ostavil | open post

"Weather permitting, another barbecue," Bucky says, laughing a little. "Got my Kiss the Cook apron and everything. Really hope we're gonna have our typical sunshine so I can show off the new duds. It'd be a shame if no one saw it because I can't really wear it in the house where only Anita would see it. Maybe you or Becca."

Bucky slides his arm around Natasha's waist and squeezes a little before sliding his arm back in hers.

"You gotta come, of course. You've been initiated into the family and it's a family tradition."

"Of course I will," Natasha laughed, envisioning the Bucky Barnes strutting around in that particular apron. "As long as your mom makes her famous potato salad, I'll absolutely be there." And she'd even beg Winnie Barnes to be able to take home the leftovers. If there were any.

"And you can sing for us," she added, "and play." She lightly bumped his hip with hers. "I might have a few requests, come to think of it." Because she loved to hear him sing. She did enjoy the band's music, but just listening to Bucky sing, without the amplifiers, or synthetics, or any artificial enhancements, was absolutely one of her guilty pleasures.

"Hopefully Steve will bring Dodger, so Brooklyn can have a playmate, too."

"Yeah? You got any favorites? I'll move 'em up on the set list just for you," Bucky teases. This is flirting on his end and it's painful that it won't ever go anywhere. It'll never go anywhere, he'll never have this, and it's not playing fair to let himself have a taste and know he'll never get to show his love to her.

"And yeah, Steve's bringing his dog. They'll be happy to play with one another. You should get a dog too, we'd have a little family of good boys to run around and cause mayhem whenever they get together. Dogs are great friends. They never tell your secrets or betray you."

This is a dangerous slope to climb.

"I do. I'll bring my list."

It was flirting, but so far, it was harmless. Gentle and light, and it did her battered and beaten heart a world of good. Just this easy camaraderie, it was what she craved. Nothing heavy, nothing too intense. It made it easy for her to reciprocate it, even though in the back of her mind, she knew she shouldn't; it was horribly unfair to start anything she wasn't sure she'd be able to go through with.

"Oh, I don't know if I'd be a good fur-mom. I work all the time, and I'm hardly settled in my own place. It wouldn't be fair to the little tyke, would it? And I can't foist anything else off on you, James. Maybe one day, though."

"I'm going to ask you something and it's hypothetical, okay? I'm not being pushy or intense or any of those weird things I tend to do, I'm just asking."

Bucky stops walking because he doesn't think he can ask this and walk at the same time. Too much brain function.

"If you hadn't been with him for so long, do you think you'd be interested in me? Like I said, it's a hypothetical. Because y'know, I'm a hopeful guy and I'm sitting in my studio writing all this shit the teenage girls are going to eat with a spoon but I know it's not real and it's never gonna be real. So if things were different and you met me first, could it have happened?"

Natasha paused when Bucky did, absently pushing tossed curls out of her face. The sudden change in the air around them put her on edge, slightly, and his next question revealed why. It took her aback, and Natasha couldn't really answer for a few moments.

When she did speak, it was hesitantly, slowly. "I...well." She looked out over the water, trying to find a response. "...I honestly don't see why it wouldn't have." And that was as honest as she could be. "You know I don't mind the tattoos and the image, James. I know that's not who you are. But..."

And there was always a "but", wasn't there. At least, she looked back at him.

"Back then, you and I were two entirely different people. So, I can't really say yes or no with absolute surety. But, to be perfectly honest...I'd give it very good odds."

"Then I'm sorry I was too late," Bucky says quietly. That's it, then. That's the definitive answer and he needs to just move on. He doesn't particularly want to date, not yet, but at least he knows that he'd missed his shot before he even met her. Nothing could be done about it.

"You wanna get back up to the car? I promised to let you drive it. We can speed. I think I can afford the ticket unless you're worried about that spotless record of yours."

Yes, moving on. That's what he needs to do.

The mood had definitely cooled, and Natasha felt a little...sad, that it had. But, disappointment was part of life, and she had to deal with the consequences of the choices she'd made. So she nodded silently, obligingly turning around and gently pulling away to walk back to the car. It wasn't fair to lead him on, and she'd better start checking herself to make sure she didn't cross those invisible lines.

Bucky did let her drive back to the house, and it was a thrill, dampened only by the heaviness she now sensed, and saw, in Bucky's hooded, guarded gaze. The following day, Natasha did spend it at the main house, as she'd promised she would, but she kept to the living room and kitchen, giving both Anita and Bucky plenty of space. She'd brought her laptop and a few books to keep her busy, and a few new arrivals brought her out of her novel in the late afternoon.

"Hi, Becca," Natasha said, looking up in a bit of surprise. "I thought the barbeque wasn't until tomorrow?"

"It is. Bucky's nursing a fucking hangover again so I was bringing over the tried and true Barnes cocktail to kill it. I should teach you how to make it if you ever have too much. It's pretty much guaranteed to always cure what ails you."

Becca shrugs. "You think I need to get him into rehab? You're the PR person so I figured you were the best person to ask but Bucky doesn't really drink like this and he's been doing it a lot. I'm a little concerned. Did he have someone die on him that we didn't know about?"

She's clueless as to what could have him in the bottle so ideas are welcome. "Did he break his favorite guitar?"

It was only her professional demeanor that kept the guilt right off of her face. Natasha's expression remained studiously blank, and she even managed to blink, a little puzzled. "I...really don't think it's that serious, Becca." She forced a polite smile. "He's probably just going through a phase, or trying to find some inspiration in the wrong place."

And now that she thought about it, Natasha realized that she hadn't seen Bucky at all today. But then, she'd been nursing her own bout with acute indigestion, so she really hadn't been all that observant. "I haven't really talked to him much. Busy with work this week." Still, to ease the girl's worries... "But just give him a little time. I'm sure he'll be okay before you know it."

"Well, as long as you don't think I need to get him into rehab, I guess we'll just wait it out." Becca shrugs and gives Natasha a once over. "You're looking great. Get your hair done recently or something?"

There's something going on but god knows if she can figure it out.

"Better watch out, my brother will notice and start doing the courtship dance where he peacocks around with his guitar. It's pretty much disgusting so we try to avoid it if at all possible."

Natasha laughed dutifully, trying not to flush. Becca's compliment was puzzling, because she hadn't had anything done, not even her nails, in quite a while, so she just shrugged it off with a small murmur of thanks.

"Oh, don't worry about me. I'm too boring for anyone to notice, let along a big celebrity like Bucky Barnes," she told the younger girl with a polite smile. "We're just friends." Or, she hoped. But, different subject.

"Is your mom making her famous potato salad for tomorrow? I hope so. It's absolutely delicious, and I can never seem to get enough of it!"

"Absolutely," Becca chirps. "And now she's gonna make extra because I'm gonna tell her you like it. Anyway...my brother is pretty stupid, okay? So him moping and drinking is annoying and if he's doing it tomorrow, just ignore him. He'll get over whatever it is eventually and be back to his old self."

Becca hopes so anyway because Drunk Bucky is really, really annoying.

"So remember: Bucky Dumb, Becca Brilliant. It's in the Barnes family handbook and everything."

This time, Natasha laughed out of true mirth, because Rebecca Barnes was an absolute treasure. "I will definitely remember that," the redhead promised, grinning at the young brunette. "And yes, please. Tell your mom I'll take any leftovers we might have tomorrow. I still have some of her chicken soup, and it's best comfort food I've ever eaten. She's magic in the kitchen."

Brooklyn bounded in just then, yipping at Becca then leaping into the recliner with Natasha and burrowing under her arm for cuddles. Natasha squeaked, then yelped, because the dog was covered head to toe with sand, and took that moment to shake himself as much as he could, covering his hostess with a layer of fine beach grain.

"Brooklyn! Ugh, stop it!" Natasha managed to shove the dog out of the chair, but stood up afterwards and glanced down at her clothes. "God, now it's a shower for me. Throw him out, will ya? He's a mess!"

It had been Bucky's fault that Brooklyn was out to begin with and he whispered "sorry" under his breath before wrangling the dog to one of the bathrooms to give him a bath. He'd had a great time rolling around in the sand which was great until he decided to cover Natasha in it. After bathing the dog, though, Bucky needed his own shower so he didn't come back out for a while.

He doesn't bother getting fully dressed and just throws on shorts with no shirt. No point. He's in his own house so he can dress how he wants. Natasha seems to be back and he plops in a chair on the other side of the room from her.

"The sand attack was my fault. He got away from me."

After her own shower, and a thrice-rinse of the bathtub to get all of the sand down the drain, Natasha returned to the living room and curled up on the couch, this time, to resume her novel. She glanced up when Bucky came in, and did a double-take, only to bite her lip painfully at the generous serving of aesthetic perfection on offer.

She didn't answer right away, just kept her face aimed towards the open book, but hooded eyes absolutely watched the man cross the room and fall into a chair near the fireplace, sprawled and still-damp from his own shower. Christ.

After clearing her throat, Natasha fidgeted some, pulled one socked foot up beneath her, and fidgeted some more. "Oh, ahem. It's--it's all right. Saved me from taking a shower later." A half-smile, then she immediately ducked her head back to her book, resolutely trying to ignore the lines and swirls of colored and black ink decorating that delicious map of skin.

"Brooklyn the Time Saver. Better not tell him that or he'll keep doing it. Bucky tries to get a look over at the title of her novel but he can't quite see it and he thinks going across the room to be close enough to see it is an exercise in futility so he's absolutely not going to do that."

Instead, he leans back a little more in his chair and tries to be casual.

"What are you reading? You seem like you're into it. I haven't read anything in longer than I can remember because I've been holed up in the studio."

"Oh, just a James Patterson novel. One of his sci-fi mysteries, I guess. I never had much time to read...before, so I thought I'd go through my box of books and see what was interesting."

Natasha lowered her book, finger marking her place, and gazed over at the master of the house, seriously this time. "You've been in the studio for a while," she agreed. Then arched an eyebrow. "Becca's worried about you."

Maybe it wasn't any of her business, but the girl had expressed concern.

"Eh, it's not a huge deal. We're scrapping the ballads so I'm trying to record a whole new album in a very limited amount of time. It's too much of a risk to do a whole album of shit we've never done before and half those songs aren't even appropriate to perform anyway."

Honestly, it's because it's too painful for him to sing them and while Erik and Clint had bought his BS about not wanting to take a risk, Carol had given him an earful of shit in private about it.

"Metal's what we're good at so we should stick to it, you know?"

"...oh." That was...surprising. She'd thought he'd loved those songs, but apparently not. Regardless, again, it wasn't any of her business what he sang or didn't sing, although Natasha did revise her idea to ask him to sing at the cookout tomorrow. She had a feeling he wouldn't really want to anymore. Not for her.

"I guess that would be very stressful, trying to meet a new deadline." Natasha felt she had to say something else, so she settled for, "I think your fans will be happy about a new album, no matter what sort of music's on it."

"They'll be happy about new stuff, yeah." Bucky goes a little quieter and the room has a pregnant sort of pause that he wants to rush and fill with words about how much he wants to sing those songs and have them reciprocated but it's just not a good idea.

He takes in a deep breath instead.

"I love the songs," he admits. "But I can't tear my heart out every night on stage singing them so I've got to scrap them. They mean...they're all about you. I can't keep doing it, you know? I'm not what you want and I have to accept that and the best way to do that is bury it and be done with it. We might release one or two as a single but I'm gonna have Carol sing them instead of me. It'd be better."

Her book was closed in her lap, finger still marking her place, and Natasha just stared at the gilt cover, not really seeing the words printed on it. "I understand," she replied, flicking up her lashes briefly. And she did. He was trying, at least, and her just being in proximity was painful.

"Would it be...do you want me to go back to the guest house?" Now she did look up at him, gaze earnest. "I don't mind, James. I know it's hard for you, me just...being here, and I appreciate the effort you're making. But I...I don't want to make it worse...for you. That's not fair, and you don't deserve that."

She unfolded from the couch, sliding to the edge in preparation to rise. "I can go. I don't mind, promise."

"You could be across the Pacific and it wouldn't be easier," Bucky says. It's pathetic of him and he knows it but he also knows it's true and he's nothing if not honest where Natasha is concerned. He's always been honest with her, ever since the beginning.

"I hate this. I want to be your friend so much I can taste it but my fucking feelings won't go away. I keep thinking about what I did wrong, what I could have done better, how I could have touched you and made that night go a different direction. It was the most amazing sex I've ever had because I was in love with you. I've never felt that before. And the idea that it didn't feel that way for you tears me into pieces."

He sighs and closes his eyes, tries to get his bearings. He feels like he wants to fucking cry and he is not doing that. Not in front of her.

"I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to make this awkward or hard for you. It's all my fault. It's my fault and I'm never going to forgive myself for it. Ever. I wanna sing those songs so fucking bad, I do, but I can't when I know they're gonna make it awful for you. I can't when I know you're going to feel awkward and terrible every fucking time you have to hear one of them because it's me being a dumbass yet again only it's over and over and over for an entire tour and a radio single and in a club and God knows where else. I could probably get through it for me and the band. It's my job. But I can't put you through it."

So Natasha moved out. That same weekend, actually. She hired a team of movers to relocate her furniture and belongings, not deigning to trouble any of the Barnes' for help; they'd all done more than enough for her. She found a modest single bedroom apartment in Claremont; it was a bit of a drive into the city to her office, but not too onerous, and she'd purchased a used sedan, mainly for its exceptional gas mileage and clean interior.

Then she threw herself into work, doing exactly what she'd said she planned to do if Alex Shostakov harassed her again; the next time he came to her office, she didn't even open the door. She had Alice call the police, then went downtown and filed that restraining order with no questions asked or excuses given. Becca still called, but Natasha kept their conversations brief; the sooner she could put all of them out of her mind, the better it would be for everyone.

And for almost six weeks, it seemed to work.

Until one afternoon, Natasha called Bucky's cell number and left a rather...odd message. Hi, James. It's Natasha. Listen, I need to talk to you. It's...it's very important. Please call me back as soon as you can.

Bucky's just...getting over it. He's trying not to drink himself to death and they're all working to the bone to write a new album which has pissed off his bandmates but it's gotta be done. The ballad experiment is over and now it's time to come back down to earth and do what they're good at. He'd been in the studio when she called and when he comes back and checks his phone, he blinks at it for a minute.

Why the fuck is Natasha calling him? He's supposed to be getting over her, not talking to her on the phone. Still, she'd said it was important, so he calls her back.

"I'm here for very important," he says, waiting on the line for whatever it is she needs or wants him for.

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