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.]

Comments

[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.

[redactions]

[ He nods. ]

I will. I'm going to move him to my ship, in case you ever want to visit.

[tothefly]

...You're encouraging the cats and dogs to play together??

[Wry humor, there. He has to know at least a little what he's risking by making the suggestion. Though she guesses it could be a warning, as much as anything.]

[redactions]

[ He smiles wryly at her, something worn and old creasing his brow. ]

I have faith.

[tothefly]

Guess that almost counts as a plan.

[She returns that smile with the ghost of one of her own. They'll see how it goes, won't they?]

I'll see you tomorrow, Captain.