shuddering breath. "...I'm okay, for now. Just...just a little shaken." Taking another breath, more for calm this time, Natasha paused, then spoke again, tone quiet, but still quivering. "I'm outside the Macy's entrance, under the light. I think...I think I'll be okay until you arrive, James."

Falling silent again, it was a few minutes before she spoke. "...we had a fight. Things were said..." She broke off with a sigh. "It got bad, he's terrifying when he's angry. I didn't know what to do. I tried to make peace, back down, but he didn't want to listen. Started throwing things. Punching the walls." And hitting other things; she could still taste the blood in her mouth. And she knew her eye was going to be swollen in the morning; her cheekbone still throbbed. Thankfully her hair hid the worst of it.

"...so I ran out. Left my purse, my keys, but thank God my phone was in my pocket." And she was terrified to go back. Ever.

Bucky grits his teeth to keep from calling Alexi a fucking asshole on the phone while Natasha is clearly shaken up and worried but he's thinking it. He's also thinking that the pilot is no fucking match for someone who learned how to brawl in the streets in Brooklyn and then went into the Army. That's not the focus right now, though. The focus is Natasha.

He manages to get to the Galleria in good time (great time, actually. thanks traffic) and swings up outside the entrance that Natasha had indicated she was standing under. He sees her there under the light and leans over and opens the door for her.

"Get in, I'll take you back to my place so you can have a place to crash."

She was hiding behind the wide column as the headlights approached, but after recognizing the blue Mustang, emerged into the light. The door swung open and Natasha darted quickly to the car, almost falling into the leather seat with a grateful sob. She was soaked and cold, teeth chattering, but she closed the door quickly and let herself relax into the car's quiet interior.

"O-okay," was all she managed to get out, huddled in the passenger seat. She wanted to fall all over him and cry for hours, tell him how thankful she was that he'd come for her, but she couldn't. Not now. Because her world had just upended, and she didn't know what else to do.

Bucky turns the heat on so Natasha can work on getting warmer and drying out and he turns to look at her, finally seeing the bruising on her face. It's hidden behind her hair but he can see enough of it and he clenches his hand on the steering wheel.

"He fucking hit you? I swear to God, if it wasn't more important for me to take care of you right now, I'd end him. Look, you're staying with me as long as you need to stay. I'll go back tomorrow and get your stuff."

Maybe he's taking charge of it a little but there's no way he's letting Natasha back near that man if he was able to do that to her and send her out crying in the rain.

Reflex had her cupping that side of her face, her swollen eye and her split lip, but Natasha just nodded, mute. Humiliation, shame, and despair crashed in and over her, and she felt tears again slip from her eyes, painful in the left.

She hugged her arms, head bent so that her long wet hair hid her face, and kept her eyes on the floorboard. She wanted to tell him not to worry, she was all right, she just needed a lift, but no words came to her tongue.

So she nodded again, silent and helpless.

Bucky drives faster on the way back, somehow, and when he pulls back to his house he kind of hates that it's so fucking huge and parts of it are impersonal. He thinks Natasha needs better than that right now so he tries to decide what is and isn't appropriate.

He pulls into the garage and leads her inside. "Hey, first thing - let me get you something to wear, okay? I don't have anything but my clothes but they're clean and dry. I'll get yours washed and get your things over here tomorrow. I'll go over there with Sam and Steve, we'll handle it."

Between the three of them, he thinks Alexi won't try anything. He wouldn't if the shoe were on the other foot.

"Come with me and I'll let you have my room for the night. Bed's not made but I don't think there's sheets on all the guest beds. Fuck if I know, this house is too big for just me. I've got one of those heated mattress pads, too, it'll warm you up."

Bucky thinks he's probably rambling but he's so worried about her that he can't help but hover a little.

Natasha let him usher her into his house, still wrapped around herself. She'd left her phone back on Macy's sidewalk; she didn't want Alex to have any chance to ferret out her location. She could do Barnes that courtesy, at least. Nodding to his rambling, Natasha followed along silently as he took her through the spacious mansion, ending up in his own bedroom.

Were it any other situation, she'd have insisted she sleep in a guest room, but tonight she just wasn't up for being politic or professional. He darted off to fetch dry clothes, and she almost held him back, wanting to burrow into his arms for comfort and safety, but she was still soaking wet.

She needed to doctor her face, warm up, and get out of these sodden clothes. She did take off her shoes, leaving them by the door as not to soak the carpet. And had just given a mental "fuck it" and was peeling out of her drenched slacks when Bucky returned with sweats and a small t-shirt.

"...thank you," Natasha managed to mutter, clutching the dry garments gratefully.

Bucky hadn't expected her to start taking things off in front of him but he does Natasha the courtesy of not looking and turning around to make sure she has everything she needs in the en suite bathroom for in the morning when she took a shower or a bath. After a few moments, he comes back out and tosses her wet clothes into the hamper before opening up his arms.

"C'mere already. This place has great security and nothing's getting through me anyway. You're safe with me. I'll keep you safe."

This is far past his feelings for her and into wanting to protect her. Natasha needs to be away from this man for her own good and he's going to do everything he can to make that happen. He'd take a bullet for this woman so offering his arms and his bed and his roof are nothing.

Natasha haphazardly pulled on the offered clothes, feeling a little like a burrito in the oversize garments. But she didn't care; the clothes were warm and dry, if three sizes too big. And then Bucky was there, holding out his arms for her, and Natasha bit the uninjured side of her mouth and stumbled into them with a muted little sob.

God, but she wanted to be safe! Protected from all harm, to have someone else watching out for her, to be able to let down her unassailable guard for just a brief moment. Her hair was still damp, but curling as it dried, and she nestled her head beneath James' chin, small arms immediately winding around his waist, holding him close. She was too exhausted to cry, but a few unmistakable sniffles escaped, nevertheless.

Bucky rubs his hand against her back and just holds her close, giving Natasha the hug he thinks she needs after what seems to have been a long, hard day. He doesn't want her to have to worry about anything and after just holding her for a little while, he pulls away enough to motion toward the bed.

"We can watch something on tv," he says, picking up the remote and starting to flip through things randomly on Netflix. He settles on what looks like some kind of comedy and lets it just play while he guides Natasha over to the bed.

"You get comfortable while I get out of these jeans, all right? I'll be right back and we can have our sweats and Netflix party uninterrupted."

The bed hadn't been made, and it was large enough to swim in, yet Natasha didn't hesitate. She was so tired, mentally and emotionally drained after the events of the evening, and the mountain of pillows beckoned in heavenly chorus. Bucky turned on the TV but the redhead didn't really pay it much attention; she was busy burrowing into a small nest right in the center of that large mattress.

By the time he returned, the petite redhead had nestled beneath the soft satin bedspread, her long curls haloed across several of the king-size pillows, and her eyes were closed. They opened, however, when she felt him put a knee on the edge of the bed, and a corner of her mouth lifted in a soft smile.

"...thank you, James," was all she said, but a small hand crept from beneath the bedspread, reaching for him.

"You don't have to thank me for taking care of you. It's something I'm always gonna do regardless," Bucky says. He slides into the bed alongside her and pulls Natasha into his arms, holding her close in a way he hopes feels protective and comforting and isn't sexual in any way. He has feelings for her, yeah, but it's not about that right now.

"Someday, you might tell me about what happened. You might never tell me. What you need to know is that I don't care about anything but taking care of you and making sure you feel safe. It doesn't matter what happens outside of that, all right?"

Natasha nodded against his chest, once again tucked snug beneath his chin. It didn't matter, their intense attraction for each other, or the fact that they'd shared a torrid, desire-filled kiss nearly a month ago. What did matter was that he was here, he would protect her, and she could rest easy with him nearby.

"...he's always been jealous," she heard herself murmur, voice a little off-beat due to her split lower lip. "And I found out that he's had people watching me whenever he's out of town, reporting my every move, where I go, what I do, and who I'm with." Natasha sighed tiredly.

"It's ridiculous, but he doesn't trust me. He probably never did." She shifted slightly. "We've been together almost seven years, and he still thinks I might cheat on him."

"I'm guessing he had someone see I came over then," Bucky says softly. "I hate to think I could have contributed even though there's no accounting for that kind of crazy."

He holds her close and just drifts his fingers through her hair, playing with the drying curls.

"You shouldn't stay with him now. He hurt you and that's too far to work out. You should break up with him and get away. You need to be safe."

"He did," she sighed, so weary of the entire mess. "But it didn't boil over until this morning, when he accused me of having an affair with you, with Wilson, basically with every single man that I know. He's always been wary, but never so stupidly paranoid." Closing her eyes, Natasha took a deep breath, surreptitiously filling her nose with Bucky's wonderfully unique scent.

"Then, when we got home tonight, he lost it completely. Came in throwing things, kicking over furniture...the apartment's a mess. He put his foot through the coffee table - there's broken glass everywhere. But...tonight was the first time he's ever hit me." She paused, then her voice firmed. "And it's the last, I promise."

"Wish you had been having an affair with me. If he knew the truth, he'd at least know his girl was faithful. Still, it's no excuse. I don't care how mad you are at your girl, you don't hit her or scare her like he did. Like I said, I'm gonna get all your stuff and bring it back over tomorrow. You don't have to go back there."

Bucky sighs a little and shifts her closer to him. "I know he doesn't know about the songs yet, they're not published, but I'm still going to release them. They don't mention your name or describe you in such a way that anyone would say it was you. It wouldn't threaten your safety, I don't think."

"I really don't want to go back over there," she admitted, burrowing deeper. "If I could afford it, I'd just leave it all and start over, but at least my clothes are mine, my shoes, and my jewelry. Everything else, even my Mercedes, is all in his name. And he can have it," she added flatly.

"But I think I can survive for a few weeks in a hotel, at least. So I'm not living in a box on the street." Her snort was wonderfully cynical. "I may end up living in the back of my office, for as long as I can keep the business open."

A pause, then she added, "...and you should release the album. The songs are wonderful...wait, did you write them all about me?"

"Eh, eight of twelve," Bucky admits. "And you're not living in a hotel, god. I wouldn't let you live in a hotel. Just live here. I live by myself and I have six bedrooms and a whole separate guesthouse back there. You can have the guesthouse and have some privacy."

It would feel more like having her own place, at least.

"I also have like twelve vehicles, you can borrow one. I can't drive them all at one time anyway."

Eight out of twelve? Jesus. Natasha started to protest, but then he went on about her staying here, and she immediately shook her head, regretting it instantly when a wonderful ache sprang up between her eyes.

"James," she protested, gingerly rubbing her sore eye, "I can't do that. I can't impose on you that way." She didn't want to be beholden to anyone, not ever again. "I can pay my own way, you don't have to give me any charity."

...well, considering she was currently huddled in his arms, in the middle of his bed, in his clothes, in his house... While the rain continued to pour down.

"Well how about you get your feet back under you and then we can talk about you paying rent for the guesthouse and the car. I'd give them to you for free, you know that, but if you'd like to pay your own way then I'll let you do that. Right now, though, I'm not charging you a dime. I want you to get better."

And on that, he's firm.

"If you don't have to worry about finding a place to live, you can just take a little time off work and then get back to the business quick and you won't lose it. I can do that for you."

There was probably no point in trying to convince him otherwise, so Natasha just sighed softly, closed her eyes, and nodded reluctant agreement. They could talk about it...later. Maybe. Instead of protesting further, Natasha shifted enough to reach up and kiss Bucky's cheek, lips lingering a long moment.

"...you're a good man, James Barnes," she whispered softly, nuzzling him gently. "I'm so glad you came for me." Then she settled back down, tucked beneath his chin, and cuddled close, silently relishing his warmth and nearness.

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