ostavil | open post

"Yeah, we're eating in the kitchen. Not getting sauce on my good carpet. I got some class, you know," Bucky says, winking at her. He actually decorated parts of this house and Becca did the rest but there's bits of him in it. It's not a designer home necessarily, it's lived in.

"And I got so much food so we'd have leftovers and so I made sure to get everything you want. If you get everything, you can try everything. If I don't order everything, you might not get what you want."

Perfectly logical.

She'd slipped into "her" room for a change of clothes: soft cream-colored sweater and black yoga pants, very comfortable. The house was a little cool, utilizing the open doors and the Pacific breeze instead of centralized heating and cooling, but the salty chill nevertheless felt wonderful. Brooklyn agreed, Natasha noticed with a smile, since the pup was stretched out in front of the open patio door, the ocean wind lightly ruffling his fur.

Coming around the island to fetch plates, Natasha let Bucky unload the feast. She did sneak several delicious garlicky breadsticks, biting into one even before filling her plate. "Mmmm," it was a full-mouthed moan of approval. "These are great." She polished it off, adding, "I hope you have this place on speed-dial, because we should definitely order from here once a week."

"Oh, yeah, they know me. I love this place. So does Becca. Plenty of late night orders from there," Bucky says. "We go in person sometimes too which...I'm not always gonna keep you locked up in here. We just gotta fight the cameras and it's a pain in the ass. I miss when I wasn't famous."

The money is great and being able to do what he loves is a dream but Bucky hates the press and notoriety that comes with it.

"Can't even have a disagreement in a bar without someone taking pictures. Damn shame."

Natasha could relate. She'd built a career around smoothing over those "incidences", after all. "Yeah," she said slowly, spooning manicotti on her plate, staring at it absently. "I know how it goes." She slid onto a stool, picked up her fork, lowered it again, and sighed.

"And we're going to have to deal with more than our share, aren't we." It wasn't really a question. As a PR lawyer, Natasha knew the press were going to go berserk when this news made it out, and just the thought of it was enough to make her head ache. But she knew Bucky kept good security, but she also knew that he had a temper - even if he did his best to keep it under control - and she also knew that he knew how to brawl, if it ever (God forbid) came to that.

Glancing up, she caught his gaze, held it, and said seriously, "Just...promise me, right now, no fights. No punches. No shoving. No physical remonstrance of any kind. Please?"

"Yes ma'am," Bucky says, giving her a contrite look. "I'll keep my tattooed hands to myself. I won't do anything wrong for at least the next five years."

It's a joke, he's not intending to do anything wrong after that either but he has to play around a little or he just doesn't feel like himself. He reaches for a breadstick and spins it around his fingers like a drumstick but fails miserably, dropping it on the bar.

"Nothing to make you be a lawyer."

Natasha wasn't...entirely fooled. Nor satisfied with the lackadaisical answer. She put down her fork, placed her hands in her lap, straightened her spine, and stared back at her intended, a single arched eyebrow slowly climbing over dark green eyes.

She'd worked her ass off to get his reputation out of the sewer that he'd crammed it into, and she really didn't appreciate the levity when trying to speak about serious matters. Handling this crap was her job; she'd built a reputation of her own by doing so, and, even though she knew he didn't mean anything by his joking, it still irked her that he didn't seem to take it all that seriously.

But getting in to an argument was pointless; she'd learned that with Alex. So instead of calling him out about it, Natasha instead inhaled a quiet but deep breath, picked up her fork, and cut a bite out of the ravioli on her plate, leaving the frost hanging over the island between them.

Bucky sees the frosty look and he drums his fingers against the counter, wondering what the fuck he did this time to ruin this shit. He's always ruining it, that's a given, but there's no telling what part of it was the fuck up. Probably just his general personality at this point.

"I'm just fucking around, Natasha. I've got a kid, I'm not going to get arrested. You have got to learn to take a joke or it's never going to work between us. Life is supposed to be fun and if you can't laugh at yourself, who can you laugh at?"

She'd learned the hard way to keep her temper contained. Restrict herself to small, deliberate motions. Histrionics were something she'd never allowed herself to experience. Thus Natasha again put down her fork, touched a paper towel to her lips, and lifted her head to meet his eyes again.

"This isn't a laughing matter, James," she said quietly, tone level. "It's serious, and could do a lot of damage to the both of us if we aren't careful." A pause, a slight breath. "I'd appreciate it you'd show a little concern about it, fun, life, and joking aside."

Another pause, this one a little heavier.

"Is that too much to ask?"

"Sure. I'm starting to think you don't actually like me, though, and just whatever PR image you can make of me. I'm not perfect, I don't say the right things, I'm not...good enough for you. I'm messy and I joke around and do all the wrong shit that you don't want me to do but you can fix me, so it's okay."

It's probably stupid to get this worked up about it, especially with Natasha of all people, but it's how he feels and he's always been able to be open and expressive with that, whether it's a good or bad thing.

"Honest truth - if it wasn't for this kid, you wouldn't even be with me, would you? I'm good enough to fuck, sure, but you don't even like who I am. Is that it? Because I'm in love with you, just as you are, because that's what you do when you love somebody. You love everything about them. Even the fuckups."

Caught off guard by the sudden, explosive tirade, Natasha simply sat, nonplussed, absorbing all of Bucky's verbal venom with her expressionless marble façade. Though her hands were white-knuckled in her lap, below the island's curved edge, nothing showed on her face, save for the slightest flaring of her nostrils as she forced herself to keep breathing, just keep breathing.

He's upset, I took it too far, I asked for too much, now he's upset, just be still, don't antagonize him further, he'll break something then start on me...

When he ran down - thank God with nothing getting broken or punched - Natasha kept absolutely motionless for several long minutes, then, a muscle at a time, pushed back her plate and slipped off of her stool. White around the lips, pale as a ghost, and trembling, she turned aside and began to back away, saying in a voice only a hair above a whisper, "...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. ...good night, James..."

"No, Natasha. Sit back down," Bucky says, but it's softer and without the venom of before. They need to learn how to fight if they're going to be together and he needs to be able to be honest with her and she with him. They can't keep doing this shit over and over.

"I'm not going to hit you like he did," he says plainly. "And I'm not going to throw you out. I'm fucking terrified, okay? In a second, you can take my whole life from me and I can't do anything about it. You walk out that door and I lose everything I care about most. My fiancee, my kid...everything. So I tiptoe and I hold it in and I stuff down all the bad things about me so you don't leave me. Cause what happens when I'm not perfect? It all gets taken from me."

He knows his voice is breaking a little and he needs to just calm down and get through it. "You've got all the power here. I hear you say, James it's not funny, James, don't laugh and all I hear is be better. be perfect.."

She didn't sit down again - that was far too close right now - but Natasha did stop inching for the stairwell, and braced herself when Bucky started up again. But this time, it was a litany of fears, excuses, and terrors, all tied up in underlying anxiety she hadn't even realized he carried.

The stuttering and his voice breaking suggested sincerity, and Natasha took a breath, trying to control her own instinctive reaction, especially when he mentioned Alex. She stiffened, then, but gradually eased, though not enough to slide back atop that barstool.

She didn't answer right away, just kept her eyes on the perfect floor tile, trying to choose her words carefully. "...I don't expect you to be perfect. I never have. I don't...judge you about anything, James. I don't find anything 'bad' about you at all." Slowly, Natasha lifted her head to gaze at him from beneath her lashes, still wary.

"I just...I just take reputation seriously. Very much so. All I was asking.." she paused, swallowing, "all I wanted was for you to, too. At least for our sake. Nothing else."

"I do take it seriously. I also like to make fun of myself because I do stupid shit sometimes. What you think of me matters, you know? You fuck me up, Natasha. That's not a bad thing. If you're not feeling anything about someone then it's not really worth having...and I feel everything all the time."

Bucky motions toward her, toward the other side of the kitchen island. Maybe she'll come, maybe she won't, but he wants to make the offer.

"Sometimes I think if I was...the non-shitty version of Alex with the military career and the straight and narrow look, you might like me better. But that's a me thing, I guess."

His latter words brought her head up, a frown leveled his way. "Don't ever say that," she flashed, folding her arms beneath her breasts. "Don't even joke about that." She wanted no more reminders of that horrible man, let alone coming from the man she was supposed to marry in just a few months.

Bucky invited her to sit, again, but Natasha just rubbed her forehead, sighing a resigned sigh. She did, however, take a few more steps back into the kitchen, but halted just shy of the island's end. Hands tucked into her sleeves, arms still crossed, she slumped a little, feeling so tired of it all.

"I like you just how you are," she finally told him, looking at him directly. "You don't have to be...different for me, James. And really, it's...kind of unfair to expect that about me. Isn't it?"

"I'm not joking about that," Bucky says, lifting his hands. "But yeah, I'm not really bringing that up ever again. He can be dead for all I care. I was being serious that I was insecure, not...you know what I mean."

Natasha doesn't sit with him and Bucky guesses he shouldn't have expected it given how he exploded on her but it makes him sad anyway. She seems calmer now, at least.

"It's unfair," he agrees. "Most of what I want is unfair. At the end of the day, I want to be loved. But I can want that and wish it and try for it and never have it because it's not up to me. I can't make you love me. Only you can do that."

"That's the problem," Natasha suddenly agreed. "You want me to just...flip a switch and start declaring my eternal love for you and...and I can't, James. I just can't. It doesn't work like that." She huffed, lightly throwing her hands. "And when I tell you that I need time, you get all sad and morose, and start saying that it doesn't matter, you'll just live through the hurt, and you have no idea how fucking guilty that makes me feel, like I'm some slutty bitch just taking advantage of you, and--"

Natasha had begun to pace, small circles near the patio door, flinging her hands in small gestures as her voice gained volume and intensity. She'd never before let her thoughts come directly off of her tongue, and while she hadn't meant for them to just run right out of her mouth, apparently they'd decided for themselves and just railroaded their way into the air.

"--and then you go off on a goddamned bender and start sulking in your studio, then your nosy little sister starts grilling me about what's wrong with you and I don't want to have to be the one to tell her that you really need your idiotic ass kicked one good time because it's not my fucking job to babysit you, you jerk, and--"

She whirled around, red hair lashing, and balled her hands at her sides, and yelled at him, "--and you should know better than to raise your voice to a lady, James Bucky Barnes!!"

Bucky blinks for a moment and holds up his hands because he's not really sure if Natasha is going to throw a couch cushion at him or not but when nothing is incoming he lowers his hands and gives her a long look.

"See? This is the shit I'm talking about! Let it out, Natasha! If I don't know what you fucking think then I have to do it for you. Come on, what else are you mad about? Let me have it. All of it. Give the whole fucking thing to me all at once."

Bucky thinks this is the stupidest argument he's ever had but he's more cheering her on than fighting.

When no rebuttal came, Natasha jerked back, appalled, but her incredulity rapidly switched gears to heated, simmering anger. She heard a screech, realized that she'd made it, and in a moment of sheer feminine fury, stomped to the island and snatched up the bag of breadsticks, jerking them out one by one and sending them flying at the dark haired musician, actually pelting him with more than a few.

"What else do you want?!" she yelled, garlic breadsticks flying through the air. "Isn't all of that enough!? God, but you make me so. Fucking. MAD!!" It was absolutely an angry squeal, formed into that last word. "--sometimes, Bucky Barnes, that I could just, could just...run you over with a truck!!"

She was running low on ammunition, therefore decided to fling the entire bag - and whatever was left in it - towards his infernal head, then reached for the plastic salt and pepper shakers (which were thankfully closed), and even though she was left handed, still had arm enough to send them sailing with a hefty amount of force.

Natasha didn't stop to see if her projectiles struck their mark - she didn't care. The bread, the bag, the condiments were but her first volley; the serving spoon, the small decorative flower vase, and the coaster collection joined the cause, but her last victim was the plastic tub of marinara sauce sent with their order. It was heavier, being full, and even though it was just a small tub for dipping, it alas burst against the refrigerator just above it's intended target, showering the floor, the counter, and one Bucky Barnes with still-warm, fragrantly seasoned tomato sauce.

Seeing her nemesis brought low - dripping with marinara, actually - Natasha paused in her vituperations, retreating to the opposite side of the kitchen, still trembling with the remnants of her savagery. One arm crossed under her breast, the other rested over her middle, and she glared daggers at the musician across the room.

"Don't you even dare blame me for this mess, Bucky Barnes," she warned him, still seething. "You started it."

"I'm not doing shit right now," Bucky says. "I was just gonna request you leave the ice cream in the fridge alone because you might want some later, that's all."

Bucky has never seen someone lose it so spectacularly and he wants to laugh but he thinks it's a good idea not to do it. He's glad she got it out, though, because Natasha holds in way too much shit and for way longer than he's been holding it in.

"You good? Can I start cleaning up or do you need to throw something else at me first?"

An honest-to-God growl rippled from her throat, and Natasha narrowed her eyes. "Fuck your goddamned ice cream," was all she said before whirling on one heel and storming out of the kitchen and up the stairs, then a few moments later, the slamming of a heavy door echoed down to the first floor.

Back in "her" room, Natasha paced and seethed, seethed and paced. Who in the hell does this mongrel thing he is? Bitching at me about not rolling over and falling right in love with his co-dependent ass?! She whirled at the end of every fifth stride, her long curls slapping the wall as she turned in the opposite direction.

It took perhaps half an hour, but finally she ran out of both energy and anger, giving up pacing to drop into a heap on the bed, exhausted. She almost fell asleep right there, but remembered that her hairbrush and toothbrush were in the master bedroom. A glower followed that thought, but righteous indignation prevailed. Forcing herself upright again, she jerked open her bedroom door and stormed down the hallway, giving no care to occupancy as she slapped open Bucky's bedroom door upon arrival.

She wanted her shit, and she wanted it now.

Bucky had thought cooling off was a good idea but when Natasha rips open his door, he starts reassessing that thought. Maybe he should just...find a new house for the week or something. Or sleep in the studio. Yeah, that sounds like a great idea. He can work and sleep in the same place.

"Are you coming in here to murder me? Cause if you are, I just wanna go quick, okay? Take me out fast and run down to Mexico so you can hide, it's a pretty good plan."

Brooklyn is a little startled by the door but when he sees it's Natasha, he gets back on the bed and just rolls over to go back to sleep.

She didn't even look at him as she stomped into the bedroom, past him, the dog, and the bed, headed for the bathroom. With a series of quick, jerky movements, Natasha retrieved her respective brushes and turned back towards the door, sparing only the briefest glowering glance at the man giving her such a wide berth.

Back in her "own" bedroom, the still-simmering redhead angrily threw the hairbrush and toothbrush in a random direction, then abruptly fell back against the wall and slid down to the floor. Her knees had given out, and she was just so damned tired. Feeling sick, miserable, and empty on the heels of her explosive tirade, Natasha slumped over in a heap on the carpet, hugging herself and shaking as the tears came against her will.

Bucky waits for a while and he doesn't hear anything from Natasha's room so he takes the chance to knock lightly at her door before pushing it in. He'd hoped she'd just fallen asleep but instead she's down on the floor crying and he can't stand that. Especially can't stand it because it's his fault that she's crying.

"Hey," Bucky says softly, shifting to sit down on the carpet next to her. "It's gonna be okay, Natasha. There's nothing that we can't fix. Maybe it'll take a day or two for you to feel better but then you'll be right back where you were. I promise."

Hearing the door open made her hurriedly sit up, but there was no way to magically make her face less puffy, eyes not so red, and nose not so runny. So Natasha just wiped her face on her sleeve, letting her loose hair hang over one shoulder to hide the horror that was her face. She didn't pull away when Bucky sat down next to her, nor did she lean in for comfort, either.

She wrapped her arms around her knees, hugged them to her chest, and huddled there on the carpet, miserable and forlorn.

"...right," she finally blurted, cheek resting on her arms. "A frigid ice queen, afraid of everything but her own shadow. No family, no friends, no relationships...can't have anything. Just a fuckup from day one." She heaved a tired sigh. "And you're crazy," she said without heat. "For loving someone as messed up as me."

"Well, maybe I like being crazy," Bucky says. He slips his arm around her and he doesn't pull her any closer to him but he does let the weight of his arm stay there as support and a bulwark against her tears and her self-deprecation. There's nothing he hates more than seeing Natasha like this, down on herself, when he sees nothing but good things about her. He wishes she could see what he sees.

"You can work on that stuff, you know. If you want to. It doesn't have to be switching a light on and off, you know? It can be gradual. I think I'm kind of an asshole for expecting it to be all fixed because I love you. How I feel isn't gonna change how you feel about yourself and I don't believe in that bullshit about how you have to love yourself before anyone else can love you. I love you anyway. The good and the bad."

He squeezes her shoulders lightly. "We're gonna figure it out. I know we will."

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