IC Voicemail, Driftfleet:

[tothefly]

[There is no recording, just a few clicks and a beep.]

[Leave any IC voice messages or texts for Natasha here.]

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[tothefly]

[She's no different than them, but she's always been a private person. Her personal life stays just that--and it's the last thing she's going to give this audience. Seeing her with all her guard down. She's always careful, to keep herself walled off. No matter the situation, the person, flirtatious banter or meaningful looks, she is unreachable, untouchable. There's a boundary that says this far, and no further, to everyone, whether or not they grasp the subtleties. Looking is occasionally permitted, but never touching.]

[But then, she's not had to worry about that once with him, and it's as much comfort as the rest of their stilted, strained relationship. Maybe he doesn't know her all that well, but he knows Natasha, knows what Natasha is and what she can be, appreciates it with looks like that, and keeps the careful distance she requires. It's enough. To be appreciated, but not threatened. Not tempted.]

[So she stretches, muscles lithe and limber, body responding to what may as well be wishes, and after a moment she stands to finish.]

Can't do the rest until I get this cast off. I feel like I'm losing my edge.

[redactions]

[ All in perfect form, typical Natasha. ]

Mm. [ absently, ] I think a couple of days more would do it.

[ He uncrosses his legs, and sits with his back to the wall, rolling his shoulders to ease any stiffness. ]

Thank you.

[ For letting him see. It doesn't matter if this was half an act, another play, one more twisting thread in the web. For the time he was here, it was real, and that's what matters. ]

[tothefly]

Beverly said it looked like another week. I'm supposed to go by again in four days to see if it's fine.

[Perfection takes a lot of work, but it's soothing. Almost a kind of mediation, for her. He sits, and she moves to the window, leaning back against the heavy, cold glass, silhouetted by stars. A beat, a breath, then:]

You're welcome.

[Meant in both ways. She's always putting on an act these days, performing for an unseen audience, but at least some of what this is, is genuine. As much as she can let it be.]

[redactions]

[ Perfection does take a lot of work, as it's punishing to both body and mind. Buck taps his fingers on his knee idly, and gets straight to the point: ]

I need to learn Russian. He's fluent, mine's only conversational.

[ Enough for a short term cover, and nothing more. ]

[tothefly]

[She's already still, but manages to go even more still at his words. No need to ask who he means, or to ask if he knows what he's asking from her. He knows. She answers with a moment of thoughtful silence, followed by a question.]

You don't think it's a better idea to get him used to English again?

[Languages hold memories, after all. She knows this intimately.]

[redactions]

I don't want to put him in a box, [ he answers, softly. Not a correction. An offer of information, the next step in this long slow waltz. ] and he reverts to Russian when he's stressed or comfortable. I need to know what he's saying.

[ And after a moment of unhappily pressing his lips together, ]

And if they did that — there might be trigger phrases in Russian, too. We should try and figure it out. He hasn't done anything besides your encounter, but something like the Winter Soldier doesn't just disappear because he's not actively using it.

[tothefly]

[It's clear he's thought about this. Not just looking at it optimistically, hopefully, but practically. Any trigger words or phrases they'd buried in his mind would have to be teased free carefully. Otherwise, they could all end up paying the price.]

[She cocks her head to the side, a gesture not quite a nod, and her fingertips trace indecipherable patterns on the glass.]

What did he tell you?

[About their meeting. She'd mentioned it to him, of course, but she'd been light on the details. Neither one of them was dead, or missing anything important. That was all that had mattered.]

[redactions]

[ It feels like approval, of a kind, and he's emboldened by it. James Barnes never gave a whit what other people thought of him, never walked with the rest of the flow. Just -- her opinion matters, deeply. He'd like to be in her good graces. ]

Nothing. I didn't ask him, so he didn't offer. I could order him to, but [ he shrugs ] you're alive, you handled it.

[tothefly]

[Approval, yes. Especially at his words. She's alive, she'd handled it. It shows in the slight shift of her shoulders, a softening in the line of her mouth. Guess you could teach an old dog new tricks.]

He does well with orders. Comfortable with them. Probably better to save that for when it's necessary.

Only spoken Russian, or written, too?

[redactions]

Spoken. I don't think they let him write, much, he holds everything like he's about to stab somebody with it.

[ He scrubs a hand down his face, but he too has eased up unconsciously, mirroring her. ]

Orders are always necessary at this point. He wouldn't even eat until I said so. [ What kind of master does that? ] It's going to be a long, long time before we can break that. Priority is convincing him the mission is pointless and HYDRA doesn't have his best interests at heart.

[ Waiting for his shot. He's patient. Spiders are patient, too. ]

I thought it'd be harder, but it's like he just — doesn't want to. [ A soft huff. ] He's adjusting way easier than I did, anyway. I don't think it's an act. If it is, it's a very good one.

[tothefly]

[She listens as he talks about his observations, what the Soldier is here. She can admit to some of that being self-preservation, the predator looking for a weakness. But some of it...some of it's for that 'we,' the plural she can't quite seem to contradict. She may not be able to help him outright, but this much she might be able to do. Besides she owes a debt to Steve. Even if he isn't here, maybe this will help to pay it.]

[A decision, then. Made with a sharp, decisive motion of her head.]

It isn't an act. He wasn't taught to act. Just to fight, and to take orders. They took him apart and put him back together so many times he's forgotten how to be human. They made him a weapon. Anything left of the man...it's pieces at best.

[The words aren't intentionally cruel. Just honest. She's that with him, at least, as much as she can be. Evasive, but she hasn't lied to him outright.]

[redactions]

[ Do her reasons really matter, if she's offering plain and honest (useful) advice like this? He listens raptly, expression calm but thoughtful. ]

I don't need him to be Bucky.

[ It's a firm correction of the trajectory she's seeing. He can't in good conscience box in another man, not after what HYDRA's done to him. ]

He might be James Buchanan Barnes. Who that is, it's up to him.

[tothefly]

[He takes her words for what they are, and it's enough. Whatever his expectations are, he's got them under control, it looks like, and she tilts her head again, looking at him with unblinking eyes.]

And what if he wants to be someone other than James Buchanan Barnes?

[He's never going to be Bucky again. Bucky died in the war, would have died even if he came back. Every soldier died on their first battlefield, in some way. It's the price of war. But what if he decided he wanted to be the Soldier? What if...]

[redactions]

[ She says, what if he decides to hurt us? and it stops him in his tracks. He's silent, listening, calculating — ]

It'd be his choice.

[ And wherever that led, they'd do their best to be ready for it. ]

If it's us or him — [ he sighs, heavily ] then we do what is necessary.

[ Even then, he doesn't know whether he'd be able to pull the trigger on his alternate. If he hurt Steve or Nat? Sure. Otherwise... it just seems unfair, not to give him as many chances as he can. He's not at fault for what they made him into, but if he chooses the same, does that make it different? ]

[ Bucky huffs, irritated, and quietly, admonishing, ]

Not what Steve would do.

[tothefly]

[He does her the courtesy of considering it, at least. Looks like he is, anyway, and she isn't necessarily expecting anything from him, but what she doesn't get isn't top of the list of responses she'd give him. It doesn't make her look less. It makes her look harder, that look she's had with him since the first time--like he's a puzzle she's trying to work out. Putting together the pieces of a stranger, seeing what the bigger picture is.]

[Unfair, yeah. She gets that. It would be unfair, to not give him the chance--the chance to hurt them, an inner voice says, screams against it with decades-worth of instincts--but her life has never been predicated on fairness. Still, here, she can afford to give him a chance. To give this James Barnes a chance, anyway, to make the Winter Soldier a man again. And she'll plan, for the just in case. He knows she will.]

You'd be surprised what Steve would do, if necessity called. He'd hate himself for it, but if there were no other option...[She shrugs. He might not kill the Soldier, but he'd make sure no one innocent would be hurt, either. If the Soldier went rogue, if he chose to become the Soldier willingly and fully, and no longer at all James Buchanan Barnes? He wouldn't take that risk.]

[redactions]

[ It's not a new reaction, someone trying to puzzle him out, and wearily, he lets her, dropping his shoulders, scrubbing a hand down his face. She's a Natasha. The debt he owes Nat demands honesty on his part, as close as he can come to it. I was drafted. I am thinking about killing a man who's suffered unbelievable pain, because that's the one choice that will hurt worse. ]

[ She will plan, for the just in case. She owes nothing to either James Barnes, one of whom might not be at all. Except two bullet holes, and the Widow pays her debts. ]

[ But she's giving him a chance, to make something of that wreckage. To build and not destroy, when she's caught a glimpse of the cold that lives in him. That's not nothing. ]

[ He smiles, wanly. ]

I'm referring to the regret.

[ He feels none. To hope that he would feels — stupid, somehow. Childish. ]

[ Yes. Hope is for children. ]

[tothefly]

[It might have been true, three months ago, that she owed nothing to either James Barnes. That's still partially true. She owes the Soldier two bullets, but the Soldier isn't James Barnes. And this man in front of her isn't the Soldier. Just someone who might be an ally, who might even be a friend someday. If she can ever afford to have friends in a place like this. It's the kind of place that takes away the second it learns something matters. She's seen it happen to enough people that she doesn't want to risk it. After all, she knows that pain intimately, has no desire to get reacquainted.]

[But she might owe him something, at least, something Steve would give if he were here--help, and honesty, and the chance to change things. She can't give much more than that. She isn't much more than that. But he knows that, doesn't he?]

You'd regret the necessity.

[She doesn't know him, not well, not perfectly--but enough to know that. Not the act, but the need. And he'd still do what needed to be done. That's enough for her.]

[redactions]

[ She doesn't know him, not well, not perfectly, and yet she applies a balm to this — it wasn't even a wound. Bucky drops his hand and he studies her in turn, eyes narrowed, looking for the shift in the puzzle pieces, one more he can write down in the mental category of Romanoff, Natasha. Twelve more steps he has to cross before he catches up, jump a few bridges, fall through some mirrors. ]

[ It's easy to forget she's not his Nat. It's easier still to dance with her. He inhales. ]

I don't want to hurt him.

[ This is the truth, for her to pick apart to its bones. ]

[tothefly]

[She wonders what he sees, looking at her. If he sees just how tired she is, how much work it is to keep up this act, to be so constantly aware of everything around her, keeping everyone just far enough away. Wonders if he notices the tiny lines of frustration, exhaustion, at the corners of her mouth and between her brows. Wonders if he sees her at all, or if all he sees is a ghost. She is what she is, and what she is is sometimes a complicated thing, but she doesn't try to hide that.]

[After all, so far he's known the steps. He's known the choreography, even if he doesn't really know his partner. And he's let her lead the dance. The least she can give him is that look, and the silent answer to it hidden in her eyes.]

But you'd do what needs to be done.

[She's the one who blinks, who looks away, who turns to face the stars and eyes his blurry reflection over her shoulder.]

You aren't the Soldier. You aren't Steve Rogers. I don't even know if you're Bucky Barnes. But you're the one who does what needs to be done, and I appreciate that.

[It's the closest he's getting to a thank you.]

[redactions]

[ If she ever asked, he'd say he sees someone brave. Strong. Impossibly enduring. These are all things that were made, but that doesn't make them less valuable or less admirable. She chose to keep them, after all, when she chose to be the Widow, again, and again. However complicated that choice is. How much it makes the years on her seem far more than they already are. ]

[ Just as he chooses, again, and again, to be either a monster or a ghost. Sometimes both. ]

I understand.

[ You're welcome. ]

Will you teach me Russian?

[tothefly]

если я должен...

[If I must, she says, but more to herself than to him. He isn't forcing. He couldn't. But she has to make this choice. Most people wouldn't look at it this hard. It's just a language, just lessons. But she knows what he's going to do with them.]

My classes aren't easy. Sure you can keep up?

[A callback to their earlier lightness, though neither of them forgets any of this.]

[redactions]

[ He smiles, crookedly. ]

No. I'll do my damn best to. That's a promise.

[tothefly]

Gonna hold you to that, Captain.

[Still the one name that's safe, the one identity she can keep separate.]

Twice a week. Name your place.

[A gesture she's sure he won't miss, honestly, but there are few places he goes that she doesn't as well.]

[redactions]

Your office, on the Windrose.

[ Hopefully she won't see it as charity, but another part of the bridge they're (re)building. ]

[tothefly]

[Not charity. Just familiarity. She might have misread it, another time, but she's learning to take as much as she gives. A dance requires two people, after all. It's a conversation.]

Fine with me. Come by tomorrow, if you have the time.