ostavil | open post

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.

"I'll always come for you," Bucky murmurs back to her. "I belong to you, remember? I've gotta take care of you."

Maybe it's always going to be unrequited but Bucky has decided he's all right with that. Natasha knows how he feels and it's just there as a steadying presence, not to pressure, and if she ever feels the same way she knows she'll be accepted.

"I'll run every traffic light to get to you."

She wasn't sure when she fell asleep, but Natasha woke with a splitting headache. Probably from her swollen cheekbone, considering that side of her head was pounding like a war drum. Opening the other eye, it took her a moment to realize where she was, since the decor was decidedly unfamiliar.

But a low, sleepy rumble at her ear made her realize she wasn't alone, and it definitely wasn't Alex who was holding her so close and warm, stirring the hair at her ear with his deep, even breathing. A short perusal revealed the time to be right around dawn, and Natasha slowly eased out of her bedmate's grasp, sliding out of bed to make a much-needed trip to the bathroom.

The mirror revealed the horror that was her face; red cheeks, her right cheekbone a wonderful coloration of blue, purple, and orange, and the eyelid above sporting yellow and blue all the way around. The right side of her mouth was red and puffy, and her lower lip was painfully split, and her entire face ached horribly. Natasha sighed, wondering if Barnes had any ibuprofen or painkillers in the house.

Bucky usually slept deeply unless he had one of the nightmares he got sometimes after having been overseas in the Army but when Natasha stirs, he wakes up because his warm little pillow has disappeared on him in the middle of a long snooze.

He calls out her name sleepily and then gets up to knock on the bathroom door. She's probably in there, considering he usually leaves that door open, and he doesn't want to invade her privacy.

"You need me to get you anything?"

The voice on the other side of the door made her start, and Natasha instinctively pressed a hand to her face to hide the blemishes. Hurriedly arranging her hair to fall over her right cheek, she gingerly opened the door, peeking around it tentatively.

"Um...you wouldn't happen to have any pain meds around, would you? I have this splitting headache..."

Figuring she might as well get it over with, Natasha opened the door fully and tried to keep her face averted; she looked a fright, and the residual shame was more than enough to have her feeling totally self-conscious.

Every single mark on her face makes him want to get his knuckles bloody for her. Bucky has to refrain, though, and focus on caring for Natasha without bringing more violence into the equation. She needs rest, care, and stability and not his temper. He speaks softly when he does speak.

"I've got stuff, yeah, but I think we ought to take you to a doctor and make a report. This isn't something that happened on accident, Natasha, and I would feel better if you were protected under the law from this guy. I can help you the whole way. You won't be alone. I'll do anything you need or want me to do."

She knew he was right; she needed to report this to the local authorities and press charges for assault and battery. It was the sensible thing to do; she was a lawyer, she knew that, but doing so took a bit more courage than she was at the moment feeling. Natasha started to nibble on her lip, realized that it hurt, and stopped. Then sighed.

"You're right," she finally agreed, not letting go of the door frame. "And I know that. I just...can't, right now. It doesn't make any sense, but I just can't, James. I just want to take some painkillers, brush my teeth, and crawl back into bed."

Gazing at him with a single green eye - the other swollen nearly shut - Natasha asked, "...can we do that? Please?"

"I think we need to get pictures of this before they go away," Bucky says, not wanting to say no to her request but also not wanting to ruin any kind of case by waiting too long. "But if you're too overwhelmed right this second, I'll get you some meds and we'll just get back in bed for a little while. I think I've got a spare toothbrush in here."

Bucky reaches past her to rifle through one of the drawers in the bathroom and pulls out both a bottle of Advil and an unopened toothbrush.

"See? Both. Go ahead and do what you want and come on back to bed. I don't have anywhere I need to be today so we can just hang out, all right?"

Because she knew he was right, Natasha did let Bucky take a few snapshots of her face, because once the bruising started to fade, the severity of her case would also diminish. But afterwards, she downed several of the Advil, scrubbed her teeth as hard as she could, and carefully washed her face, oddly liking the scent of the soap on his sink.

But then, she crawled right back into bed, covertly shucking out of the sweats but of course keeping the t-shirt; it was soft fabric, and his unique scent was still ingrained in the fibers. It was comforting, especially right now. Natasha knew it was grossly unfair, but she didn't hesitate to cuddle right back into his arms, once more tucking her head beneath his chin, safe and sound.

"...are you sure you're not busy today?" she asked drowsily, nose pressed right beneath the ridge of his strong jaw. "I don't want to keep you from your work, James..."

"Babe, I just recorded eight songs in a week. I'm taking a day off. Nobody's going to question my work ethic, I promise you."

The pet name slips out automatically and he wants to take it back because his feelings hardly matter in this at all except that he needs to take care of her and he needs to stop being...whatever. This is about Natasha right now.

"I got plenty of time just to hang out with you in bed. All day, if you need it."

The dry sarcasm in his wonderful voice made her chuckle, and she gave him an involuntary squeeze just because she could. "Okay, fair point." Asking about his work made her think about her own, and Natasha realized that she needed to call her secretary and let her know she wouldn't be in today. Or for the rest of the week, more than likely.

But she didn't have a phone, and the office wouldn't be open for another three hours, at best. Surely she could catch a quick nap between now and then. Hopefully, because she yawned, already drowsy again.

"...sing for me?" A sleepy request; Natasha tipped back her head to gaze up at him, a soft smile curving her mouth. "I love to hear you sing, James."

"Of course I will."

Maybe it's easier to hear him sing than to deal with him talking so he situates himself so he can sit up a little bit and still have Natasha rest against his chest. When he sings, it's things from his old albums stripped down and things he's recently written for her all in a mix. Nobody's ever been this into him singing for them, before, and it feels good. It feels really good. After a while, he takes a break and laughs softly.

"Tell me if you have other requests, I'm a good jukebox."

Lying against him as she was, Natasha had fallen into a light, blissful doze during his impromptu acapella concert, waking every few minutes only to be lulled back to sleep by Bucky's low, melodic voice. She heard him speak again, no rhythm to those words, and blinked her eyes open, muzzily realizing a full hour had passed.

"Hmm? Oh." She had to chuckle, a low throaty sound. "Yes, you really are." She nestled her head on his shoulder, relishing his warmth. She hated the cold. "Sing the song about the ivy and the stone. I think that one is my favorite..."

"Kinda mine too," Bucky says, singing the song. It's different in this quiet, hushed place between the two of them than it was recording it and honestly, Bucky feels like no one will understand the true intimacy of that song but he and Natasha no matter how many teenage girls will squeal that it's "totally their song, oh my god."

He strokes her hair as he sings, just wanting to comfort her, and when he finishes the song he doesn't stop moving his hand in her hair.

"You're my favorite. Doesn't matter where you are in life compared to me."

His voice washed over her, soothing away the hurts of the previous day. Natasha slowly let herself relax again, cuddled against Bucky's solid chest. He was safe and warm, and a wonderful jukebox, indeed. Pure talent. She drifted back off again, dreaming of a tall, thick stone wall covered in tangled green ivy, broad leaves caressing the stone with each breath of the wind.

James was stroking her hair, petting her gently, and Natasha drifted right off to sleep yet again, lost in her dreams and the sound of her savior's low voice, lulling her like nothing else ever had. She didn't hear him speak again, nor feel it when Bucky shifted so they might rest better together. Exhaustion had caught up with her once more, and held her trapped in its clutches.

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