[ 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. ]
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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. ]