He's not, really, but he takes the breadstick anyway and chews mechanically. He orders a bottle of wine for them which, again, isn't really in his budget but he's going to do it anyway. Natalie deserves a nice night out before they're separated - and possibly for forever.
"I'm scared," Bucky admits softly. "To go. It makes me a coward, I know that, but I'm scared. I'm scared I won't be able to keep the men in my unit safe. I'm scared Steve'll die even though they popped him full of that serum. I'm scared I'm the weakest part of this strike team going in against HYDRA and the Germans - I'm just a marksman. Anyone can shoot a gun, Natalie. I don't do anything special."
He swallows a gulp of wine and traces his fingers against the tablecloth, watching it even though there's nothing there to see. "I'm scared to die."
Hearing this, she sobered. "It's not cowardice to be afraid, James." She could testify first-hand to that, after all. "It's what...well, it's what makes us human. What makes us strive even harder to survive. Fear can be a weapon, if you let it." She dropped the small bite of bread and reached for his other hand, shifting in her seat so she could grip both of his in hers.
"You're willing to go," she reminded him, catching those blue eyes. "That's special right there, isn't it?" Her thumbs stroked over the back of his hands. "And you admit that you're scared. Most men wouldn't. At least you're going into this with your eyes open, not hoping for glory and honor and all the other fantasies most men dream about.
"Besides," she added, forcing a small smile, solely for his benefit, "I'm not going to let you die." Natalia lifted both of his hands, pressing a soft, deliberate kiss on the back of each. "There," she said. "Now you're protected. You'll be safe, and come home again."
"Not that easy, Natalie," Bucky says lowly, closing his eyes a bit. He's terrified of it and he's afraid he won't come back, he won't see her again or, worse, somehow she and Steve don't make it and he does. How does he live with that? How does anyone live with that?"
Bucky lets out a slow, soft breath and tries to get his head back into this date and not on a battlefield he hasn't even seen yet. What he knows of Germany is what he's seen on newsreels and they try to keep those positive, try to talk about how the way the Allieds are winning.
"I'm on a strike team. We're in shit more dangerous than everyone else, Howard's got us all outfitted with his special weapons. I've got less of a chance of coming back alive than the enlisted."
No, she knew it wasn't that easy. She wished she could tell him, tell him that she understood, that she knew all about the throat-closing fear that came from being threatened with death, or worse. But to share that would be signing her own death warrant. So Natalia kept her silence, held his hands tighter, and offered what quiet sympathy she could.
"Howard's been working really hard for your unit," she finally said softly. "Some of his creations...I've never even imagined things like that." And that was also the truth. "He's working very diligently to keep you and your team safe, James." She had to smile slightly, thinking of Stark. "He might be an eccentric idiot sometimes, but he knows what a man's life is worth."
She dropped one of his hands to stroke the other with hers. "Come back to me," she entreated softly, running her fingertips over his skin. "You're not there yet. Don't go before it's time, James. Come back and be here, with me."
"I don't want to cut this date short," Bucky says, letting out a low, soft noise at the touch of her hands. It's relaxing him more than he thought it could and he could go the rest of his life knowing just this touch and be satisfied with it. She means so much to him already.
"I can't ask you to commit to me. I'm going into a goddamn war and I'm going to be in the most dangerous part of it - but if I write you letters, will you accept them from me? I just need to know there's someone out there who wants to hear from me."
Steve's gonna be with him, so he's not worried about leaving things unsaid, but he's afraid he won't get to say everything he needs to before he goes. He takes a deep breath and lets it out. He can do this. Even if she rejects him, he has to say it.
"I'm falling...I've fallen in love with you, Natalie," he says, still holding her hands in his. "And I'm afraid to leave you."
Her heart dropped right into the pit of her stomach, hearing that. It was exactly what she'd been fearing, and now she was going to be responsible for breaking this good man's heart into a thousand shattered pieces. Guilt hit her like a brick. Every instruction she'd learned against this very thing came screaming back to her, clawing at the inside of her mind until she wanted to scream with it.
The only outward sign of her inner turmoil was a soft blush, high on her cheeks and spreading down her throat and collar. Which would also be attributed to the fact that a handsome soldier had just declared his love for her, a pretty young woman anyone would believe was nothing more than a legal secretary to some high-powered corporate executive.
Natalia bit her lower lip, hard, but knew she had to say something. So she forced herself to nod, giving a small, hesitant smile. "...of course I will." She chewed on her lip a little more. "But," and there was always a 'but', wasn't there, "...but you shouldn't, James. Love me, I mean." Hating herself, she shook her head, but didn't let go of his hands. "We barely even know each other, and with the war, and everything, all the secrets--the security..."
Their dishes arrived right about then, the smiling wait staff presenting the meal with a flourish. Natalia slowly let go of Bucky's hands and pulled away lightly, forcing her face back into its pleasant mask. She answered the staff's queries with soft replies, placing her napkin properly in her lap and feeling as if she'd just taken a long dive off of a short cliff.
"I know," Bucky says softly. He hadn't expected a positive response, really. They barely know one another and he's leaving for a war tomorrow. There's no time for anything and no reason to ask her to wait for him. There's nothing substantial to build an engagement on, much less a marriage, and he's letting words spill out that shouldn't be said.
"Food's good though, isn't it? If you don't like it, send it back." Talking about the food is easier. The food isn't Natalie, looking beautiful and perfect and completely unaffected across the table from him. She'd turned him down (gently, admittedly) and gone right back to being cordial and polite with the wait staff as if nothing had happened.
"I shouldn't have told you that," Bucky says after a third glass of wine has loosened his tongue. "Before, what I told you before. It doesn't...it doesn't change that I mean it but I shouldn't have said it. Look, I'm going to head out. Let me pay for this and make sure you've got enough for a cab, all right?"
The food was good, she supposed, for all that it tasted like ashes in her mouth, the wine like vinegar. But slowly, she felt her shield coming back up, as she pushed her heart back into its little iron box. Between them, however, they polished off the entire bottle, and she was just about to turn and say something - she had no idea what, but the silence had lingered too long - but before she could, James was shaking his head and beat her to the punch.
After he finished, Natalia sat and just stared at him, not quite believing what she'd heard. "..what? Oh." She dropped her eyes, picked up her napkin, wringing it in her hands. "All right." But she stopped him from reaching for his wallet. "I don't need a cab," she assured him, straightening her jacket. "My place isn't far, I can walk." And really, she preferred it, the chilly night air would help cool her burning skin.
She didn't give him time to object, swallowing her disappointed hurt - but what had she honestly expected? It is the only way, Natalia - and heading for the front doors, realizing with a sinking heart that it had already begun to rain. Still, that wasn't going to deter her; she'd lived through worse in worse conditions, really. She wasn't some blushing ingenue. So Natalia squared her shoulders, stepped out under the building's awning, and rose up on her toes to kiss James's cheek when he joined her outside.
"Good night, James." Friendly, sweet, with none of the irrational longing that jerked hopelessly on her own heartstrings. "And good luck, although I know you won't really need it." A soft smile, another fond kiss, then she stepped out into the rain, clutching her jacket tight and heading off up the street, towards Lexington.
Bucky puts his hands in his pockets and walks in the opposite direction for a while but even the nice brim on his Army cap is doing shit all to keep the rain off his face. He knows how to get to Natalie's, knowing it's just about fifteen blocks the other direction, and it's an easy enough walk for him even with the rain coming down.
He's miserably soaked by the time he sees her doorman and luckily the guy recognizes him and lets him go on up. Natalie's apartment is on a high floor so when he's in the elevator, it takes a little while with people getting on and off at lower floors. Eventually, though, he's in the corridor where her apartment is and he takes off his cap to tuck it under his elbow before he knocks. He's hoping Natalie is still up and not asleep; but if she is, he guesses he'll just have to write her in care of Howard.
He raps lightly at her door and leans against the frame, waiting to see if she's going to answer or if she's already asleep for the night.
Walter had buzzed her apartment right after he'd let the Sergeant inside, informing her that she had visitor but not giving any other details. Natalia had then mustered up enough energy to put on a robe, figuring that it was probably Howard or Jarvis, coming by regardless of the hour with some trivial detail, task, or cone of information. So she shoved her still-damp hair out of her face, tied the sash on her robe - she was still cold, on the inside - and shuffled through her dark dwelling to unlock and open the door when she heard the light knock.
The hall light made her blink, and she recognized the individual silhouetted in the glare as not Howard or Jarvis, but a soaked-through, dripping James Barnes. Stubbornly ignoring the gleeful leap of her stomach, Natalia just hugged her arms, stared at him, and finally said, with a modicum of surprise, "...James." Her eyes were still red, and her cheeks ashen.
"Felt like I ought to apologize," Bucky says. He's dripping water all over her stoop and he's pretty sure that his shoes are never going to dry out. The Army's not going to like that too much but right now, he doesn't much care what the US Army thinks.
"I couldn't let us go and not...I didn't want that to be the last memory we had of one another," Bucky says. "Especially since we have no way of knowing what's going to happen once we get over there."
He's scared to death of dying, scared of loss, scared of everything. He's never shown this vulnerable side to anyone, preferring to bury it deep down beneath cockiness and charm so he can forget it exists. He's made a connection with Natalie, though, and he can't let their last words be practically an argument.
"I had to make it better. I had to fix it - or at least try to fix it as best I could."
If she were smart, she'd slam the door in his face and go back to bed, ignoring the piteous pleas of her own heart. But, because he was there; he'd come back; Natalia, after a moment, opened the door further and moved aside for him to come in.
"You're dripping all over the floor," she noted, closing and locking the door again. She turned on a lamp, flooding the apartment with gentle warm light. "Get out of those wet clothes so I can hang them in the tub." A brief rummage in her closet saw her returning with a couple of plain white towels and a larger terrycloth robe, one large enough to swallow her - she'd filched it from a hotel in Spain on one of Howard's "business trips, because it was warm and comfortable and perfect for her to snuggle beneath.
"Here. This is all I have that might fit you." Natalia draped the garments over the back of the chair, then moved into the small kitchen. "Coffee? Tea? Something warm, at least." She put water in the kettle, lit the stove, and set the pot to boil, fetching two cups from the cabinet.
She wasn't entirely sure why he'd come back, but she did know she couldn't afford to let herself get invol--oh, that was such bullshit, she scolded herself. She was more than involved, and now she had to deal with the consequences.
It doesn't take long for Bucky to change into the robe and when she offers him tea, he nods. He's a coffee guy in the morning, just like most American guys, but he's always liked a nicely done cup of tea in the afternoon. It's what happens when you're raised almost entirely by women.
"Didn't mean to be dripping everywhere," Bucky says, still scrubbing water from his hair. "Rain got started and there wasn't anywhere I could get an umbrella this time of night." And, well, it'd fit his mood. He has a different mood now.
She shrugged, it was just water. It'd mop. Natalia kept her back to James as he changed; she didn't think it too fair to ogle him as he stripped out of his wet clothes, but that didn't stop her whorishly traitorous mind from visualizing every ridge, every muscle beneath those sodden garments. She had to put the cup down a little harder than was necessary, just to keep herself from indulging that pathetic need.
"No, I'm okay. Thanks." Her apartment was an open floor plan, kitchen, dining area, and living room all blending into one another without a separating wall. Her bedroom, the spare room, and the bathroom were situated down a short hallway, and each sported their own door. Tea was easy to make; she added the leaves to the simmering pot and let it steep on low heat, turning around and carefully picking up his sopping uniform.
"I have some extra hangers, I can hang these in the tub to dry." The bathroom had its own heater, which she lit and after hanging Bucky's uniform up on the shower rack, she closed the door so the heat would assist in drying the drenched fabric. When she came back to the main room, the tea was more or less ready, and she poured two cups, bringing them to the small table and sitting down with hers.
Natalia kept her hands cradled around the warm mug, hunched small in the chair.
"I shouldn't have said what I said," Bucky starts out. He cups his own mug of tea and blows on it lightly before taking a sip. It's good tea, honestly, and he wonders where she got it or what flavor it is exactly; maybe that's a question for a different time. They have bigger things to deal with just now.
"And I'm sorry I said it. I didn't want the last conversation we had to be that one. That's why I came here tonight to make it right."
He's so goddamn afraid about going to Germany and he's so afraid he won't come back. He doesn't know what he's going to do in the thick of it even though he'd been so damn good at basic and further training that he got promoted to sergeant before ever setting foot in Europe. Can he actually shoot a man, flesh and blood? Can he fight toe to toe with Nazis like the war reels? He doesn't know.
"I love you, Natalie. That's true and that's for always. I...I know you aren't in that place, I know you might never be there. But I can't fly to Germany tomorrow and lay in a sniper's nest to try and shoot someone with flesh and blood like me and not tell you how I feel. I might not live through the rest of this war and I wanted you to know it."
She'd promised herself never to regret saying 'yes'. But it was a hard one to keep, especially right now. Natalia propped her head on a hand, staring unseeing at the top of the table. "...James..." she began, sighed, and gave up. Closing her eyes, she refused to cry, but felt the sting of tears anyway. Though she didn't let them fall, it was a near thing, and a traitorous sniffle managed to escape.
"You shouldn't. Love me, I mean." She wasn't worth it. Not hardly. "You don't even know me, and--" But she bit it off. It likely wouldn't ever make sense, there was no use in trying to make him understand.
"But...but you don't have to be sorry about it, either." It was whispered, and she lifted her head slightly and once again curved her hands around her tea mug. "And I'm glad that you do. Love someone, I mean." A rueful grimace, mostly at herself. "Even if it is me."
She stalwartly refused to lay her own emotions - confusing and entangled as they were, God - out for examination; the less she gave in to this, the better. But it was so tempting just to...just to get up, slide into his lap and hold him close, trading soft kisses and sweet touches for as long as they could. Even if it would only lead to more heartache.
"Natalie, stop," Bucky says, trying not to get upset again and ruin this when they're shipping out tomorrow. "I love you. You said yourself I shouldn't feel bad about it. Why do you feel bad that I do love you? If I can't be sorry about loving you, you can't be sorry that it's you I love. Those are the rules."
It sounds a little juvenile, maybe, but he wants to get it across to her that if he's not supposed to be guilty because he'd said he loved her, she shouldn't feel guilty that he does.
"No more feeling bad. We might not have a chance to have this again and I want to make the most of it, all right?"
Well, he did have a point. Even though it wasn't a very fruitful point, it nevertheless counted, she supposed. She let go of her tea mug, pulled her hands into her lap, and sat back, shaking drying curls over her shoulders.
"All right, all right." A ghost of a smile teased a corner of her lips. "If you say so." Finally lifting her eyes enough to look into his beautiful blues, Natalia offered a soft shrug. "No more feeling bad."
But...now what.
She fiddled with the sash on her robe, suddenly and irrationally feeling self conscious to be sitting here half-naked with a man she'd spent an entire night with just a short week ago. But try as she might to deny it, there was still, even now, the unconscious pull between the both of them, one she'd been trying to ignore since he and the other Howling Commandos had trooped into Stark's lab.
With work between them, it'd been...manageable. Not easy, but doable. Now, with no distractions, with nothing but a couple of tea mugs and a table between them, it was damn near impossible not to feel it. Resolutely, so she wouldn't do the first thing that crossed her mind, looking at him sitting there, Natalia abandoned her chair and crossed the small living room to stand at the window, gazing unseeing out over the rainy city night.
As long as they kept the room between them, they might stand a chance.
Bucky isn't really sure why she'd left to go and stand in front of the window but he joins her after a short while, staring out over the city. There's lights even now in the middle of the night and it's relaxing to see them twinkling all over the city. Bucky had been able to see the stars overhead when he went to Wisconsin for basic but not here. Will be be able to see the stars in Germany?
"What's that you say to me sometimes?" he asks. "Moya zvezda? Is there anything else that's a...well, something sweet to say? It seems like your grandmother's Russian is something you like to do."
And he wants something that feels special to her, something unique that isn't baby, doll or some combination thereof.
"...it was the first language I learned," she finally confessed, gently rubbing her chilly arms. "I didn't know my parents, and, well, my...grandmother more or less raised me." If Madame could even count as a "grandmother". "I didn't learn English until I started school." Truth, sprinkled with a few lies here and there.
She could feel the warmth from his body, close at her shoulder, and it was so tempting to just...lean back into it, let him put strong arms around her and hold her tight, but she resisted, though she hated her common sense just then.
"There are a lot of endearments in Russian," Natalia told him, not looking away from the window. "There is kiska, which means 'kitten', or printessa, which means 'princess', obviously, and there's also lisichka, which means 'little vixen', and is mostly used for saucy redheaded children." She gave a soft chuckle.
"The language sounds harsh, but it's actually quite beautiful, when spoken correctly.
"Lisichka," Bucky says, settling on that one. He likes princess and kitten, naturally, but there's something about little vixen that settles on him and just feels right. He chances coming closer to her at the window, hand reaching out so he can brush fingers with hers.
"Did I say it right? Lisichka?" He hopes he had, or his attempt at being romantic had failed completely, and more than anything he just wants Natalie to forgive him for being an ass to her earlier.
"Thanks for letting me in." Most dames wouldn't after what happened.
"Close enough," she told him with a little smile. "Your accent is pretty good, for a Brooklyn boy." She let her fingers slowly tangle with his, a soft gesture that tugged hard at her still-falling heart. "Just...be careful how and where you say it." Howard understood more Slav than he let on, and she wanted, for various reasons, all of this to be kept close under wraps. Neither of them needed any more complications in their lives than they were already dealing with.
"Well, you said it yourself, James," Natalia told him after a minute or so of quiet. "I'm not like most dames." She chanced to give him a small smile, a fond gentle glance, before turning back to the watery lights of downtown and the sheeting rain on the window. "...but, you're welcome."
"You mind giving me a photograph or something? I don't know where in Germany they're deploying the Commandos," Bucky says, rubbing the back of his neck a bit with his free hand. It's embarrassing, talking about this, but she already knows he loves her. How can be asking for a photograph be worse?
"I'd like something to look at while I'm out there. Something to remind me of the benefits of coming back in one piece."
He doesn't know what the war is going to do to them but he hopes it's all right, that they'll be able to come back and have a real, out in the open relationship.
That request surprised her a bit. But it shouldn't have; didn't men take photos of their dames off with them, to have something to keep them going, a reason to keep fighting? It was understandable, given what she knew of the human condition. Motivation, after all.
"I...I don't think I even have any, James." Which was a shame, really. "But I'm sure Howard could take a couple, before we fly out." And would probably be delighted to; any opportunity to use something technological and Stark was all over it, automatically coming up with ways to improve it.
A recollection tickled her mind, and she had to smirk, glancing at him over her shoulder. "My stockings aren't enough, Sergeant?"
Bucky honest-to-God blushes at the mention of the stockings and he's quiet for a minute before he mumbles something out. It's low and soft and it's the kind of sappy shit she probably doesn't want to hear; Natalie wants to have a good time and he's the one who fell too fast.
"Wanna remember your face," he mumbles. "Not sex with you. It's not...it doesn't matter. If you think the stockings are enough, I'll just keep those. I don't want to put anyone out when we're trying to win a war."
He hates that he's this insecure about it, this tied up over a woman.
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"I'm scared," Bucky admits softly. "To go. It makes me a coward, I know that, but I'm scared. I'm scared I won't be able to keep the men in my unit safe. I'm scared Steve'll die even though they popped him full of that serum. I'm scared I'm the weakest part of this strike team going in against HYDRA and the Germans - I'm just a marksman. Anyone can shoot a gun, Natalie. I don't do anything special."
He swallows a gulp of wine and traces his fingers against the tablecloth, watching it even though there's nothing there to see. "I'm scared to die."
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"You're willing to go," she reminded him, catching those blue eyes. "That's special right there, isn't it?" Her thumbs stroked over the back of his hands. "And you admit that you're scared. Most men wouldn't. At least you're going into this with your eyes open, not hoping for glory and honor and all the other fantasies most men dream about.
"Besides," she added, forcing a small smile, solely for his benefit, "I'm not going to let you die." Natalia lifted both of his hands, pressing a soft, deliberate kiss on the back of each. "There," she said. "Now you're protected. You'll be safe, and come home again."
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Bucky lets out a slow, soft breath and tries to get his head back into this date and not on a battlefield he hasn't even seen yet. What he knows of Germany is what he's seen on newsreels and they try to keep those positive, try to talk about how the way the Allieds are winning.
"I'm on a strike team. We're in shit more dangerous than everyone else, Howard's got us all outfitted with his special weapons. I've got less of a chance of coming back alive than the enlisted."
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"Howard's been working really hard for your unit," she finally said softly. "Some of his creations...I've never even imagined things like that." And that was also the truth. "He's working very diligently to keep you and your team safe, James." She had to smile slightly, thinking of Stark. "He might be an eccentric idiot sometimes, but he knows what a man's life is worth."
She dropped one of his hands to stroke the other with hers. "Come back to me," she entreated softly, running her fingertips over his skin. "You're not there yet. Don't go before it's time, James. Come back and be here, with me."
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"I can't ask you to commit to me. I'm going into a goddamn war and I'm going to be in the most dangerous part of it - but if I write you letters, will you accept them from me? I just need to know there's someone out there who wants to hear from me."
Steve's gonna be with him, so he's not worried about leaving things unsaid, but he's afraid he won't get to say everything he needs to before he goes. He takes a deep breath and lets it out. He can do this. Even if she rejects him, he has to say it.
"I'm falling...I've fallen in love with you, Natalie," he says, still holding her hands in his. "And I'm afraid to leave you."
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The only outward sign of her inner turmoil was a soft blush, high on her cheeks and spreading down her throat and collar. Which would also be attributed to the fact that a handsome soldier had just declared his love for her, a pretty young woman anyone would believe was nothing more than a legal secretary to some high-powered corporate executive.
Natalia bit her lower lip, hard, but knew she had to say something. So she forced herself to nod, giving a small, hesitant smile. "...of course I will." She chewed on her lip a little more. "But," and there was always a 'but', wasn't there, "...but you shouldn't, James. Love me, I mean." Hating herself, she shook her head, but didn't let go of his hands. "We barely even know each other, and with the war, and everything, all the secrets--the security..."
Their dishes arrived right about then, the smiling wait staff presenting the meal with a flourish. Natalia slowly let go of Bucky's hands and pulled away lightly, forcing her face back into its pleasant mask. She answered the staff's queries with soft replies, placing her napkin properly in her lap and feeling as if she'd just taken a long dive off of a short cliff.
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"Food's good though, isn't it? If you don't like it, send it back." Talking about the food is easier. The food isn't Natalie, looking beautiful and perfect and completely unaffected across the table from him. She'd turned him down (gently, admittedly) and gone right back to being cordial and polite with the wait staff as if nothing had happened.
"I shouldn't have told you that," Bucky says after a third glass of wine has loosened his tongue. "Before, what I told you before. It doesn't...it doesn't change that I mean it but I shouldn't have said it. Look, I'm going to head out. Let me pay for this and make sure you've got enough for a cab, all right?"
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After he finished, Natalia sat and just stared at him, not quite believing what she'd heard. "..what? Oh." She dropped her eyes, picked up her napkin, wringing it in her hands. "All right." But she stopped him from reaching for his wallet. "I don't need a cab," she assured him, straightening her jacket. "My place isn't far, I can walk." And really, she preferred it, the chilly night air would help cool her burning skin.
She didn't give him time to object, swallowing her disappointed hurt - but what had she honestly expected? It is the only way, Natalia - and heading for the front doors, realizing with a sinking heart that it had already begun to rain. Still, that wasn't going to deter her; she'd lived through worse in worse conditions, really. She wasn't some blushing ingenue. So Natalia squared her shoulders, stepped out under the building's awning, and rose up on her toes to kiss James's cheek when he joined her outside.
"Good night, James." Friendly, sweet, with none of the irrational longing that jerked hopelessly on her own heartstrings. "And good luck, although I know you won't really need it." A soft smile, another fond kiss, then she stepped out into the rain, clutching her jacket tight and heading off up the street, towards Lexington.
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He's miserably soaked by the time he sees her doorman and luckily the guy recognizes him and lets him go on up. Natalie's apartment is on a high floor so when he's in the elevator, it takes a little while with people getting on and off at lower floors. Eventually, though, he's in the corridor where her apartment is and he takes off his cap to tuck it under his elbow before he knocks. He's hoping Natalie is still up and not asleep; but if she is, he guesses he'll just have to write her in care of Howard.
He raps lightly at her door and leans against the frame, waiting to see if she's going to answer or if she's already asleep for the night.
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The hall light made her blink, and she recognized the individual silhouetted in the glare as not Howard or Jarvis, but a soaked-through, dripping James Barnes. Stubbornly ignoring the gleeful leap of her stomach, Natalia just hugged her arms, stared at him, and finally said, with a modicum of surprise, "...James." Her eyes were still red, and her cheeks ashen.
"...what are you doing here?"
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"I couldn't let us go and not...I didn't want that to be the last memory we had of one another," Bucky says. "Especially since we have no way of knowing what's going to happen once we get over there."
He's scared to death of dying, scared of loss, scared of everything. He's never shown this vulnerable side to anyone, preferring to bury it deep down beneath cockiness and charm so he can forget it exists. He's made a connection with Natalie, though, and he can't let their last words be practically an argument.
"I had to make it better. I had to fix it - or at least try to fix it as best I could."
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"You're dripping all over the floor," she noted, closing and locking the door again. She turned on a lamp, flooding the apartment with gentle warm light. "Get out of those wet clothes so I can hang them in the tub." A brief rummage in her closet saw her returning with a couple of plain white towels and a larger terrycloth robe, one large enough to swallow her - she'd filched it from a hotel in Spain on one of Howard's "business trips, because it was warm and comfortable and perfect for her to snuggle beneath.
"Here. This is all I have that might fit you." Natalia draped the garments over the back of the chair, then moved into the small kitchen. "Coffee? Tea? Something warm, at least." She put water in the kettle, lit the stove, and set the pot to boil, fetching two cups from the cabinet.
She wasn't entirely sure why he'd come back, but she did know she couldn't afford to let herself get invol--oh, that was such bullshit, she scolded herself. She was more than involved, and now she had to deal with the consequences.
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"Didn't mean to be dripping everywhere," Bucky says, still scrubbing water from his hair. "Rain got started and there wasn't anywhere I could get an umbrella this time of night." And, well, it'd fit his mood. He has a different mood now.
"You need any help in the kitchen?"
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"No, I'm okay. Thanks." Her apartment was an open floor plan, kitchen, dining area, and living room all blending into one another without a separating wall. Her bedroom, the spare room, and the bathroom were situated down a short hallway, and each sported their own door. Tea was easy to make; she added the leaves to the simmering pot and let it steep on low heat, turning around and carefully picking up his sopping uniform.
"I have some extra hangers, I can hang these in the tub to dry." The bathroom had its own heater, which she lit and after hanging Bucky's uniform up on the shower rack, she closed the door so the heat would assist in drying the drenched fabric. When she came back to the main room, the tea was more or less ready, and she poured two cups, bringing them to the small table and sitting down with hers.
Natalia kept her hands cradled around the warm mug, hunched small in the chair.
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"And I'm sorry I said it. I didn't want the last conversation we had to be that one. That's why I came here tonight to make it right."
He's so goddamn afraid about going to Germany and he's so afraid he won't come back. He doesn't know what he's going to do in the thick of it even though he'd been so damn good at basic and further training that he got promoted to sergeant before ever setting foot in Europe. Can he actually shoot a man, flesh and blood? Can he fight toe to toe with Nazis like the war reels? He doesn't know.
"I love you, Natalie. That's true and that's for always. I...I know you aren't in that place, I know you might never be there. But I can't fly to Germany tomorrow and lay in a sniper's nest to try and shoot someone with flesh and blood like me and not tell you how I feel. I might not live through the rest of this war and I wanted you to know it."
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"You shouldn't. Love me, I mean." She wasn't worth it. Not hardly. "You don't even know me, and--" But she bit it off. It likely wouldn't ever make sense, there was no use in trying to make him understand.
"But...but you don't have to be sorry about it, either." It was whispered, and she lifted her head slightly and once again curved her hands around her tea mug. "And I'm glad that you do. Love someone, I mean." A rueful grimace, mostly at herself. "Even if it is me."
She stalwartly refused to lay her own emotions - confusing and entangled as they were, God - out for examination; the less she gave in to this, the better. But it was so tempting just to...just to get up, slide into his lap and hold him close, trading soft kisses and sweet touches for as long as they could. Even if it would only lead to more heartache.
No. They couldn't.
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It sounds a little juvenile, maybe, but he wants to get it across to her that if he's not supposed to be guilty because he'd said he loved her, she shouldn't feel guilty that he does.
"No more feeling bad. We might not have a chance to have this again and I want to make the most of it, all right?"
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"All right, all right." A ghost of a smile teased a corner of her lips. "If you say so." Finally lifting her eyes enough to look into his beautiful blues, Natalia offered a soft shrug. "No more feeling bad."
But...now what.
She fiddled with the sash on her robe, suddenly and irrationally feeling self conscious to be sitting here half-naked with a man she'd spent an entire night with just a short week ago. But try as she might to deny it, there was still, even now, the unconscious pull between the both of them, one she'd been trying to ignore since he and the other Howling Commandos had trooped into Stark's lab.
With work between them, it'd been...manageable. Not easy, but doable. Now, with no distractions, with nothing but a couple of tea mugs and a table between them, it was damn near impossible not to feel it. Resolutely, so she wouldn't do the first thing that crossed her mind, looking at him sitting there, Natalia abandoned her chair and crossed the small living room to stand at the window, gazing unseeing out over the rainy city night.
As long as they kept the room between them, they might stand a chance.
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"What's that you say to me sometimes?" he asks. "Moya zvezda? Is there anything else that's a...well, something sweet to say? It seems like your grandmother's Russian is something you like to do."
And he wants something that feels special to her, something unique that isn't baby, doll or some combination thereof.
"I want something I can call you."
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She could feel the warmth from his body, close at her shoulder, and it was so tempting to just...lean back into it, let him put strong arms around her and hold her tight, but she resisted, though she hated her common sense just then.
"There are a lot of endearments in Russian," Natalia told him, not looking away from the window. "There is kiska, which means 'kitten', or printessa, which means 'princess', obviously, and there's also lisichka, which means 'little vixen', and is mostly used for saucy redheaded children." She gave a soft chuckle.
"The language sounds harsh, but it's actually quite beautiful, when spoken correctly.
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"Did I say it right? Lisichka?" He hopes he had, or his attempt at being romantic had failed completely, and more than anything he just wants Natalie to forgive him for being an ass to her earlier.
"Thanks for letting me in." Most dames wouldn't after what happened.
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"Well, you said it yourself, James," Natalia told him after a minute or so of quiet. "I'm not like most dames." She chanced to give him a small smile, a fond gentle glance, before turning back to the watery lights of downtown and the sheeting rain on the window. "...but, you're welcome."
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"I'd like something to look at while I'm out there. Something to remind me of the benefits of coming back in one piece."
He doesn't know what the war is going to do to them but he hopes it's all right, that they'll be able to come back and have a real, out in the open relationship.
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"I...I don't think I even have any, James." Which was a shame, really. "But I'm sure Howard could take a couple, before we fly out." And would probably be delighted to; any opportunity to use something technological and Stark was all over it, automatically coming up with ways to improve it.
A recollection tickled her mind, and she had to smirk, glancing at him over her shoulder. "My stockings aren't enough, Sergeant?"
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"Wanna remember your face," he mumbles. "Not sex with you. It's not...it doesn't matter. If you think the stockings are enough, I'll just keep those. I don't want to put anyone out when we're trying to win a war."
He hates that he's this insecure about it, this tied up over a woman.
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