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"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."

Rather than answer, since she was tired of talking, Natasha finally let herself lean over on Bucky's shoulder, more exhausted than she realized. Some of it was her hormones, she knew - being pregnant was hell one's constitution - but some of it was her own insecurities, her own failures, and her own dormant issues, being hauled out into the light to be seen and dealt with.

"...you're a good man, James Barnes," she finally whispered, lifting her head only to kiss his cheek. "I'm sorry I threw the sauce at you."

...but not that sorry.

"Nah. I think I earned it. Besides, it wasn't anything a shower couldn't fix. That shirt's probably a goner but I've got other shirts. It's not like it was the only one I owned or it was my favorite or anything. It'll be all right. Promise, all right? Everything's fine."

Bucky just holds her for a minute or two without saying anything, just offering the comfort, and when he speaks again it's soft.

"I'd rather have you throwing sauce at me than anyone else in the world. Do you know that?"

That, thankfully, was enough to rouse her mirth and Natasha gave a small laugh despite herself. "I'm glad," she replied, just as quiet. "That it's you," followed in explanation. "That's this kid's father. I may not ever be 'Mom of the Year', but I know you'll be 'Dad of the Century', without a doubt." Shifting slightly, Natasha placed one hand on Bucky's chest, relishing his warmth.

"I normally don't do things like that," she said, more than a little abashed. "But it did feel really good, letting go. Hopefully I won't have to anymore, because it really was a little scary, too."

And Natasha did want to "work on it", so what was wrong with starting right now? This good man, even when he was a brat, deserved her best effort. So she inched up to kiss his cheek again, then gently turned his face towards hers so she could kiss his lips.

"Thanks," she whispered, resting her forehead against his.

When Natasha leans in to kiss him, he closes his eyes and accepts it and when she breaks, he runs a hand through her hair.

"Don't gotta thank me for being who I am," Bucky assures her. "But you'll be a good mom. Maybe it'll take a minute to figure it out but I've never been a dad either - it'll be new for me too. Being an uncle and being a dad are really different. I'm used to giving kids back at the end of the day."

"We're gonna do it all together, okay? You don't have to do this one alone."

"Okay." Natasha took a slow breath, then let it out. "As long as we're together." And I'm not alone. It felt weird to ask, but she did anyway. "Can...want to go to bed now?" Even though they'd spent the entire day in it. Natasha felt she could sleep for another twelve hours.

Then, because she was just so damn tired, she heard herself say, "...and would you carry me?" As soon as she said it, she wanted to take it back, because wasn't it horribly unfair to saddle him with her own burdens after such a spectacular brawl?

"Of course we can go to bed," Bucky says. He shifts onto his knees to gather her up into his arms and when he stands, it's easy to carry her into the other room. Pregnant or not, Natasha weighs hardly anything, and it isn't difficult to carry her across the hall to his bed and let her down gently into it.

"And your feet don't have to touch the ground this whole pregnancy if you don't want them to. I live to serve."

Bucky strips off the t-shirt and sweats he'd put on after his shower and tosses them toward the hamper before sliding in beside her. "Cuddle up. You earned it."

Natasha hadn't bothered with a bra when getting dressed earlier, but had no qualm about shedding her sweater and pants and slipping between the covers in only her underwear, and willingly maneuvered about to nestle in her fiancé's arms as they settled together. The patio doors were still open, and a cool Pacific breeze wafted the sheer curtains, billowing across the bed and causing a slight shiver. But she relished it, lying warm in Bucky's embrace.

"...just hold me," she whispered, nose pressed against his neck. This was better than arguing, definitely. Her stomach gave a gurgle, but by God, Natasha was determined that this kid could just chill out and go to sleep, because his mother was absolutely not moving from this warm nest until well after sunrise tomorrow.

"We'll sleep in and then do some wedding planning. Does that sound good to you?"

Natasha feels warm and content in his arms and Bucky honestly thinks he could go his whole life without moving but he knows they have shit to do and people to see so as much as he wants to stay here forever, he's not going to get the opportunity.

"I'll even look at the girly stuff."

His promise made her laugh, just a soft shake of bare shoulders. Natasha stirred lightly, lifting her head to lean her forehead against Bucky's chin. "That a promise? Because I was thinking of having a truckload of flowers, some obnoxious pink lace, pink chiffon carpet, and purple wall hangings in silk and satin."

Ridiculous, but the visual did make her chuckle quietly. "Cover the entire church in Pepto-pink. And then the reception in lime green and maroon."

"Hell yeah. As long as I can have a dj playing house music the whole time," Bucky says, grinning even though she's tucked in against his chest. "And beer for everyone except you - we'll get you a virgin margarita or something so you can join in. Actually - margaritas for everyone. It goes with the lime green."

It's a ridiculous conversation but he loves it, too, because he knows it's making Natasha smile and anything that makes her smile makes him happy too. It's all he ever wants, to make her happy, and he hates that he keeps fucking that up.

Natasha couldn't help the giggle, voicing her next thought. "Can you see your sisters and your mother in those loud pink dresses? I don't they'd ever forgive us." Although she did have a serious idea about what colors her fiancé would look wonderful in; perhaps a silver-gray, to compliment his dark hair, tanned skin, and it would make his eyes a brilliant electric blue...hm. Yes.

"Have you thought about where to actually have the wedding? And the reception? The house is large enough for either, or both, really. Although, weather permitting, a bonfire down on the beach sounds amazing."

"I was thinking about the beach but if you want somewhere else, we can do that too. We should probably have a weather contingency plan," Bucky says, tapping his chin while he thinks. "Because we should have great weather, we always do, but if something happens we're still gonna want to get married on the day."

They don't get a lot of rain in California but it is a little more common close to the ocean than it is inland. Bucky would hate to have to reschedule a whole outside wedding because they had no backup plan.

"So the backup plan can just be the house, if that's okay?"

"Of course." She paused, then lifted her head to look at him quizzically. "Won't your Catholic parents prefer a church for the actual wedding? I thought I overheard her saying something to your dad about that the other day. It's perfectly fine with me, and it might actually go over very well with the press. More authenticity, that sort of thing."

Resituating her head beneath Bucky's chin, Natasha added, "Their church isn't all that far, it shouldn't be too much of a chore to relocate after the service. And if we have the reception here or down on the beach, it'll be that much closer to home. So to speak."

"I mean, we could have a priest come down to the beach but if you want it in a church, sure. It's our wedding," Bucky says, shrugging. "I don't care what the press says about my wedding. It's none of their business. I'm doing what we want, not what looks good for them."

Bucky has figured out that what he wants in this probably doesn't matter much since weddings are the bride's territory so maybe he should just go along with Natasha and not argue it.

"Whatever you want to do."

"It would be pretty in a church," Natasha mused quietly. "But it would also be beautiful on the beach, too." If a bit cliché, but, when in California. "Which would you like better?" This was his ceremony, too. And honestly, Natasha had the suspicion that he'd be paying for all of it, since she didn't have any relatives to foot the bill (she'd learned that it was bride's family who were traditionally responsible for paying for the wedding. Thank you, Google.).

She wasn't going to argue about the press any further. James Barnes was a grown man; he shouldn't need her to remind him how to handle his business. She didn't work for the label anymore. Ironically, Natasha realized she hadn't given much thought to even going back to work, lately. But that was definitely a headache for later.

"This might surprise you," she heard herself say, a rue amusement in her voice, "but I really don't know a lot about weddings, James. Other than they're expensive, and there's a big fuss about dresses and caterers."

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