widows_kiss | Appointments Post

[Bucky hasn't exactly been having the time of his life waiting around for news, so when Steve gets home that evening he's glad to see him to say the least, even if he looks a hell of a lot worse for the wear. He finds out why not long after; the options they had, and the choices they made, and would live with. It's a lot of lives to have on your head, even if they're not people anyone is on good terms with.

It's with this in mind that he goes to find Natasha that night, leaving her a quick note to let her know he'll swing by. He lets himself in, a bottle in a brown bag tucked under his arm.]

Honey, I'm home.

She's curled up on the couch in her living room. And not alone, although the dog curled up with her isn't what one would normally call 'company'. Lucky seemed to have a sixth sense about when someone needed something to cuddle, and he'd shown up at her doorstep, tail wagging happily to see her, moments after she'd gotten back home. Unpacking could wait. Instead, she curled up with the dog until the voice from the doorway drew her attention. She hadn't been worried, she'd heard the key in the lock, which had meant it was him.

She managed a crooked smile when he came in, although there was a tired air about her as she met his gaze.

"Shouldn't that be my line?"

Bucky sets the bottle down on the side table and leans over so he can brush her curls aside and kiss her forehead.

"I had to steal it. Some lucky dog beat me to the 'welcome home.'" Lucky's tail wags, like he knows he's being talked about, and Bucky scratches him behind the ear. "Got room for one more there?"

She leans up into that kiss, eyes sliding closed for a moment as she enjoys the simple affection, the familiarity of it. Although his comment has her chuckling as she watches him pet Lucky, then shifts over slightly, making room.

"What can I say? He has good timing. And I suppose we can make a little room," she adds, patting the cushion beside her invitingly.

Bucky settles down in the space she leaves him, and nudges her so she'll rest her head in his lap. He brushes cards his fingers into her hair, brushing it away from her face.

"Steve told me what happened out there. How're you doin', sweetheart?"

She readjusts easily enough, stretching out comfortably and enjoying the solid warmth of his thigh as a pillow, letting her eyes slide closed when his fingers brush through her curls. Lucky shifts, resettling comfortably with a soft huff as she scratches behind his ears.

She doesn't open her eyes at the question, but one shoulder lifts almost imperceptibly. "Probably better than Steve. Is he alright?"

"He will be." Bucky replies, which is the truth, if only a portion of it. He doesn't know what else to tell her. Steve might not be the boy scout everyone seems to think he is, but genocide isn't really the kind of thing you shrug off. Not for someone like Steve, and not for someone like Natasha either.

He doesn't stop playing with her hair. "You gonna tell me what's goin' on in that head of yours?"

It's a sincere question. If she doesn't want to talk yet, they won't.

She can feel his eyes watching her and she turns her head slightly until she can stare up at him above her, her expression steady and solemn. "Are you sure you want to know what's going on in there?" she countered instead of answering.

"That's what I'm here for." He replies, just as steady. "You know, besides looking pretty and giving you a boost when we need to get your bra down from the ceiling fan."

She laughs at that, soft and amused, her eyes closing as she turns her head into his light touch, soaking up the reassurance of it. "You're here for far more than that. Although yes, those are a nice added bonus."

It's good to hear her laugh. Genuinely, even. And more than that, it's good to have her solid weight against him, safe and whole in the most essential ways. He knows she can look after herself. It's just a nice thing to be reminded of.

"The foot-warming services are implied." He adds, grinning at her. "Talk, Romanoff. Or am I gonna have to interrogate you?"

She gave a quiet snort at that, lips quirking faintly. "It wouldn't do you any good. You'd never make it thirty seconds," she countered, opening one eye to peer up at him. "There's nothing to talk about. Steve told you the details. We were sent there to do a job. We saw an opportunity. We took it. End of story."

She was totally lying through her teeth, but it looked damned convincing.

"That's true, but it really hurts my ego, just so you know." He tugs gently at one of her curls. "If there was nothing to talk about, you wouldn't be trying so damn hard to avoid it."

"I'll be sure to stroke it some later to make up for the bruising," she countered wryly, batting lightly at his hand when he tugged on her curls. "Am I avoiding it? Hmm. Maybe you're getting better at this interrogation thing after all."

She fell silent for a moment, a long moment, staring off across the room at nothing in particular. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet, subdued.

"We did what we thought we needed to do. We chose the best option out of the ones given to us."

Bucky chuckles, though admittedly that distracts him for just a second. "I've got a good teacher. She lets me cheat."

He lets her have her moment, and he's silent after it too. If he's honest, he doesn't know how he feels about this. Logically, it's sound. It was the best choice they could have made. But when he thinks about a bomb, about that much death, it's just cultist bodies in the place of countless others. It's bombed out buildings and pits full of decay, and the smell of flesh burning. It's not the same at all, but that's his only frame of reference. He doesn't know how any of them made this choice because he's not sure he'd have been strong enough to do it.

There's a moment of silence again after she speaks, before he asks, "Are you telling me, or telling yourself?"

Another long pause and she blinks, her fingers curling into the fabric of his pants.

"I don't know."

He puts his hand over hers, squeezing gently.

"I dunno what to tell you, sweetheart. You're right. You picked the best option you had."

"That doesn't really make it better, does it?" she asked quietly, turning her hand so she could thread her fingers with his.

"No. No, it doesn't."

"I didn't miss this part of it," she confesses after a moment of silence that falls between them again. "Working with SHIELD, for SHIELD... I didn't have to make decisions like this. They weren't about that. I thought I'd left all this behind me. I'd hoped I had."

"I wish you could have, sweetheart." He really, really does, for all wishing will get them.

"You're still not the person you used to be." He's silent for a moment before eh adds. "And you're not a monster, either. You made a choice. A lot of you made the same one. I don't know that there's a moral high ground here. Sometimes it's just... Our people or their people."

"Isn't that what it always comes down to?" She gives a soft laugh at that, but it sounds tired. Not at all herself. She lets her eyes close a moment, too many memories drifting too close to the surface. Faces she doesn't want to see. Then she pushes herself upright abruptly, scratching Lucky's head apologetically for unsettling his position.

"What's done is done. Hopefully there's something good in that bag."

A change of subject, because she's not going to argue with him. Not about this. There's too much he doesn't know and too much she can't tell him. Doesn't want to tell him. He doesn't fully know the person she used to be. Not yet.

Bucky can't say that he knows anymore. It feels like that here, and it used to sometimes, back home. He'd thought things were simple, fighting Hydra with the Commandos, but now he wonders if some of those people didn't have stories like hers, didn't have a choice. Maybe she's right.

Lucky isn't the only one startled when she sits up, but Bucky automatically lifts his hand to let her re-settle. It's not a smooth change of topic, as far as Natasha goes, but he lets her have it. As much as he might have heard, that part of her life isn't a part of his.

"I guess we'll see. You want something to eat?"

"No." She shakes her head, because with the way her stomach feels right now, food's probably a bad idea. Not that alcohol's a great one, but she's not worried about her stomach's reaction to that. "Just a drink. Or two. Maybe it'll help me sleep."

"Cups or bottles?" Bucky teases, but he kisses her temple and gets up to fetch a couple of glasses.

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