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"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.

She didn't expect him to be happy to hear from her. Which was why she kept it brief, and aloof.

"Thanks for calling me back. I really need to...talk to you, but it isn't something I'm comfortable discussing over the phone. Would you mind meeting me somewhere? Private?" Very private. "Like, at the beach or...if you don't mind, I could come to your place. It won't take long, but...but I really need to talk to you, James."

It was horribly unfair to go back to his house, but this wasn't news for the rest of the world. Definitely not for the rest of the world, dear God.

"Uh, yeah, just come to the house. No one's here but me," Bucky says, utterly confused as to what she needs to talk to him about that can't be discussed over the phone and needs to be discussed in person and in private. Then he thinks about it. There's a court case pending on Alex.

"Is this about the last guy?" he asks, trying to be evasive. "Mr. Can't Take No For An Answer? Because I can come get you if that'd be better. Wouldn't be a problem for me to do that at all."

"What? Alex? Oh, no," Natasha negated, shaking her head even though he couldn't see her. "I followed your advise and got that restraining order in place. I haven't seen him in weeks, thank God." ]

She was already gathering up her purse and jacket as she talked. "No, I can be there in about an hour. It's not a problem, promise. Just...I really need to talk to you about this, so...bear with me, please." Not giving him a chance to protest or offer any other alternatives, Natasha hung up, and nearly held her breath the entire way up to Malibu.

When she arrived at the house, she was actually a little breathless, as she had been for the past few weeks, but at least now she knew why. The patio door was open, as usual, and the redhead stepped inside, peering around for Bucky.

"...James? You here?"

"Yeah, I'm here." Bucky frowns in concern because he has no idea what Natasha is so worried about if it's not Alex and why she'd come to him about it. What can he do about anything? Maybe she's his only male friend and she needs him to do something for her. Maybe. Actually he has no fucking idea.

There's the couch and chairs right in front of the fireplace and Bucky has that lit because that's where he'd been sitting while he was waiting on Natasha to get there. He gestures toward them.

"Take a seat and tell me what's going on? I admit, I'm getting a little freaked out."

Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, Natasha obligingly dropped into one of the comfortable chairs near the fire, relishing its cheery warmth. She waited for Bucky to join her, then began.

"Well, for the last week or so, I've been...sort of sick. Running a low grade fever, felt horribly nauseous, emotionally stressed out," though was that any surprise at all? "And been fighting back and forth with really bad indigestion." Another deep breath.

"So I went to see my doctor about it. They did some bloodwork, ran some tests, and...when she told me the results, James, I swear to God I fainted." She had, dead away on the exam table. And had felt more nauseous than ever when she finally came to and the truth sunk in.

"James," Natasha said seriously, hands on her knees and leaning forward to catch his gaze, "...I'm pregnant."

Okay. Of all the things he'd expected this very important thing to be, Bucky hadn't expected this. He wants to hit the roof in excitement but they're not in a relationship and Natasha doesn't want to be in one so he thinks he ought to be a little more...subdued.

"All right," he starts. "First off, whatever you're comfortable with comes first. I'm not carrying this kid. But I would be lying to you if I didn't say I was...I want to be a Dad, Natasha. I want this kid and I've known about it for like thirty seconds. You're not gonna want for anything. I'll take care of you guys forever, okay?"

But his family. Shit. Fuck. His family. Well, he'd better figure out what Natasha wants to do first.

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