ostavil | open post

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.

Out of all of the reactions she'd imagined on the way over here, Natasha certainly hadn't thought about that one. She stared at him, nonplussed. And blinked. Twice.

"You're...you're not upset?" What? He wanted to be a father? "You...don't want to...well, to...get rid of it?" It was effort, untangling her tongue to keep from spluttering in surprise.

"...you're not...I mean...you don't have to put your name on it, if you don't want to, but...I wanted you to know... You're really not upset? Seriously?"

Natasha couldn't believe it.

"What the...I have always wanted to be a father," Bucky says, finally letting some excitement come into his voice about it. "So no, I don't want to get rid of this baby, I want this kid to be a Barnes, I want to do the whole thing. God, I'm trying to hold it down in case you're not into it but I am...over the moon about this. I want to shout it from the rooftops. There's just one thing, though."

Bucky goes over to her chair and kneels down, reaches for her hands.

"My family is really traditional and they're gonna blame me for this pregnancy no matter what we say. Everyone is going to scream at me for being irresponsible and my Mom is going to shove my grandma's ring into my hand and tell me to make you an honest woman. So before we go through that - what's your PR take? Because we've gotta deal with media. And I'm perfectly fine if it's just a marriage for legal reasons. I know you don't have feelings for me, I get it. But my parents and sisters won't let it rest until I give you my name. So what's the media gonna say?"

She was still staring at him, now down on his knees in front of her chair, her hands held in his. Brow furrowed, confusion writ all across her delicate features. But somehow, Natasha should have known it'd be like this: Bucky Barnes was a tornado across dry Nebraska fields; there was no such thing as "laid-back" in his vicinity.

She'd come to Malibu to let him know she was carrying his child, and now he was asking her about getting married. Natasha's head was still spinning - what was happening?

"The press..." she finally heard herself say, "...is going to have a field day. Especially if...if we aren't legally attached." That was the hard truth. And she'd worked so goddamn hard to get his reputation back to sterling. "And...and even if we are...it's still going to be somewhat of a scandal, because it's all so...sudden." Unless they could put a silent spin of a private relationship on it, but she doubted it, because the press knew she'd been his PR lawyer of just a few months before.

"...either way, it's going to be a mess, PR-wise. A big mess, or a little mess, but a mess."

"Then we have a legal attachment and I let 'em all know we've been dating this whole time and we'll make it a little mess. Look, Natasha, just because we're married doesn't mean you gotta be with me. I mean, I'd like it if you weren't out there openly cheating on me because I don't want the press but being married doesn't mean being married if that makes sense. Do I want a real marriage? Hell yeah I do. But I understand that it's probably not gonna be one."

He has to be realistic about this even if he wants to shout to the moon that he's gonna get married to Natasha.

"I'll go ask for the ring later on, say we've been secretly dating, the whole deal. We'll do a small little thing and invite barely no one and it'll be fine. Smallest mess possible. I've got this, okay? Don't worry about a thing."

A week later, after two months of relative freedom, Natasha once more moved back to Malibu, this time under the aegis as the fiancée of Bucky Barnes. Granted, nothing was quite yet official; he had yet to actually propose to her, for the sake of his family and the millions of fans across the globe, but it was necessary. Because her child was going to need legitimacy, and proper backing, and to be honest, Natasha was terrified.

The idea of being a single mother, raising a child alone, had never once, before now, crossed her mind. She didn't know how to be a parent! She didn't even know if she possessed any maternal instincts! But she knew she possessed hormones, because that, and a chaser of very good champagne, had landed her in this predicament in the first place.

Bucky had planned another family gathering this weekend, for the purpose of announcing their upcoming "plans" and the new member due to arrive in about six to seven months, but Natasha was nearly a nervous wreck. She knew she looked good; pregnancy agreed with her, according to her too-happy physician. But she felt tired all of the time, felt as if she weighed as much as an elephant, and having to put on a happy, loving façade was going to be so damned difficult.

But she was a professional, thus the soft smile as she descended the stairs to the kitchen, where her "intended" was bustling about in that silly apron, actually humming as he went along.

"Hey Natasha," Bucky says. He wants to pet name her but he thinks that's probably a bad idea since it's not a real relationship. Still, she's going to get a real proposal because she deserves that. She more than deserves that.

"So can you go out on the patio and see if Brooklyn's out there? I don't want him getting all sandy."

Out on his beautiful patio was a scattering of rose petals and written in the sand, well clear of the incoming tide, was "WILL YOU MARRY ME?" in neat block letters. The ring is in his pocket, though, and he's planning on proposing before everyone gets over at the house.

Obligingly crossing to the patio doors, Natasha stepped out of the house and nearly swallowed her tongue at the sight that greeted her. The rose petals quivered in the soft ocean breeze, and the message left nothing to the imagination. It was touching, though, and a soft smile graced her lips as she turned to step back inside.

"I didn't see him," she reported on the pup. "He may be upstairs, still. He was lying on your bed, watching TV the last time I saw him." The dog that loved Animal Planet. Natasha slid on a stool on the opposite side of the island, resting her elbows on the cool marble.

"I love the roses," she smiled. "And that's an ingenious way of asking that particular question." She managed a light chuckle. "Want me to answer now, or when your folks get here?"

"Now," Bucky says softly. "I know we're not getting a lot of choice in this but I think those things should be private. If...well, if I was getting to do it for real, this is how I would have done it. I've got the ring in my pocket right now."

Bucky's holding a pan and spatula and he puts both of them down to wash and dry his hands before pulling out the tiny little box. It's an antique ring, the one his grandfather had bought for his grandmother, and he hopes that Natasha likes it.

"It's my grandmother's," he says, pulling out the little ruby ring to put on her finger. "If you wanna say yes, it's all yours."

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