ostavil | open post

"Damn, I'm sorry. He's acting like you just got diagnosed with cancer and have six weeks to live but if he's so worried, I don't know why he didn't come down here himself," Becca says. Who knows. Bucky's going to Bucky sometimes and she's not one to question it.

"He's been in the studio for two days drinking vodka from the bottle so I figured you got told you had a brain tumor or that guy came by or something. I'm glad to hear it's nothing. You want me to get Mom to send you over chicken soup? It's homemade. It's the best shit ever. You'll be better in no time, I promise."

It was...surprising, but somewhat of a relief, that Bucky hadn't divulged the details of just why they hadn't been speaking, but hearing that he'd been in the studio these last two days drinking wasn't entirely reassuring. But, Natasha firmly reminded herself, she wasn't the man's keeper, nor was it any of her responsibility what he did with his time.

So she forced another small smile.

"No, just haven't been feeling my usual self, is all." She wasn't going to offer any insight on why Bucky Barnes might be brooding, or sulking, behind a liquor bottle to the man's younger sister. "But chicken soup sounds lovely, I'm sure it'll do just the trick. Thank you, Becca."

"I'll let her know and send it over. Maybe Bucky will sober up and bring it himself but I doubt it. He really reeks," Becca says, wrinkling her nose. "I had my money on cancer so bad, too. I'm gonna owe Carol money now. At least it was just twenty bucks."

She laughs, though, and shakes her head. "He's always been super dramatic. One time he failed this exam in college and granted, it was important, but he was like oh my life is fucking over, what am I going to do, et cetera and we all just told him to man up and ask his professor for extra credit. He just...he feels too much, you know? When he loves something, he loves it with every part of himself and he falls hard. It was like that with music, with engineering...I think he cares about you too. I haven't ever seen him have a depression spiral over someone with the stomach flu."

Becca shrugs. "Be nice to him, though. He'd probably put you on his joint checking account if you said you needed a dollar for the vending machine. He treats you different than he has ever treated a woman and you're just friends. I can't imagine what he'd do if he was in a relationship with you. Probably buy you your own island and build you a castle or something equally ridiculous."

Meanwhile, as Natasha was suffering silent agonies listening to Becca Barnes ramble on about her beloved older brother, Carol Danvers had arrived at the Winter Soldier studio and wasn't too surprised to see her boss and lead singer once again swilling cheap vodka right out of the bottle and moaning pathetically into a microphone while he tried to read the chicken scratch scrawled on a crumpled piece of paper held haphazardly in one tattooed fist.

"Mother of fuck," the blonde muttered, rolling her eyes as she opened the door to the sound stage and hit the overhead lights.

"Hey, Buck," she called, kicking an empty bottle out of the way with a soft snort. "What's the matter this time? You lose your invitation to the this year's MTV Awards?"

"She hates me," Bucky slurs, finishing off the bottle he has in his hand. He's impossibly drunk and the chords he's attempting to play sound nothing like music and incredibly like the atonal noise that people are trying to pass off as modern composition these days but aren't winning any awards for.

"Slept with her and she doesn't want me," he adds. Carol rolls her eyes. Of course. She takes the empty bottle from Bucky's hands and pulls a chair over, turning it around so she can sit backward in it.

"Ivy, right? She's right down in your guest house, Buck. Yeah, I figured that shit out pretty quick because you look at her with giant moon eyes whenever she's in the room and I know everyone else is gonna figure it out too. What'd you do, propose to her after one date? Sounds like you."

Bucky sighs. "She doesn't want me."

Carol pulled up a chair and turned it around, straddling it backwards and crossing her arms across its back. "You ever think she might need a little space? The woman's just gotten out of a shitty relationship. You saw how that asshole treated here the one day they were here. You wanted to pull out his guts with hot fishhooks, if I remember."

She tapped fingers on the chair back. Then squinted a little more speculatively at him.

"...are you even sober enough to understand what I'm saying? Or am I just wasting my breath? Because if I am, I'll just head back home until you've gotten your head out of your ass about this chick and picked up a few clues." Carol shook her head, nonplussed. "Christ, Bucky, when you fall for someone, you land like a fucking meteor, dude."

"Sober enough," Bucky says, frowning a little. When Carol says he falls like a meteor, she's not exactly wrong. When he falls, he falls hard and it's hard and hot and desperate for him when it comes to her. She has a point about Natasha's former relationship but he's so different. He's nothing like Alex.

"I'm the opposite of that guy, Carol," he says, sighing heavily. "I'm tryin' to be good to her. I'll give her everything and then two dollars more. I jus' wanna take care of her and be with her and she'd never have to worry with me. I wouldn't ever hurt her."

Carol Danvers wasn't one to pull her punches, and she was goddamn tired of having to slog through these mopey, broody, miserable songs. Yeah, that ballad album was well on its way to platinum, but for fuck's sake.

"No," she managed to agree. "You're nothing like him, thank God." Then she fixed Bucky with a hard blue stare of her own, cocking up a sharp eyebrow. "But did you ever think that it might not be about you? That jackass put her through almost a decade of emotional abuse, Bucky. Shit like that does a number on your mind, and come on, he's a douche of the first degree.

"The woman's out on her own for the first time in forever, then you barrel into her life with all guns blazing, it's no wonder she's freaked out and scared shitless. Everybody on the planet knows who the fuck you are - did you ever think she might think she's not good enough for you?"

"I'm just a guy from Brooklyn," Bucky says, brows drawing together in confusion. "I've never been like...stuck up. I don' care about stuff like that. She's more than good enough for me. I love her, she's good enough for me. More than good enough. Perfect for me."

All he wants, really, and what does it matter that everyone knows who he is? He wants her regardless of who is a celebrity and who isn't.

"What ya think I oughta do about it?"

"It doesn't matter what you think," Carol told him dryly, huffing an exasperated sigh. "It's what she thinks." She straightened in the chair, propping her hands on her thighs.

"You oughta go talk to her, apologize for being an insensitive idiot - even if it wasn't intentional, and try to be her friend, first. Yeah, you guys hooked up, but so what? Talk to her, Bucky. And for God's sake, don't start declaring your eternal love, your undying devotion, your unending infatuation, all that sappy shit. Save it for the lyrics, dude."

The blonde pushed out of the chair, easily sliding it aside with one graceful kick. "Just keep it casual, yeah? Take her out, do something fun, invite her over to your Mom's for dinner, that sorta stuff. Don't offer to solve all of her problems, buy her a goddamn private island, or give her anything her sweet little heart could want: that ain't gonna work, pal. Treat her like a woman, not a goddess."

She quirked her head, gazing unsympathetically at the tattooed heap still huddled on the recording stool. "Ya hear me?"

Yeah. He needs to change what he's doing. It doesn't stop the pipeline of depressing songs by any means but Bucky orders a giant flower arrangement of lilies and roses to go down to the guest house with a simple card that just says "I'm Sorry," along with the keys to his BMW in case Natasha wants to go anywhere. He doesn't make a move to talk to her, though, wary of overwhelming her the way that Carol said would be bad.

Becca comes to see him, rolls her eyes, and goes back down to the guest house to see about Natasha before coming back to the main house and punching Bucky in the arm. "Go down there, you idiot." Now that Carol and Becca are on his case, he goes down to the house but he brings Brooklyn as a buffer. And he knocks. At his own guest house.

"Natasha? You home?"

The flowers were beautiful, gorgeous blossoms of red roses and pale blue lilies, which now sat on the table in the modest kitchen/dining room, brightening the entire area. Seeing them in passing always made her smile. When she heard the knock at the door, and Bucky's voice behind it, Natasha scrambled out of the comfortable recliner, dropped her book, picked it up and placed it on the table next to the chair, tripped over the blanket she'd just dropped, but miraculously made it to the door without careening into it.

Shoving red curls out of her face, she managed to open the door without appearing too disheveled, offering the familiar face behind it a small smile, and then a truer one when she spied Brooklyn, already wagging and trying to bulldoze his way inside.

"Hi," she told them both, opening the door further to bend down and ruffle the pup's ears. Then, to Bucky, "...thank you for the flowers. They're beautiful."

"Owed 'em to you," Bucky says, shrugging. He's supposed to be casual like Becca and Carol said so he's trying to be casual without being aloof or seeming like he's angry or he doesn't like her anymore. It's hard. What if she thinks he just isn't interested anymore because it went bad? He guesses that's the risk he has to take.

"Somebody missed you so I thought I'd bring him down. He wants to go on a walk and I figured hey, I have private beachfront property, we can do a walk with a view. But he wanted another buddy so that's why I'm here. He's very insistent."

Yes, good, blame it on the dog.

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "Oh. Um...well, sure." She hadn't been out of the guest house in four days. "Let me...put on some shoes, and grab a jacket." The wind was cool off of the Pacific. Natasha opened the door for both Bucky and Brooklyn to come inside; the back patio had a boardwalk down the small hill to the open sand.

Thankfully she'd opted for her comfortable yoga pants and a t-shirt; she didn't have to change, just add another layer or two. A light windbreaker sufficed, and it took only moments to pull on socks and tennis shoes. A messy ponytail completed the ensemble, and Natasha emerged from the bedroom with a friendlier smile than the one she'd offered at the door.

"All set."

She met Bucky's eye only once, trying not to let her mind's eye wander back to just a few short (long, devastatingly long) nights ago, when she'd been intimately tangled with this man in more ways than one.

"We can go across the patio, if you'd like."

"Patio's fine," Bucky agrees. It's the easiest way to get down to the boardwalk anyway and with his hands full of Brooklyn, he won't do something stupid like reach for her hand to hold it. Hopefully he can keep it together and not be an asshole or overwhelming or whatever else.

"You holding up okay? I think my mom probably sent over enough food for fifteen people when Becca told her you were sick."

It had been a convenient lie, at least, even if Carol hadn't seen through it. Carol sees everything, though, and she's not much of a talker. She's not one to spread gossip.

Natasha led the way down the staircase, saying back over her shoulder with a small laugh, "I'm good, promise. Your mom's chicken soup is wonderful, by the way. I have nearly an entire pot left over in the fridge. Which is great because I don't have to cook for a while." Yet another thing she hardly knew how to do.

When they reached the sand, she paused and gave Bucky a speculative glance of her own. "And are you okay? Becca said you'd been working nonstop, and trying to find inspiration at the bottom of a bottle." The disapproval in her voice was palpable; she couldn't hide it entirely.

"Is what it is," Bucky says, brushing it off. "Not gonna burden you with it. Pretty unfair to do that." Carol had said to stop doing that shit so this is him not doing that shit. It's easier to just...not talk about it than try to go halfway so for right now he's not talking about it.

"Chords aren't great when I'm drunk, have to go back and correct them when I'm sober, but the lyrics come out okay. Might use them on the album, might not. Haven't decided."

Brooklyn is sniffing just ahead of them and Bucky wishes he had something to say that isn't a grenade. Goddamnit.

"My liver can take it until I'm done having a bender."

Well. That was answer enough. Natasha abruptly closed her mouth and focused on walking, rather than being concerned. She too turned her focus to the pup, scampering here and there in front of them. And of course, now everything was even more awkward than before.

She should leave. She should just pack her things, her things, and move elsewhere. France, maybe. Or Saudi Arabia. Half a world away from this man who kept her in a constant state of frazzled. Because now, Natasha wasn't even sure if they could be friends anymore, not after the disaster of last weekend.

But she was still a professional, and the segue she offered next was, pray God, tepid enough not to erupt into a nuclear disaster. "How's Steve?"

"Good. Coming by this weekend. Look, Natasha, the advice I was given was to leave you the fuck alone. So this is leaving you the fuck alone," Bucky says, shrugging. "Feelings were made clear to me and I wanted one thing and it's not a thing you want. It's fine. We were friends before, we can be friends now."

Carol had said to talk about it with her so he's talking about it now. She'd also said something about asking Natasha out but that just seems like a bad idea.

"I'm not gonna barge into the house on you, you're welcome in my house, things will go on the way they should have. Does it hurt? Sure. But I'll drink my way through it and it'll...eventually it won't hurt anymore."

Hearing all of that, Natasha jerked to a halt, staring at Bucky with wide, surprised eyes. "...the advice?" Shocked, and a little hurt, she very nearly fell into a tirade of incredulous anger, but swallowed it back just in time. For it to be replaced with a cold, stony expression, that settled like concrete over her features.

"I appreciate it," she finally replied, white around the lips. So angry she could hardly keep from trembling, Natasha just clenched her fists, thankfully hidden by the long sleeves of her windbreaker, and forced a completely fake smile, cold as frozen bones. "But I don't think you'll have to worry about me anymore, Mr. Barnes. I've abused your hospitality for long enough. And while I can't thank you enough for your...kindness, I can get out of your hair quickly and let you...get back to work."

Or whatever the fuck he was doing, locked in his studio for days on end.

"Carol guessed," Bucky says softly. "I didn't tell her. I was keeping it a secret but she guessed, okay? She said to back off you because of Alex and be friends. And I am your friend. I was that before we slept together and I'd like to be that now. And I want you to stay so you have my security because I care about you."

Bucky rubs the bridge of his nose.

"I can't stop having feelings just because you don't have them, you know? So yeah, it hurts. I can't lie about being hurt. But it takes two people to be in a relationship no matter what kind of relationship it is and you don't want that with me. So I'd like to have what you'd like to have. That's it. Please don't be mad at me?"

His explanation about Carol cooled her temper a little, and Natasha felt some of her tension evaporate. Bucky then asked her not to be upset with him, and she could sense his sincerity, which went a long way towards easing the rest of her heated anger. Exhaling a sigh, Natasha crossed her arms, protective, and turned her head to stare out over the ocean, seeing nothing.

"...I don't know," she heard herself say, wooden. "What I want, I mean." She heaved another sigh, plunking down on a large rock protruding from the sand. "I know what I don't want," she added then, resting her arms on her thighs, hunched over. "I don't know where I'm going, I don't know what to do, I don't know...much of anything," she realized with a brittle laugh. Then shook her head.

"All of my life, I've had to pretend to be someone I wasn't. And now...now that I don't have to...I have no idea who to be. Because I've never known myself well enough to figure it out."

"Carol didn't know all that," Bucky says, "but she said your relationship was bad and you probably needed to figure yourself out. You can trust me, though. I'd never hurt you. Not on purpose. And I'd do anything to keep you safe. Natasha, I'd cut my right arm off for you and not even question it."

Bucky looks out at the ocean because that's easier than looking at her for the moment.

"When we...did what we did. I did it in love. Maybe you don't know who you are yet and you don't know how to be someone without pretending but you can trust that that night, everything I did was out of love for you. It wasn't just an act to me. And if that's all I ever get, it's all I ever get. Your well-being is more important than my feelings, you know? Love is selfless and unconditional. I just want you to be happy."

It was still so hard to hear it. That he cared about her, that he loved her, when he didn't even really know her. She didn't know herself; how could Bucky Barnes know her?! Natasha dropped her head, eyes closed against the idyllic scenery. She could grant the man a healthy sex drive - it wasn't the fact that they'd had sex that bothered her so much, because honestly, it'd been the most amazing thing she'd ever in her life experienced - but the fact that he so quickly tumbled head over heels for her, by his own admission.

"...I know," she finally whispered, not lifting her head. When she did, it was to again stare out over the crashing waves, pounding angry against the wet sand. She bit at her lower lip. "...and...and I'm sorry, James. That I can't return any of it." The wind whipped at her ponytail; she absently pushed it away, voice falling to a rough whisper. "...I just can't. ...and you deserve so much better than me..."

"There's not better," he counters. "Because you're the best there is. But you can't return it and I have to get over that. I can't keep pushing you into something you don't want and make you hate me. Then I don't get to be around you at all."

The waves are crashing against the shore and he watches them for a moment or two before he says anything else.

"If you ever can return it to someone, they're gonna be the luckiest person alive. It's just not me and it's not gonna be me. I'm not exactly...the type anyway. It was always gonna be a long shot. I'm not fitting in at the kind of places you're going, y'know? Maybe if I'd been that engineer with a 9-5 and not covered in ink it would be different but...I'm not that guy. The song was never gonna have a happy ending."

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