[ Weeks pass after their conversation. Bucky's jacket arrives through international shipping, and he can't help the touch of amusement he gets when he sees it. It hangs from a peg somewhere across from his bed, it's too hot during the day to use it but the temperature drops can be extreme at night. Aside from that, nothing in Wakanda seems to change. He works, does what he can with little to no farming experience and a single arm. Once a week, Shuri drags him into some kind of therapy session where they either try and de-low jack his brain or they try retrofitting new arm technology, or they have some lady with a PhD in veteran trauma psychoanalyze him. It's a regular routine for the first time in a long time, and he's getting used to it.
So of course she's got to shake things up on a random Tuesday in July, ironically or maybe intentionally independence day. He's not there when her plane lands, but he hears about it shortly thereafter. Some kind of trouble, but nobody seems to know the full extent of the details other than it must be bad if it's driving Black Widow into laying low in a secluded sector of Wakanda.
Steve, apparently, isn't with her which is a whole nother, deeper concern that he'll address with the man later over the phone. Meanwhile, he's on standby when they guide her into the village, arms smoothly crossed, hovering in the entrance to the hut he calls home, expressionless and observing. How's it gonna be, Natalia? ]
[ splitting up the team had been difficult, but necessary. a last resort. the U.N. had gathered too many resources against them, and SHIELD was riding high in its efforts to reclaim and jail, if not rebrand, its three rogue assets.
wanda was laying low in edinburgh. steve, in rome, where they had resources of their own to collect.
natasha, it seems, has been made one too many times by too many agencies. completely burned. and their last fight left them all bruised in some way.
she enters the village with a straight spine, calm and gently gracious with her hosts, but... there's exhaustion carved in shadows under her eyes, in the slight strain of her walk — the right knee, maybe. long distance banter had been a welcome reprieve, but life on the run had been a touch harder this time around. probably because she was with people she cared for, who deserved better than shadows.
her attendants lead her down the path where a group of huts are comfortably spaced apart, and there he is. the one she likes to joke with, the one who's nearly killed her twice. is that a new arm? nat bows her head to the village guides as they depart, and she sets her pack down, squaring her shoulders. ]
You look good, Barnes. [ her lips quirk mildly to one side. ] Or should I say, neighbor.
[ And there she is, like a slow motion walk, like there should be explosions in the background that she doesn't turn to look at. It's complex, the two of them, it's a rough history of trigger words and figuring out who had the better training the hard way and never really settling the debate, and the cut of their collective jib. He's not sure where they stand, aside from tentative allies with what he assumes is a mutual understanding for similarities in their past. Beyond that, it's uncharted territory.
And now they're neighbors. Temporarily, at least, because he can't imagine her settling for a life of simplicity and peace no matter how hard he tries; truth be told he's amazed he's been able to have that himself for so long. ]
Guess they're letting just anyone in here these days. [ He comments wryly, unmoving from his casual lean into the doorway of his hut. His tone is dry, flat, it might be considered apathetic if she couldn't catch that subtle lacing of humor woven in. ] There goes the market value.
[ nothing will ever be truly settled with them, debates or otherwise. maybe that's the draw. there's always a million somethings to figure out, to keep you up at night. there's one thing natasha feels confident enough to remove from the pile now, though.
he doesn't frighten her. very few things ever truly could, but he had been one.
she takes two steps closer to him, close enough that she'd be on his stoop were they in brooklyn, and without a chaperone at that. ]
Now, that's not very neighborly. [ she folds her own arms across her chest, mirroring him. ] Did they neglect to tell you that you'll be my personal tour guide for the duration of my stay?
[ Maybe he should frighten her. He frightens himself, sometimes; he's frightened for the people of Wakanda sometimes. He's afraid that all the work they do on his mind to dismantle the ticking time bomb within it is pointless, that at any moment he might revert and snap her fragile neck the second she lets her guard down. He'd do it and he wouldn't even be able to stop his own hands, though he'd feel it crystal clear.
How dare she come into his stoop telling him all kinds of this-and-that.
An eyebrow arches a little, cross between amusement and disbelief. ]
That right? [ He asks, though he knows she's full of shit. He uncrosses those arms, spreads them out a bit on either side in a vaguely welcoming gesture. ] Alright, you got it.
[ He gestures vaguely at her hut, then his. ]
That's where you sleep. This is where I sleep, and-
[ A general gesticulation toward the hay-filled pen a few hundred yards south. ]
[ if he goes south, she'll adjust. she's handled him before and she'll do it again. at least he's in the right place to be put back together if he falls apart. natasha is very, very glad of their newfound friendship with t'challa.
should he end up fighting anyone, it ought to be her. she knows him in the field better than anyone, even if that experience came with scars for her efforts.
in the meantime, they both make do with what they have; they're good at it in equal shares. natasha lets him finish his little show, blinks and smiles pleasantly at him, and replies, ]
Why, yes. The bathtub? I brought the conditioner.
[ did you think she'd forgotten, you little smartass? ]
[ The sound that comes out of him is a genuine, legitimate snort. It's a laugh in disguise, pretending to be an exasperated scoff. Yeah, far be it from him to hope they'd pretend their midnight texting spree never happened. He's not all that up to date on selfie culture, but he has a feeling it's meant to be embarrassing. Rightly so, because it is.
He's just gonna gloss over that question and bring the conversation back to something a little more serious. ]
What happened? You okay? [ He asks solemnly, doing exactly zero beating around the bush. It can't be good, he imagines, and judging by the faltering in her gait, it resulted in an injury. She's still got both legs, at least, but she's not one to back down from a threat unless it's significant. On top of that, he hasn't had the chance to check in with Steve, so he tacks on a: ] He okay?
[ her eyes drop down somewhere to about elbow-level as she composes herself for the tonal shift. it's a sensitive topic change, although she appreciates the concern. she makes sure to have eye contact with him again, face relaxed, before she replies — it all took only half a second. ]
I'm fine. He's fine. [ there, she takes a chance, reaches out and touches his wrist; a soothing gesture. the bond between him and steve really bears no words. ] He'll call you from a new number once he's fully situated in Rome, he says.
[ natasha lets go, leans against the opposite side of his doorway. it looks casual, conversational. maybe it just helps to put weight on the left leg. ]
They had one too many headhunters this time, that's all. We need to throw them off the scent for a while.
[ Half a second in Russian Assassin time may as well be a year, it's a chink in otherwise flawless armor and it's smallness is what makes it profound. The concern settles in upon his chest, truthfully perhaps more for Steve than her considering she's standing whole and intact before him presently.
He does his best not to startle at the touch; aside from throwing punches they've never had the opportunity to be tactile, and aside from Steve he doesn't get very hands-on with people. Fingers flicker, but otherwise he's stone still like someone trying not to spook a horse or something.
Rome. Interesting choice, but considering it's not the first or second place to pop into his mind it's probably a good one. He'll be harder to track if he's situated somewhere unpredictable, given their global status that's starting to become hard to do. Lips purse in distaste as though he wants to press for more, but the weakness she's willing to display now is as far as he wants to push his luck. ]
They've got something here that'll fix it. [ He mutters, nodding toward her knee. ] You should get it looked at, maybe get some rest. Gonna be hard to outrun me with a torn ACL.
[ There may be a joke thrown in at the end, but it's an otherwise sincere sentiment. Shuri has beads that can repair damaged muscle fiber and cartilage in the snap of her fingers. ]
Edited (gently unfucks the formatting) 2018-05-28 08:29 (UTC)
[ natasha reads the tension and files it away, but she's glad she tried it all the same. he reacted better than she thinks he might have months ago. it's a good sign for his progress. and oddly... she finds herself caring quite a bit about that. mostly for steve's sake, she supposes. (but maybe just 'mostly.')
her expression remains placid enough as he remarks on her leg; his attention to detail is as sharp as hers, and she quietly curses him for it with a toothless smile. ]
If it were really torn, do you think I'd be standing upright here with you?
[ that's a deflection. it's second nature for them to downplay any defect, any injury. ]
I'll see to it, though. Thanks.
[ and she does. it turns out she's capable of taking advice when it's sound, when it's a matter of making herself ready for the field again. the next few days are spent going back and forth between the palace and village — first for initial treatment, then for follow up therapy, and some for discussions with t'challa. he has tabs he likes to keep, and she doesn't blame him. she makes sure to set up a connection line between him and steve, and after that he seems to... not exactly relax, but settle back into his boots a bit.
time at the village is spent repairing wells for the women who carry water, and watching with a bit of muted fondness and interest as bucky constructs buildings and tends to goats. she hasn't asked yet if they have names, but she realizes she wants to.
tonight will be the first night she spends in her hut and not the palace, now that t'challa is satisfied with their arrangement. ]
[ He answers flatly, because it'd be so god damn typical of her to stand there defiantly with a broken leg or a shattered knee or some other insane injury just to prove she could do it and make all the men around her look like dainty tulips. He's glad to hear from Shuri later, though, that she's been seen to.
He gives her space. He works most of the day, keeping himself busy with anything his skillset can contribute. He mends things, or feeds things, or farms things, or grows things. He passes by her hut twice daily, casting a glance at it on his way in and out, observing the emptiness each night and moving on.
Until one night it isn't, and he figures he may as well officially welcome her to the neighborhood. It's just past sundown when he arrives, ducking into the open door of her hut and clearing his throat. There's a bottle in his left hand, carried gently by the neck, something dark and red and brandless. ]
Hey.
[ Not much of a greeting, but he's not much of a people person, so. ]
[ when he arrives natasha's got her full bodysuit zipped up, woolen blanket bunched around her feet as she crouches over the fire pit where she's clearly made a hasty pile of firewood. she casts a flat stare, not quite a glower but none too impressed with him at the moment, concentration broken. the wine bottle goes ignored for the moment. ]
You.
[ she lights and loses another match; the wind outside is picking up. some of the villagers outside mentioned incoming weather. ]
You could have mentioned something about the evening temperature drops.
What, you thought bribing you a hundred bucks for overnight shipping to Wakanda was seriously because of my fashion sense?
[ Is his defensive retort, and by the way, guess what he's wearing. Captain One Arm is snug as a bug in a rug thanks to a jacket designed for romanian winters. Truth be told he does feel a little sympathy for her, they're in an area with a pretty strange climate, it takes some getting used to. She may be adept at surviving nearly every civilization known to man, but clearly she was never a girl scout.
If it looks like he's judging her for her weak attempt at a fire, it's because he is. You don't just throw lit matches over and over again, Natasha, jesus. He snorts, shakes his head, and all but hoists the bottle of wine at her. ]
Move over.
[ Let him fix this into something that might actually keep her warm for more than ten minutes at a time. A little poking around at her garbage kindling seems to remedy the situation, and he builds something worthwhile with quiet and practiced ease. ]
[ listen, boy scout assassin, she's tired and caught off guard and maybe not at the top of her game. most of her mental faculties are taken up with worry about her teammates scattered to the four winds. if she'd had two more minutes she'd have had it sorted out, but bucky just — interrupted her.
granted, he'd been doing her a favor, with the wine she's now holding.
and he still is.
but the way she makes room for him is slightly less than falling over herself with gratitude. there are few things natasha hates more than being shown up in a rare moment of weakness. what's more, it's in front of a former enemy. he may not be that man anymore, but he remembers being that man, and that's enough.
she glances at him sideways, through her hair. takes a deep breath once the fire looks healthy, adjusts the blanket over her lap. the bench where they sit is comfortable enough, straw mats and all. ]
I would've been fine in a minute.
[ it's muttered, and though without any heat to it, it's beyond petty. it's also an incredibly skewed version of a thank you. take what you can, barnes. (give nothing back.) ]
[ He's not expecting a thank you, he's not expecting anything at all except for her to be warmer, which is satisfaction all in and of itself. Believe it or not, he's not here to rub his awesome new Wakandan farmhand skills in her face, though apparently that's just the way the night's going tonight. ]
You're welcome.
[ Is his flat reply, unimpressed and dry as the desert in summer. It is what it is. He settles back on his haunches for a moment as though observing his progress, and once he's satisfied, shoves up to settle instead on the bench a few inches from her. Not on the clear opposite side, but with a comfortable couple of inches so she doesn't feel like he's here for something he's not.
Eyes flicker over her, then down to the bottle in her lap. ]
Figured you could use a drink. Maybe some company that isn't wearing a catsuit.
[ T'Challa is a great man and a great host, but he can be a little intense sometimes to outsiders. Unless you're his sister, it's all King Mufasa all the time. ]
[ They're on the balcony, on the outskirts of a party slowly winding down to the last few stragglers and Tony Stark's too-loud music. New York City is spread out beneath them, a dazzling roadmap of lights and distant car horns, sirens, people shouting on the pavement far below — their words indistinct by the time the wind carries them up, but the tone remains. The city is so unchanged from what she remembers in so many little ways. But even with the chill of autumn beginning to chase away the summer, she can still taste smoke and rubbish in the air.
Or maybe that's because she's smoking a cigarette. Nasty habit, she'd said during the war; she'd sworn to stop once the treaties were signed, but it's a reflex born out of battle and sometimes she thinks she's never quite left that part of her life behind. It lends a certain tang to her bourbon that she finds she craves, once in a while. Like tonight. Peggy Carter flicks the ash into the breeze and glances at the woman standing at her side, red lips tugged into a curious twist as she rolls the edge of her glass in circles.
Once, twice. Then: ]
So, [ she begins idly, ] is there anything you want to ask me? [ She doesn't know what prompts her to say as much. It's not like she's so careless as to get drunk. ] It's just I've been reliably informed that the internet likes to exaggerate.
[ Not that she feels Natasha Romanoff is the sort to believe all she reads. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Wakandan Trashcans
So of course she's got to shake things up on a random Tuesday in July, ironically or maybe intentionally independence day. He's not there when her plane lands, but he hears about it shortly thereafter. Some kind of trouble, but nobody seems to know the full extent of the details other than it must be bad if it's driving Black Widow into laying low in a secluded sector of Wakanda.
Steve, apparently, isn't with her which is a whole nother, deeper concern that he'll address with the man later over the phone. Meanwhile, he's on standby when they guide her into the village, arms smoothly crossed, hovering in the entrance to the hut he calls home, expressionless and observing. How's it gonna be, Natalia? ]
we love trash
wanda was laying low in edinburgh. steve, in rome, where they had resources of their own to collect.
natasha, it seems, has been made one too many times by too many agencies. completely burned. and their last fight left them all bruised in some way.
she enters the village with a straight spine, calm and gently gracious with her hosts, but... there's exhaustion carved in shadows under her eyes, in the slight strain of her walk — the right knee, maybe. long distance banter had been a welcome reprieve, but life on the run had been a touch harder this time around. probably because she was with people she cared for, who deserved better than shadows.
her attendants lead her down the path where a group of huts are comfortably spaced apart, and there he is. the one she likes to joke with, the one who's nearly killed her twice. is that a new arm? nat bows her head to the village guides as they depart, and she sets her pack down, squaring her shoulders. ]
You look good, Barnes. [ her lips quirk mildly to one side. ] Or should I say, neighbor.
no subject
And now they're neighbors. Temporarily, at least, because he can't imagine her settling for a life of simplicity and peace no matter how hard he tries; truth be told he's amazed he's been able to have that himself for so long. ]
Guess they're letting just anyone in here these days. [ He comments wryly, unmoving from his casual lean into the doorway of his hut. His tone is dry, flat, it might be considered apathetic if she couldn't catch that subtle lacing of humor woven in. ] There goes the market value.
no subject
he doesn't frighten her.
very few things ever truly could, but he had been one.
she takes two steps closer to him, close enough that she'd be on his stoop were they in brooklyn, and without a chaperone at that. ]
Now, that's not very neighborly. [ she folds her own arms across her chest, mirroring him. ] Did they neglect to tell you that you'll be my personal tour guide for the duration of my stay?
no subject
How dare she come into his stoop telling him all kinds of this-and-that.
An eyebrow arches a little, cross between amusement and disbelief. ]
That right? [ He asks, though he knows she's full of shit. He uncrosses those arms, spreads them out a bit on either side in a vaguely welcoming gesture. ] Alright, you got it.
[ He gestures vaguely at her hut, then his. ]
That's where you sleep. This is where I sleep, and-
[ A general gesticulation toward the hay-filled pen a few hundred yards south. ]
That's where the rhinos sleep. Any questions?
no subject
should he end up fighting anyone, it ought to be her. she knows him in the field better than anyone, even if that experience came with scars for her efforts.
in the meantime, they both make do with what they have; they're good at it in equal shares. natasha lets him finish his little show, blinks and smiles pleasantly at him, and replies, ]
Why, yes. The bathtub? I brought the conditioner.
[ did you think she'd forgotten, you little smartass? ]
no subject
He's just gonna gloss over that question and bring the conversation back to something a little more serious. ]
What happened? You okay? [ He asks solemnly, doing exactly zero beating around the bush. It can't be good, he imagines, and judging by the faltering in her gait, it resulted in an injury. She's still got both legs, at least, but she's not one to back down from a threat unless it's significant. On top of that, he hasn't had the chance to check in with Steve, so he tacks on a: ] He okay?
no subject
I'm fine. He's fine. [ there, she takes a chance, reaches out and touches his wrist; a soothing gesture. the bond between him and steve really bears no words. ] He'll call you from a new number once he's fully situated in Rome, he says.
[ natasha lets go, leans against the opposite side of his doorway. it looks casual, conversational. maybe it just helps to put weight on the left leg. ]
They had one too many headhunters this time, that's all. We need to throw them off the scent for a while.
no subject
He does his best not to startle at the touch; aside from throwing punches they've never had the opportunity to be tactile, and aside from Steve he doesn't get very hands-on with people. Fingers flicker, but otherwise he's stone still like someone trying not to spook a horse or something.
Rome. Interesting choice, but considering it's not the first or second place to pop into his mind it's probably a good one. He'll be harder to track if he's situated somewhere unpredictable, given their global status that's starting to become hard to do. Lips purse in distaste as though he wants to press for more, but the weakness she's willing to display now is as far as he wants to push his luck. ]
They've got something here that'll fix it. [ He mutters, nodding toward her knee. ] You should get it looked at, maybe get some rest. Gonna be hard to outrun me with a torn ACL.
[ There may be a joke thrown in at the end, but it's an otherwise sincere sentiment. Shuri has beads that can repair damaged muscle fiber and cartilage in the snap of her fingers. ]
no subject
her expression remains placid enough as he remarks on her leg; his attention to detail is as sharp as hers, and she quietly curses him for it with a toothless smile. ]
If it were really torn, do you think I'd be standing upright here with you?
[ that's a deflection. it's second nature for them to downplay any defect, any injury. ]
I'll see to it, though. Thanks.
[ and she does. it turns out she's capable of taking advice when it's sound, when it's a matter of making herself ready for the field again. the next few days are spent going back and forth between the palace and village — first for initial treatment, then for follow up therapy, and some for discussions with t'challa. he has tabs he likes to keep, and she doesn't blame him. she makes sure to set up a connection line between him and steve, and after that he seems to... not exactly relax, but settle back into his boots a bit.
time at the village is spent repairing wells for the women who carry water, and watching with a bit of muted fondness and interest as bucky constructs buildings and tends to goats. she hasn't asked yet if they have names, but she realizes she wants to.
tonight will be the first night she spends in her hut and not the palace, now that t'challa is satisfied with their arrangement. ]
no subject
[ He answers flatly, because it'd be so god damn typical of her to stand there defiantly with a broken leg or a shattered knee or some other insane injury just to prove she could do it and make all the men around her look like dainty tulips. He's glad to hear from Shuri later, though, that she's been seen to.
He gives her space. He works most of the day, keeping himself busy with anything his skillset can contribute. He mends things, or feeds things, or farms things, or grows things. He passes by her hut twice daily, casting a glance at it on his way in and out, observing the emptiness each night and moving on.
Until one night it isn't, and he figures he may as well officially welcome her to the neighborhood. It's just past sundown when he arrives, ducking into the open door of her hut and clearing his throat. There's a bottle in his left hand, carried gently by the neck, something dark and red and brandless. ]
Hey.
[ Not much of a greeting, but he's not much of a people person, so. ]
no subject
You.
[ she lights and loses another match; the wind outside is picking up. some of the villagers outside mentioned incoming weather. ]
You could have mentioned something about the evening temperature drops.
no subject
[ Is his defensive retort, and by the way, guess what he's wearing. Captain One Arm is snug as a bug in a rug thanks to a jacket designed for romanian winters. Truth be told he does feel a little sympathy for her, they're in an area with a pretty strange climate, it takes some getting used to. She may be adept at surviving nearly every civilization known to man, but clearly she was never a girl scout.
If it looks like he's judging her for her weak attempt at a fire, it's because he is. You don't just throw lit matches over and over again, Natasha, jesus. He snorts, shakes his head, and all but hoists the bottle of wine at her. ]
Move over.
[ Let him fix this into something that might actually keep her warm for more than ten minutes at a time. A little poking around at her garbage kindling seems to remedy the situation, and he builds something worthwhile with quiet and practiced ease. ]
no subject
granted, he'd been doing her a favor, with the wine she's now holding.
and he still is.
but the way she makes room for him is slightly less than falling over herself with gratitude. there are few things natasha hates more than being shown up in a rare moment of weakness. what's more, it's in front of a former enemy. he may not be that man anymore, but he remembers being that man, and that's enough.
she glances at him sideways, through her hair. takes a deep breath once the fire looks healthy, adjusts the blanket over her lap. the bench where they sit is comfortable enough, straw mats and all. ]
I would've been fine in a minute.
[ it's muttered, and though without any heat to it, it's beyond petty. it's also an incredibly skewed version of a thank you. take what you can, barnes. (give nothing back.) ]
no subject
You're welcome.
[ Is his flat reply, unimpressed and dry as the desert in summer. It is what it is. He settles back on his haunches for a moment as though observing his progress, and once he's satisfied, shoves up to settle instead on the bench a few inches from her. Not on the clear opposite side, but with a comfortable couple of inches so she doesn't feel like he's here for something he's not.
Eyes flicker over her, then down to the bottle in her lap. ]
Figured you could use a drink. Maybe some company that isn't wearing a catsuit.
[ T'Challa is a great man and a great host, but he can be a little intense sometimes to outsiders. Unless you're his sister, it's all King Mufasa all the time. ]
no subject
Or maybe that's because she's smoking a cigarette. Nasty habit, she'd said during the war; she'd sworn to stop once the treaties were signed, but it's a reflex born out of battle and sometimes she thinks she's never quite left that part of her life behind. It lends a certain tang to her bourbon that she finds she craves, once in a while. Like tonight. Peggy Carter flicks the ash into the breeze and glances at the woman standing at her side, red lips tugged into a curious twist as she rolls the edge of her glass in circles.
Once, twice. Then: ]
So, [ she begins idly, ] is there anything you want to ask me? [ She doesn't know what prompts her to say as much. It's not like she's so careless as to get drunk. ] It's just I've been reliably informed that the internet likes to exaggerate.
[ Not that she feels Natasha Romanoff is the sort to believe all she reads. ]