fic: Revenant (7/?)
Revenant: Chapter Seven
PG-13-ish ; Black Widow/The Avengers/Captain America
summary: Six months after being freed from the Winter Soldier conditioning, James Barnes has been presumed dead until a series of fatal accidents and outright murders makes it clear how he's been planning on spending his time. Natasha understands why she's been sent to track him down, even if she's not sure how she'll feel once he's found. Unfortunately, he's not the only one with revenge in mind.
Part of the Freezer Burn series. Prior reading not required.
She and James rode back to Denver in silence until they saw the first sign telling them that they were approaching the airport.
"Peggy told me I was being an idiot," James said, not looking at her as he drove.
Before yesterday afternoon, Natasha would have asked which time, but she held her tongue then and there. She might not like the consequences to her actions and she might not be pleased with herself even if she still felt she'd done the right thing, but that did not deny that James had been wronged. She'd lost the right to tease him.
"She said I could get angry at you for not warning me, and I am," he continued on, as if she'd asked for clarification. "But the rest is really on me. She said I'd been making a statement and I should have known better than to think it would remain a monologue or that the Russians wouldn't have figured it out on their own even if you hadn't goosed them."
"You weren't being subtle," she ventured to agree. She waited for another two road signs to pass before she said anything else. "I didn't think I was throwing you to the wolves; you're very good at keeping yourself safe. I thought they were about to figure it out and if I could use it while it still had value, then maybe I could get something about Steve."
James didn't reply to that until they were pulling into the rental car place to return the vehicle. "I'm not okay with being blindsided like that. But I'm fine with you trading me in to avenge Steve."
She looked up from where she was digging through her bag for the rental agreement. "Then Peggy was right. You are an idiot."
She got out of the car and went straight to the office without looking back, too angry with him -- and still with herself -- to make sure that they were on the road to mending before they began the next step.
Clint was already in the waiting area by the gate when they arrived, sunglasses on, booted legs outstretched, head tilted back and face mostly covered by a ballcap. He looked like any other Midwesterner, which he was, albeit a hungover one because there came a point when all kinds of exhaustion began to look alike. He appeared to be sleeping, but Natasha knew better. When she and James sat down on the bank of seats across from him, he tilted his head enough that she could see his eyes over the sunglasses and he quirked an eyebrow because of course he'd noticed her and James's body language. She shook her head minutely and he rolled his eyes and tilted his head back, waiting for their flight to be called for boarding. The three of them slept on the flight to Newark, as did most of the other passengers, and Clint, who'd been seated separately from her and James, gave them a critical look when they reconvened inside the terminal at Newark.
"Are you done with whatever it is you two were doing?" he asked with weary asperity. "Because if you're not, I want to know what it is. I'm the one they're going to be pulling aside to ask questions about you two. And I really don't think you guys want to test my creativity when it comes to giving them an answer."
Natasha looked to James, who scratched at his stubble. "We'll be fine," he said. "It's over."
Clint's expression clearly expressed that he didn't think much of their ability to drop hard feelings.
James's ID got him in to SHIELD headquarters on 44th Street without a second glance from the security team. Natasha had seen him pass through a metal detector without setting it off a few times already, but Clint hadn't and he made a face.
"I kinda want to go back to the screener and ask them why they didn't notice the guy with the metal arm, let alone whatever you got hiding on you," he told James seriously as they walked toward the elevator bank. "Technology is all well and good to support, but use your fucking eyes. This is why we get broken into more than the pantry in an orphanage."
The three of them were all orphans, after a fashion, and so it was an apt reference. She was reminded of Steve, who'd confessed to being a pretty successful pantry thief as a child, goaded on by James. She'd teasingly expressed shock that a man with such a legacy for probity would turn out to be such a reprobate and he'd shrugged. "I lie a lot," he'd said simply. "I still do. I just try to make it for the right reasons."
The briefing was held in an auditorium, the large room already well-populated with analysts and some of the Direct Action Team commanders whose regions of specialization covered Venezuala or China or Russia -- Clint greeted Corrales warmly as they entered. Most of the analysts were from same regional special sections, but Natasha recognized HYDRA task force members and a few others from departments that indicated that Fury and Hill were casting a wide net for answers. She nodded in passing to Miranda Tung, who was there as part of the large China Desk contingent, pretending she didn't notice Miranda's shocked expression upon seeing James.
But Miranda was only one of many. James wasn't the sole object of attention as he followed Clint up the stairs, but nearly so. The Russia Desk and especially the reps from the Latveria Desk were murmuring and openly staring even though some of them had been talking to him over video for most of the last week. James looked unaffected to the casual observer, but she could tell by his posture that he was profoundly uncomfortable with the attention and he let out a relieved gust of breath when the Assistant Deputy Director who was going to be running the show stood up to the podium and everyone was required to face front and not sneak peeks behind them.
The updates from the China and Russia desks were mostly still preliminary. The Chinese were understandably furious and the Russians were launching a desperate defense in the court of public opinion as well as through official channels. The border between the two countries was rapidly militarizing even more than usual, the Russian ambassador to China had been in with the General Secretary all day, and Russia was loudly declaiming its innocence at the UN, where nobody was quite taking them seriously. There had been no statements on the Caracas bank robbery at all from Russia, just news releases from the Venezuelans.
The discussion that followed was mostly a more in-depth version of what they'd discussed informally in Wyoming yesterday, assessing possible culprits and likely courses of action and Natasha was unsurprised to see her suggestion that Lukin was behind the bombings as a means to destabilize Russia and therefore Putin treated seriously. There was a heated argument about Lukin's influence inside Russia, with the Latverian Desk reps of the opinion that the Russia Desk analysts were overselling Lukin's role. The response to that was to point out that there was an expert on the matter sitting next to Agent Romanova and maybe he should answer.
ADA Sepulveda interrupted, a smile on his face and steel in his voice, and suggested that the Russia and Latveria Desks could form a working group and come up with their own answers and, if they requested clarification, he was sure Mister Barnes would be happy to lend assistance, but they were paid to do their own thinking. It was the first time James's name had been used and that confirmation seemed to justify a new round of staring and whispering and Natasha -- and Clint on James's other side -- glowered at everyone as if their displeasure could be a force field. James kept his head up, looking past everyone to no particular point at the front of the room, and waited for Sepulveda to start talking again.
There were other directives issued and assignments made, but the meeting broke up without any real new ground covered.
They waited for most of the room to empty out before standing so that James wouldn't have to run the gauntlet twice. Miranda paused and looked up at them, like she might approach, but then she was summoned by her supervisor.
"I'm sorry if this was a waste of your time," Sepulveda apologized. He'd asked them to wait by gesturing with his hand as he'd fielded questions from others. "You were brought in to be instantly deployable, but I think we thought we'd have more to work with by now. You're probably going to get sent right back across the Atlantic, too."
Natasha looked at James for a moment, in case he should correct Sepulveda, but he didn't. "Sleeping in my own bed for a few days won't be the worst SHIELD has done to me," she assured with a smile.
Sepulveda wished James a welcome home, to which he gave an awkward thank you, and, after confirming that they were findable through Tapper, they were told to take the rest of the day off and get over their jet lag. "I know you've both been keeping a hard schedule since Cap's passing."
Natasha had thought about using some of the resources in the SHIELD archives, but James was drawing stares as they moved through the halls, so when Clint suggested that they get out of Dodge quickly, she agreed.
James waited until they were outside and walking up Sixth before confirming that the DAD had no idea where they had been or who they had been with.
"Only people who know are the Avengers, Fury, Hill, Tapper, and the security detail and medical staff at the house," Clint answered. "There was a whole pantomime to get him off the Helicarrier without anyone else knowing he wasn't dead. Including some friends."
"Including the Chinese girl in the blue dress?" James asked. "Is that Miranda?"
"That's Miranda," Clint confirmed with a smile, amused that he knew who she was, but then he sobered. "I wish we could tell her. She's pretty much the only real friend Steve had away from work and we already know she can keep a big fucking secret."
They ended up in Little Brazil for what looked like after-work drinks but was really a quiet planning session. Knowing what SHIELD was doing on the intelligence and analyses fronts, they could speculate on what else would be required and where else it might lead. James wanted to go to Latveria and confront Doom, which Natasha thought was a terrible idea and Clint backed her up.
"You're still thinking like a shit-disturber," he pointed out over caipirinhas and bolinhos de bacalau and pão de queijo. "We are going to have to talk to Doom at some point, but that's gonna be a 'we' and it's gonna be at a time when we have a better idea what the results will be. We can't toss dynamite into the pond to see what comes up so early in the game. We're just gonna end up killing most of the fish."
James looked like he didn't mind killing all of the fish.
"That got you nowhere," Natasha pointed out before he could say so out loud. "That's why you came to us."
She didn't say 'me,' even though that would have been more accurate.
They were debating the likelihood -- the inevitability, really -- of a trip to Russia when Natasha's phone started vibrating. It was Tony, who was calling because he figured she'd have been brought back to NY by now in response to the bombings. He invited her -- and Clint when she said he was with her -- to dinner; Bruce had gotten in this morning for an already-scheduled visit to New York and it would be like a little reunion. "Just without the big blond guys." Tony sounded a little off and Natasha didn't need to wonder why; out of all of them, Tony had taken Steve's incapacitation the hardest. Not falling-into-a-bottle hard, although there had definitely been a few bouts of that, but hard enough.
They hadn't all been together since before Steve had been shot. The last time might have even been at Steve's place, a dinner party he'd thrown for no real reason but that he could and everyone was around, or at least gatherable. He'd been a relaxed, easy host -- he always was -- and Tony had teased him mercilessly about his domesticity.
Here and now, Natasha looked at James and Clint before replying. "The two of us are actually the three of us. I don't think--"
"Are they interesting?" Tony cut in, that off-note ringing brassily again. He didn't sound drunk, but he had that edge of... not desperation, but something she recognized from her Natalie days as the potential for trouble on the horizon. "Bring 'em."
"I don't think it's a good idea," she said again, keeping her tone easy. Across from her, James was watching with wary curiosity and Clint with something a little more aware.
"Is it Barnes?" Tony asked.
"How did you know?" She didn't hide her surprise.
Tony chuckled, a little darkly but mostly amused. "If you don't think I haven't had that name tagged to send up flares any time anyone at SHIELD types it out, you don't know me very well."
Tony routinely hacked SHIELD's network, something Fury was not as ignorant about as he pretended to be, but while most of what he did was to protect himself, flagging James's name had been to protect Steve. In case Fury chose not to tell him something. In case she chose not to defy Fury's wishes not to tell him something, too, but Tony was probably gracious enough to leave that part out.
"I know you well enough," she replied archly. "Which is why I'm saying that I'm not sure it's a good idea."
In whatever limbo she and James were in right now, with whatever disorder there'd been over the last day, she still felt responsibility toward him and dropping him headfirst into an intimate gathering of Steve's closest associates -- his closest friends -- was not something done lightly. Or possibly at all on his first day really back in the world as James Barnes, erstwhile Commando, and not in the tiny bubble that had been the house in Wyoming. He'd been uncomfortable surrounded by strangers at SHIELD and they'd largely left him alone save for the rude staring. This would not be that.
"No, bring him," Tony insisted. "It'll be fine. Bruce is here, nothing's going to get too loud."
The brassy edge of his voice had disappeared, replaced by something gentler and more knowing. Understanding. Which was probably why, after Clint's subtle nod (he would have guessed the context by now), she agreed.
"We don't have to go," Natasha told James after she'd explained.
"But you think we should," he finished. He'd looked less than overjoyed at the news, but like he was prepared to endure it nonetheless.
"From a purely pragmatic standpoint, if doing what we need to do comes down to operating outside of SHIELD parameters, then Tony can be very useful," she answered. James had read the report on the Doomstadt adventure; he could figure out what she meant.
"On the personal side," Clint added with a tone that made it clear that he didn't think Natasha had considered one and should have, "I think it would do everyone some good."
James looked at her like he was searching for something, but she didn't know what it was, whether it had to do with the last day or the week before it or something else entirely. She held her gaze steady and let him.
He nodded, although she wasn't sure she'd given him an answer.
"Also," Clint added as he drained the last of his drink, not missing the moment at all, "someone else pays for booze and food."
They settled the tab and walked over to Stark Tower.
James was clearly uncomfortable on the elevator ride up, fidgety and steeling himself for what awaited them in the penthouse, but Clint called him on it. "It's dinner, not Fight Club. You could take them all, but you won't have to."
James chuffed out an embarrassed laugh as the doors opened and they entered the apartment, where Pepper and Bruce were sitting on the couch chatting and Tony was standing opening a bottle of wine.
Pepper's look of surprise made it clear that Tony had not mentioned who the extra guest was going to be. She recovered well, as she always did, and rose gracefully, greeting them and introducing herself to James, who asked to be called Bucky with a half-embarrassed shrug.
"I'm glad you're here," she told James, clasping his right hand in both of hers. "Very truly so."
James, stunned a little by the strong emotion, managed a sharp nod and Pepper smiled, biting her lip. Natasha could see the warning signs of unshed tears before Pepper turned away, letting Tony take center stage.
Tony and James looked each other over frankly, but then Tony saw the metal of James's left forearm -- he'd nervously pushed his sleeve up a little on the elevator -- and Natasha could see the wheels start to turn. SHIELD's files on the history of James's arm were thin and mostly outdated; the prosthetic he wore now was of Latverian design and construction and they had nothing on it.
"At the earliest socially acceptable moment, I want to play with your arm," Tony said, eyes still on it.
"I'm not sure there's ever a socially acceptable moment for that, Stark," Clint said from down in the main seating area, where he was talking to Bruce.
"Also, I think I can probably build you a better one," Tony added, reaching out for James's hand and then stopping himself, like he remembered at the last moment that this was The Winter Soldier and there could be unpleasant consequences. That it would be impolite had undoubtedly never crossed his mind.
James took a half-step back and held up both hands in defense, his left a little further out of reach. "This one does everything I need."
"Except blend in," Tony retorted, unfazed and unpersuaded. "It's summer and you're wearing long sleeves to cover up. I can definitely get you something that will look and feel like real skin and won't smell like plastic or industrial lubricant. Not to mention offer up a few other bells and whistles that can come in handy. How's the tactile sensitivity on that thing? We've been working on prosthetics for years. This--"
"Tony," Pepper cut him off firmly. "Stop coveting other people's appendages."
Tony gave her a bright, genuine smile. "Nobody's appendages are coveted more than yours, Pep. And the rest of you, too."
Pepper rolled her eyes and escorted James and Natasha to the main seating area, where Clint and Bruce were waiting.
Bruce's greeting was low-key and James seemed grateful for that. Bruce was in good spirits, mellow and more curious than anything about James, who in turn was curious about the man with the gentle voice and the terrible alter ego.
Natasha greeted Bruce with a smile. She was always a little reserved around him because she and the Hulk had not had the best of relationships. She was the only one he'd tried to kill -- as opposed to batter about indifferently -- and he'd done it twice, although once it had been by proxy, another woman with red hair Steve had had to risk his life to save. Bruce had assured her that the Other Guy's ire was not some passive-aggressive attitude on his part and he was always kind and quietly friendly toward her, but she doubted the two of them would ever have the relationship Bruce had with the others save Thor, whose relationships worked on completely different parameters than anyone else's anyway.
There was wine and beer and a selection of dips and vegetables and breads because Marcel, Tony's personal chef, enjoyed showing off and, she suspected, missed them a little, too. Natasha accepted a glass of white wine from Tony and a small plate dotted with dollops of green and gold and rust and cream and what to dip in them from Pepper and took a seat on the couch facing west, so she could see the rainbow sky of a summer sunset over New York City. She had hated almost all of her time as Natalie Rushman, for various reasons, but there had been small things she did not despise and Tony Stark's penchant for breathtaking vistas and a chance to quietly enjoy them had been one of them.
When she returned her attention to the others, now all set up with drinks and food, they were talking about Steve, which was probably to be expected. Bruce was forbidden near the Wyoming house for different reasons than Tony and Pepper, but it still meant that the three of them had not seen Steve since before his 'death' more than a month ago. While they could get updates -- Fury was very willing to compromise there in exchange for adherence to the ban -- it was not the same.
"... off the respirator, but how does he look?" Tony was asking.
"Pinker," Clint replied. "Less like a wax sculpture."
"And?" Bruce prompted.
"And that's it," Clint answered with a shrug and a sip of his beer. "From the neck up, he still looks like a construction project. From the next down, he looks like he always does except he's lost a little weight and the calluses on his hands are gone."
Natasha hadn't noticed Steve's hands and she felt a little ashamed because if she'd touched him at any point, she would have.
They discussed the setup in Wyoming a little, the layout of the house, the staffing, the security. James finally spoke up, after sitting uneasily and silently next to Clint near Bruce, to say that he was comfortable with it and that he and Natasha had tested it last week and not found it wanting.
"How is Peggy doing?" Pepper asked. "This has all been so very hard on her, but then to uproot her life... I'm sure she never gave it a second thought, but I also know that this was not how she planned the sunset of her days."
Natasha looked over at James, who'd spent the most time with Peggy and seen her at her most vital and her most cognizant of her mortality and been the focus of both extremes. He had been looking down at his beer glass, but maybe sensing her gaze, he looked up and his expression, for a moment long enough that she knew he meant for her to see it, was so very vulnerable. And then he looked away because Pepper was still waiting for an answer and looking at him.
"She's being Peggy Carter," Clint answered before James had to. "Which is still what Nick Fury wants to be when he grows up. Mostly the most badass grandma ever and the entire detail keeps trying to impress her so that they'll be her favorite. The rest of the time, she's bored as fuck and missing her life in Philly."
"She wouldn't change a thing," Natasha added. "She's exactly where she wants to be. Where she needs to be. Even when she's bored."
"Although if Steve doesn't improve faster than he is, she might just get bored enough to become the crystal meth queen of Wyoming," Clint cracked, which necessitated explaining what Peggy was watching on television these days, which made Tony and Pepper and Bruce laugh until they cried.
James smiled a little, but not with any real energy. Natasha thought he was thinking about Peggy, with whom he'd clashed at times, but who was also, as she had been for Steve, the last link he had to his past. Which for James, far more than for Steve, was something precious because it was untouched by the taint that had come after. Natasha didn't think James missed the person he'd been before he'd gone to war, before Schmidt and Zola had gotten their hands on him the first time; she wasn't sure if he even remembered who that man had been. But he missed being Bucky Barnes, Howling Commando, all the more so because he didn't think he could ever be that man again. And that frustrated her because he could be, at least in part, if he'd let himself. Maybe he would, down the line, but it was still too soon. She wouldn't press him on it, at least not yet. So she watched him tonight, mostly silent, not sullen or withdrawn, just with nothing to say and unsure of his place to say anything. This was nothing like her James and, from what she has learned, even less like Bucky, but it was nothing at all like the Winter Soldier and so long as he didn't retreat into that, it would do.
Pepper did try to draw him out, asking him carefully about his status with SHIELD. He explained that he had accepted consultant status for now -- "good choice!" Tony chirped -- but he was unhesitant to add that it was mostly to keep his access to Steve and Peggy.
As they followed the summons to the dining table, Bruce expressed his surprise that James would even go so far as to agree to carry a SHIELD ID at all.
"What Fury wants me to do is more or less what I was going to do anyway," he replied and nobody needs that translated. "If I can do it with SHIELD's resources backing me up, well, all the better. I've been turned out by lesser people for lesser goals and this way, I can still keep an eye on them."
It was a bitter and cynical things to say until it wasn't.
Pepper tried to keep the actual table conversation lighter and without references to murder or dismemberment and, because she was Pepper, succeeded, with one notable exception. But Tony really was fascinated by James's arm.
"Has SHIELD put you up in a hotel or are you stuck in the dormitory?" Bruce asked James as they finished the first course, a summer vegetable galette.
James looked utterly surprised at the question.
"Ah, shit," Clint grumbled. "I knew we forgot something. Is it too late to call the 'Carrier?"
"Why is anyone calling SHIELD for a bed?" Tony asked, perplexed. "You've got a couch, Natasha's got a few surfaces to sleep on, and we've got a few floors of guest accommodations. You call the Helicarrier now, you're going to get a probationary agent who's going to put him up in a Motel Six in Paramus."
Which was probably true on all counts, but Natasha, who had also genuinely forgotten to make lodging arrangements for James, was hesitant to offer her own couch, since it could be interpreted as a gateway to her bed and she was not ready to think about that yet. But offering up the personal spaces of anyone else was forward and might not be welcome. For all that James was calling himself Bucky, however uneasily, and was committed for the time being to work on the on the side of the angels (as defined by Nick Fury), he was still enough of The Winter Soldier, who had shot Natasha once, Clint twice, and killed more than anyone really wanted to count. And that did not necessarily make him ideal houseguest material.
"I don't want to put anyone out," James, clearly sensing, that, said before anyone else could say anything. "I can get a place. SHIELD just told me I get thirty-five years of back pay and a pension from the Army. I can spring for a hotel."
"They gave you your DD-214?" Clint exclaimed, incredulous. "I had to wait to be rung up on treason charges before they gave me mine."
It has been long enough that Natasha didn't flinch at that, but it was a near thing not to wince.
"Please tell me you're going to spend it in more interesting fashion than Captain Boring did," Tony pleaded. "A subscription to MLB Extra Innings and buying out the farmer's market is not exactly living la vida loca."
"You ate very well off of those farmer's market runs," Pepper chided, then turned to James. "You wouldn't be putting us out if you stayed here. There's nobody on the personal guest quarters levels right now, so you'd have privacy, amenities, security, access to JARVIS, and I promise to keep Tony from stealing your prosthetic."
James clearly wanted to decline and Natasha could understand why, even though it was probably the best option. She was almost on the verge of accepting on his behalf when Tony tapped his plate with his knife.
"Steve's place," he announced. "Why don't you stay there? Nobody's using it, it's secure as hell, it's private, you'll recognize the pictures on the wall, and we already know where the creepy SHIELD surveillance is and what to do with it. Because you know wherever they put you that's not here, they're going to try to tag you."
"That's actually a really good idea," Clint admitted.
"I come up with them on a semi-regular basis," Tony replied magnanimously. "But seriously, it's perfect. And I have spare keys."
James nodded, although he didn't look too enthusiastic about it. The matter settled, Tony moved on to the next topic.
Dinner finished and they went out on to the balcony for coffee and dessert and brandy. It was pleasant, if not quite the easy flow of past Avengers social events.
After a polite interval lasting precisely long enough for Tony to eat a couple of berry tarts, he begged and pleaded for James to let him scan the prosthetic arm so that he could start building the newer model.
"It can be a spare!"
Pepper looked pained as she sighed and asked Tony to please stop accosting their guests.
James surprised them all by agreeing. "I have a very mixed history of listening to a Stark say 'Trust me, I know what I'm doing,'" he warned and it was a mark of how eager Tony was that he didn't even flinch at the reference to Howard. But everyone else laughed. Natasha smiled because James hadn't made too many jokes about his life before the Winter Soldier.
Bruce trailed along behind them, shrugging guiltily as Pepper teased him gently for his prurience. But he was smiling as he did it.
"I can see some of the man Steve tried so hard to save," Pepper said when it was just her and Clint and Natasha. Just the ladies, really, because Clint was out on the balcony's lower level aiming the telescope at the stars. "But he's been through so much and those scars are so deep."
Natasha's relationship with Pepper was complicated and discrete from her relationship with Tony. Pepper didn't see her as either a sister or a betrayer, didn't hold Natalie either over Natasha's head or near to her own heart. But Pepper liked Natasha, despite everything, and she respected Natasha, also despite everything, and she saw a kinship of a different sort between them and Natasha... didn't mind. Liked it, actually. She didn't have many friends and few of them were female and if Pepper wasn't quite a friend, she was still a woman Natasha could spend time with and not have to feel like it was a competition or that they were a threat to each other and it was refreshing. And there were, Natasha would grudgingly admit, many things that Pepper could teach her still.
"It's not the same as with Steve, that endless reservoir of grief and pain that he just marched steadily through until he didn't feel it anymore," Pepper went on. "It's so much darker and more damaged. I hope we can do something, even a little bit, to ease that pain. So he'll be in that much better a frame of mind to face Steve for real when the time comes."
And that was why Natasha liked Pepper, in a nutshell. She didn't presume on some imagined sisterhood to ask about Natasha's relationship with James, past or present. And she didn't tell Natasha that it was her obligation, for Steve's sake, to get James's head on straight. She saw the problem with clarity and nuance, acknowledged the scope of it, and then said 'we' and not 'you.'
"Someone should call SHIELD and tell them we're going to be using Steve's place for Barnes," Clint called up from where he was now aiming the telescope at Brooklyn. "Or else Matt Corrales and his boys are going to be busting through the door in tac gear and full magazines before he figures out where the bathroom is."
Natasha frowned. "You have Tapper's number in your phone," she called down.
"He's pissed at me," Clint replied. "This is going to piss him off even more and I'm going to get sent to Egypt again."
"Man up, Agent Barton," Pepper exhorted, smile on her face. "And I have it on good authority that you don't hate Egypt nearly as much as you insist you do."
"You've never driven in Cairo," Clint retorted, but he pulled out his phone anyway. And sent a text instead of making a call.
When it came time to leave, someone had to go with James down to Steve's apartment to show him where it was and how it worked. Natasha wasn't sure it should be her, whether one very long day was enough to make the late night subway ride less awkward than the pre-dawn car ride had been. So she didn't volunteer, let Pepper -- who was discreet, but not blind -- leave it open to James to choose his companion so that he could ask Clint if he wanted.
He asked her.
They walked to the subway with Clint, who was going to continue on foot to his place because it was a nice night. The subway ride was short enough that not talking wasn't a statement or even awkward.
"Jesus," James coughed when they got out in DUMBO, looking around in open surprise at how the neighborhood had changed over the decades. What had once been an industrial zone was now one of the most expensive areas in the city and he shook his head at the places and people they passed on the way to Steve's apartment, a loft in a converted factory. Natasha went up the stairs first, ready to call SHIELD in case they hadn't disarmed the extra security they'd put in place since Steve's shooting, but they had and so she was able to get in easily once she'd figured out the keys and the biometric lock.
She opened the door, turned on the lights, dropped the keys into the little bowl by the doorway, toed off her shoes, and then went to the controls for the central air conditioning because the place was stuffy and warm. James stood by the door, still and observant.
"Come on," she told him, gesturing with a tilt of her head. "The nickel tour awaits."
The apartment was neat but lived-in. SHIELD continued to send their secure cleaning service even after Steve's 'death,' so someone had emptied out the fridge and the fruit bowl and even watered Steve's burgeoning collection of herb pots on the kitchen window ledge. But the rest was the same, evidence of a life interrupted. There was a now-outdated Sports Illustrated folded open on the kitchen island, a US Army baseball cap covering up one of Steve's sketch pads on an accent table, and a half-finished painting on the easel, the line drawing standing out like skeleton bones. It was what Steve had thought he'd be returning to on a warm Monday night in May.
It was hard for Natasha to look at, the immediacy of it all so very strong. James, meanwhile, was both extremely curious and profoundly nervous. He paused in front of everything that really mattered to Steve -- and he found these unerringly, even if they were not what anyone would look at first. A blue bud vase, for instance, imperfectly glazed, that Steve had picked up at the farmer's market because it had reminded him of something he'd had with him from his mother until he'd enlisted. James picked it up, looked it over to possibly see if was the original one, and put it down with a chuckle.
He spared only a passing glance at the row of photos on the mantle, turning away as if by force. If he'd looked longer, he would have seen a silly one of him there, holding a stuffed rabbit toy in one hand and his sniper rifle in the other and grinning, a group photo of the Commandos, and the most recent addition, which had been a present from Tony: a color photo of Steve and James in a pub in London in their service uniforms, ties tucked into their blouses but askew nonetheless, sitting in a booth and leaning against each other at the shoulder, smiling blearily at the camera with matching looks that owed more to exhaustion than alcohol. Howard Stark had taken it and Tony had only found the negative last year, during the search for The Winter Soldier, and he'd held off on giving it to Steve until a couple of months ago.
The apartment was large, but uncomplicated in layout and form, so it didn't take long for James to orient himself. Which was not the same as making himself comfortable, but that was too much to expect right away.
"So this is it," she told him as they stood in the living room. "The rest is pretty self-explanatory. We probably won't have to show up at 44th Street tomorrow, so you'll have some time to get adjusted, or at least start to. You have my number and you have Clint's and Tony's, although he's probably going to--"
"Can you stay?" James asked, embarrassed and apologetic both. "I don't mean... I'm not asking for anything beyond that. I'll sleep on the couch. Just... I think I underestimated how weird this would be. I lived with him for most of my life before..." he trailed off, holding out his left arm, shorthand for everything that has been done to him. "I've washed his underwear and I've worn his socks. This shouldn't be wrong, but that's what it feels like."
Natasha watched him, right hand in his hair and a slightly wide-eyed look on his face. He was overwhelmed and, she thought, ashamed. For asking her for comfort, maybe, but mostly because of who he still felt himself to be.
"You're no less worthy to share his things now than you were then," she told him firmly. She was still feeling the whiplash, a little, of the day's emotional roller coaster, but this was a simple thing to give. "I'll take the couch. I've slept on it before."
She dug out pajamas and a toothbrush from her bag, then helped James find towels in the linen closet.
She was woken up in the middle of the night by James having a nightmare; he cried out in English, she groggily noted before burrowing back down into the cocoon of the sheets. She wouldn't check on him because he'd hate to have his vulnerability reinforced like that.
In the morning, they went out for breakfast because there was no food in the apartment. What had happened between them hadn't been forgotten, but it had maybe been accepted. They could move on. They stopped at the grocery and drugstore for essentials so James could have things in the house even if they were going to be traveling soon. He knew what he wanted, moved around in the stores without hesitation, and if she squinted a bit, it was all very normal. It made her curious if he'd ever had a place of his own since he'd left the one he'd shared with Steve, if after he'd gotten out of stasis permanently there'd been anywhere he could have called his for even a short while, whether he'd had an apartment in Latveria or just bunked down in a barracks somewhere with Lukin's other private soldiers. But it was perhaps too soon to ask that question, especially because she had the suspicion that the answer was no.
She went home after putting the milk in the fridge, pointing out that she had to do the same for herself back in Manhattan. James let her go with a nod and a thank you, sincere and yet very clearly saying far less than he meant.
Her own apartment was elegant and not nearly as inviting or personal as Steve's. She'd gotten used to having a fixed address, but she'd never really nourished the idea of a home. Everything that was meaningful to her could be tucked into a bag and carried off at a moment's notice in case of fire or assassins. There was nothing anyone, friend or foe, could find out in the open that could hurt her, emotionally or politically or otherwise. She wished she didn't have to live this way -- it wasn't necessary for security reasons, but the alternative made her too uncomfortable. It made her feel vulnerable to have things that mattered to her on display, even to people she'd welcomed in to her life. Which was why she'd wondered about James. Once upon a time, he'd had a home, with Steve; Steve had told stories of their attempts at domesticity, how they'd both been kind of messy but prone to fits of cleanliness and how he would iron but James would mend and how they'd lived around and with each other. James could draw on that, at least, when he was ready. Natasha had never had a home, never had a partner in the enterprise of living, and wasn't sure she knew how to do it by herself.
She went to bed early and got up late, exhausted for far more reasons than her itinerant body clock, which was more or less adjusted to North America.
Tapper called her mid-morning and told her that FININT had been plowing through Kronas's records and Lukin's bank accounts and they'd found one of his slush funds, one unaffiliated with the accounts Lukin used to buy things for Doom. And what they'd found therein were transfers to accounts that were already on SHIELD's watchlist because they belonged to HYDRA.
"Can you call Barnes and get him to come in, or at least call in?" Tapper asked her. "The HYDRA task force people have a billion questions about Lukin's connections that they apparently didn't already ask him."
"You have the number to Steve's landline," Natasha pointed out.
"He's not answering it," Tapper replied, frustrated. "And he doesn't have a cell phone on file. I presume you have means of reaching him, so... please?"
James had a cell phone, or, rather, multiple cell phones. He used disposable ones and then threw them away. She promised Tapper she would get James in touch.
When she called him, he was out buying running shoes. She passed on the request and didn't offer to accompany him, although she phrased things so that he could ask without it being readable as another confession.
"They're going to insist on issuing you a phone," she warned. "Don't tell them you don't need one. Just tell them that Tony's giving you one."
James chuckled, understanding. SHIELD would not miss the opportunity to bug him or otherwise track him. "Is he?"
"If you let him play with your arm again, he'll give you his firstborn," Natasha assured. "But he'll cough up the phone. He gave the rest of us new Starkphones because he didn't want SHIELD listening in when he called us."
"I don't think I want to fight Pepper about the baby," James replied. "But I'll take the phone if it's offered."
He didn't ask for her to come with him and, in fact, he scoffed at her asking if he needed directions. "The map of Manhattan hasn't changed since the last time I lived here."
Clint called in the evening to tell her that he was getting sent to Egypt again and it was all her fault.
"Actually, it's Barnes's fault," Clint amended. "He's the one who told them that Lukin had to shift his operations to Alex after the mess at Gioa Tauro. Which was also his fault because he blew the place -- and me -- to kingdom come."
Natasha smiled as she surfed through the dinner options on Seamless. "If it makes you feel better, I think he's paying for it today," she told him. "He got called in to talk to the HYDRA analysts."
Clint made a noise of sympathy. "Harsh," he agreed. "But the fucker did put me in the hospital for almost a month. How is he, by the way?"
"He sounded better," she answered, debating between Afghani and Korean. "Hard to tell how much is bravado over the phone."
"I like him," Clint offered. "He's seriously fucked in the head, but when he's got that under control, you can start to see why Steve hung out with the guy."
The rest of the evening was spent doing some contact massaging and maintenance work. And breaking up with the guy she'd been seeing casually for the last several months. He'd been accepting of her erratic schedule -- she'd told him that she was a pilot for a private jet company -- and he'd been careful not to make more of their relationship than it was. When he asked why, she said that an old boyfriend had moved back to town and she wanted to see where it went. Which wasn't the truth; she was ending the relationship because she knew she was going to be away far more than even a pilot would be able to justify and while both the undemanding companionship and the sex were enjoyable, the pressure of maintaining a cover under stress would take that joy away. If there were other reasons, some that might have glancingly grazed that truth, she would consider them at a later date.
Also posted at DW.
PG-13-ish ; Black Widow/The Avengers/Captain America
summary: Six months after being freed from the Winter Soldier conditioning, James Barnes has been presumed dead until a series of fatal accidents and outright murders makes it clear how he's been planning on spending his time. Natasha understands why she's been sent to track him down, even if she's not sure how she'll feel once he's found. Unfortunately, he's not the only one with revenge in mind.
Part of the Freezer Burn series. Prior reading not required.
She and James rode back to Denver in silence until they saw the first sign telling them that they were approaching the airport.
"Peggy told me I was being an idiot," James said, not looking at her as he drove.
Before yesterday afternoon, Natasha would have asked which time, but she held her tongue then and there. She might not like the consequences to her actions and she might not be pleased with herself even if she still felt she'd done the right thing, but that did not deny that James had been wronged. She'd lost the right to tease him.
"She said I could get angry at you for not warning me, and I am," he continued on, as if she'd asked for clarification. "But the rest is really on me. She said I'd been making a statement and I should have known better than to think it would remain a monologue or that the Russians wouldn't have figured it out on their own even if you hadn't goosed them."
"You weren't being subtle," she ventured to agree. She waited for another two road signs to pass before she said anything else. "I didn't think I was throwing you to the wolves; you're very good at keeping yourself safe. I thought they were about to figure it out and if I could use it while it still had value, then maybe I could get something about Steve."
James didn't reply to that until they were pulling into the rental car place to return the vehicle. "I'm not okay with being blindsided like that. But I'm fine with you trading me in to avenge Steve."
She looked up from where she was digging through her bag for the rental agreement. "Then Peggy was right. You are an idiot."
She got out of the car and went straight to the office without looking back, too angry with him -- and still with herself -- to make sure that they were on the road to mending before they began the next step.
Clint was already in the waiting area by the gate when they arrived, sunglasses on, booted legs outstretched, head tilted back and face mostly covered by a ballcap. He looked like any other Midwesterner, which he was, albeit a hungover one because there came a point when all kinds of exhaustion began to look alike. He appeared to be sleeping, but Natasha knew better. When she and James sat down on the bank of seats across from him, he tilted his head enough that she could see his eyes over the sunglasses and he quirked an eyebrow because of course he'd noticed her and James's body language. She shook her head minutely and he rolled his eyes and tilted his head back, waiting for their flight to be called for boarding. The three of them slept on the flight to Newark, as did most of the other passengers, and Clint, who'd been seated separately from her and James, gave them a critical look when they reconvened inside the terminal at Newark.
"Are you done with whatever it is you two were doing?" he asked with weary asperity. "Because if you're not, I want to know what it is. I'm the one they're going to be pulling aside to ask questions about you two. And I really don't think you guys want to test my creativity when it comes to giving them an answer."
Natasha looked to James, who scratched at his stubble. "We'll be fine," he said. "It's over."
Clint's expression clearly expressed that he didn't think much of their ability to drop hard feelings.
James's ID got him in to SHIELD headquarters on 44th Street without a second glance from the security team. Natasha had seen him pass through a metal detector without setting it off a few times already, but Clint hadn't and he made a face.
"I kinda want to go back to the screener and ask them why they didn't notice the guy with the metal arm, let alone whatever you got hiding on you," he told James seriously as they walked toward the elevator bank. "Technology is all well and good to support, but use your fucking eyes. This is why we get broken into more than the pantry in an orphanage."
The three of them were all orphans, after a fashion, and so it was an apt reference. She was reminded of Steve, who'd confessed to being a pretty successful pantry thief as a child, goaded on by James. She'd teasingly expressed shock that a man with such a legacy for probity would turn out to be such a reprobate and he'd shrugged. "I lie a lot," he'd said simply. "I still do. I just try to make it for the right reasons."
The briefing was held in an auditorium, the large room already well-populated with analysts and some of the Direct Action Team commanders whose regions of specialization covered Venezuala or China or Russia -- Clint greeted Corrales warmly as they entered. Most of the analysts were from same regional special sections, but Natasha recognized HYDRA task force members and a few others from departments that indicated that Fury and Hill were casting a wide net for answers. She nodded in passing to Miranda Tung, who was there as part of the large China Desk contingent, pretending she didn't notice Miranda's shocked expression upon seeing James.
But Miranda was only one of many. James wasn't the sole object of attention as he followed Clint up the stairs, but nearly so. The Russia Desk and especially the reps from the Latveria Desk were murmuring and openly staring even though some of them had been talking to him over video for most of the last week. James looked unaffected to the casual observer, but she could tell by his posture that he was profoundly uncomfortable with the attention and he let out a relieved gust of breath when the Assistant Deputy Director who was going to be running the show stood up to the podium and everyone was required to face front and not sneak peeks behind them.
The updates from the China and Russia desks were mostly still preliminary. The Chinese were understandably furious and the Russians were launching a desperate defense in the court of public opinion as well as through official channels. The border between the two countries was rapidly militarizing even more than usual, the Russian ambassador to China had been in with the General Secretary all day, and Russia was loudly declaiming its innocence at the UN, where nobody was quite taking them seriously. There had been no statements on the Caracas bank robbery at all from Russia, just news releases from the Venezuelans.
The discussion that followed was mostly a more in-depth version of what they'd discussed informally in Wyoming yesterday, assessing possible culprits and likely courses of action and Natasha was unsurprised to see her suggestion that Lukin was behind the bombings as a means to destabilize Russia and therefore Putin treated seriously. There was a heated argument about Lukin's influence inside Russia, with the Latverian Desk reps of the opinion that the Russia Desk analysts were overselling Lukin's role. The response to that was to point out that there was an expert on the matter sitting next to Agent Romanova and maybe he should answer.
ADA Sepulveda interrupted, a smile on his face and steel in his voice, and suggested that the Russia and Latveria Desks could form a working group and come up with their own answers and, if they requested clarification, he was sure Mister Barnes would be happy to lend assistance, but they were paid to do their own thinking. It was the first time James's name had been used and that confirmation seemed to justify a new round of staring and whispering and Natasha -- and Clint on James's other side -- glowered at everyone as if their displeasure could be a force field. James kept his head up, looking past everyone to no particular point at the front of the room, and waited for Sepulveda to start talking again.
There were other directives issued and assignments made, but the meeting broke up without any real new ground covered.
They waited for most of the room to empty out before standing so that James wouldn't have to run the gauntlet twice. Miranda paused and looked up at them, like she might approach, but then she was summoned by her supervisor.
"I'm sorry if this was a waste of your time," Sepulveda apologized. He'd asked them to wait by gesturing with his hand as he'd fielded questions from others. "You were brought in to be instantly deployable, but I think we thought we'd have more to work with by now. You're probably going to get sent right back across the Atlantic, too."
Natasha looked at James for a moment, in case he should correct Sepulveda, but he didn't. "Sleeping in my own bed for a few days won't be the worst SHIELD has done to me," she assured with a smile.
Sepulveda wished James a welcome home, to which he gave an awkward thank you, and, after confirming that they were findable through Tapper, they were told to take the rest of the day off and get over their jet lag. "I know you've both been keeping a hard schedule since Cap's passing."
Natasha had thought about using some of the resources in the SHIELD archives, but James was drawing stares as they moved through the halls, so when Clint suggested that they get out of Dodge quickly, she agreed.
James waited until they were outside and walking up Sixth before confirming that the DAD had no idea where they had been or who they had been with.
"Only people who know are the Avengers, Fury, Hill, Tapper, and the security detail and medical staff at the house," Clint answered. "There was a whole pantomime to get him off the Helicarrier without anyone else knowing he wasn't dead. Including some friends."
"Including the Chinese girl in the blue dress?" James asked. "Is that Miranda?"
"That's Miranda," Clint confirmed with a smile, amused that he knew who she was, but then he sobered. "I wish we could tell her. She's pretty much the only real friend Steve had away from work and we already know she can keep a big fucking secret."
They ended up in Little Brazil for what looked like after-work drinks but was really a quiet planning session. Knowing what SHIELD was doing on the intelligence and analyses fronts, they could speculate on what else would be required and where else it might lead. James wanted to go to Latveria and confront Doom, which Natasha thought was a terrible idea and Clint backed her up.
"You're still thinking like a shit-disturber," he pointed out over caipirinhas and bolinhos de bacalau and pão de queijo. "We are going to have to talk to Doom at some point, but that's gonna be a 'we' and it's gonna be at a time when we have a better idea what the results will be. We can't toss dynamite into the pond to see what comes up so early in the game. We're just gonna end up killing most of the fish."
James looked like he didn't mind killing all of the fish.
"That got you nowhere," Natasha pointed out before he could say so out loud. "That's why you came to us."
She didn't say 'me,' even though that would have been more accurate.
They were debating the likelihood -- the inevitability, really -- of a trip to Russia when Natasha's phone started vibrating. It was Tony, who was calling because he figured she'd have been brought back to NY by now in response to the bombings. He invited her -- and Clint when she said he was with her -- to dinner; Bruce had gotten in this morning for an already-scheduled visit to New York and it would be like a little reunion. "Just without the big blond guys." Tony sounded a little off and Natasha didn't need to wonder why; out of all of them, Tony had taken Steve's incapacitation the hardest. Not falling-into-a-bottle hard, although there had definitely been a few bouts of that, but hard enough.
They hadn't all been together since before Steve had been shot. The last time might have even been at Steve's place, a dinner party he'd thrown for no real reason but that he could and everyone was around, or at least gatherable. He'd been a relaxed, easy host -- he always was -- and Tony had teased him mercilessly about his domesticity.
Here and now, Natasha looked at James and Clint before replying. "The two of us are actually the three of us. I don't think--"
"Are they interesting?" Tony cut in, that off-note ringing brassily again. He didn't sound drunk, but he had that edge of... not desperation, but something she recognized from her Natalie days as the potential for trouble on the horizon. "Bring 'em."
"I don't think it's a good idea," she said again, keeping her tone easy. Across from her, James was watching with wary curiosity and Clint with something a little more aware.
"Is it Barnes?" Tony asked.
"How did you know?" She didn't hide her surprise.
Tony chuckled, a little darkly but mostly amused. "If you don't think I haven't had that name tagged to send up flares any time anyone at SHIELD types it out, you don't know me very well."
Tony routinely hacked SHIELD's network, something Fury was not as ignorant about as he pretended to be, but while most of what he did was to protect himself, flagging James's name had been to protect Steve. In case Fury chose not to tell him something. In case she chose not to defy Fury's wishes not to tell him something, too, but Tony was probably gracious enough to leave that part out.
"I know you well enough," she replied archly. "Which is why I'm saying that I'm not sure it's a good idea."
In whatever limbo she and James were in right now, with whatever disorder there'd been over the last day, she still felt responsibility toward him and dropping him headfirst into an intimate gathering of Steve's closest associates -- his closest friends -- was not something done lightly. Or possibly at all on his first day really back in the world as James Barnes, erstwhile Commando, and not in the tiny bubble that had been the house in Wyoming. He'd been uncomfortable surrounded by strangers at SHIELD and they'd largely left him alone save for the rude staring. This would not be that.
"No, bring him," Tony insisted. "It'll be fine. Bruce is here, nothing's going to get too loud."
The brassy edge of his voice had disappeared, replaced by something gentler and more knowing. Understanding. Which was probably why, after Clint's subtle nod (he would have guessed the context by now), she agreed.
"We don't have to go," Natasha told James after she'd explained.
"But you think we should," he finished. He'd looked less than overjoyed at the news, but like he was prepared to endure it nonetheless.
"From a purely pragmatic standpoint, if doing what we need to do comes down to operating outside of SHIELD parameters, then Tony can be very useful," she answered. James had read the report on the Doomstadt adventure; he could figure out what she meant.
"On the personal side," Clint added with a tone that made it clear that he didn't think Natasha had considered one and should have, "I think it would do everyone some good."
James looked at her like he was searching for something, but she didn't know what it was, whether it had to do with the last day or the week before it or something else entirely. She held her gaze steady and let him.
He nodded, although she wasn't sure she'd given him an answer.
"Also," Clint added as he drained the last of his drink, not missing the moment at all, "someone else pays for booze and food."
They settled the tab and walked over to Stark Tower.
James was clearly uncomfortable on the elevator ride up, fidgety and steeling himself for what awaited them in the penthouse, but Clint called him on it. "It's dinner, not Fight Club. You could take them all, but you won't have to."
James chuffed out an embarrassed laugh as the doors opened and they entered the apartment, where Pepper and Bruce were sitting on the couch chatting and Tony was standing opening a bottle of wine.
Pepper's look of surprise made it clear that Tony had not mentioned who the extra guest was going to be. She recovered well, as she always did, and rose gracefully, greeting them and introducing herself to James, who asked to be called Bucky with a half-embarrassed shrug.
"I'm glad you're here," she told James, clasping his right hand in both of hers. "Very truly so."
James, stunned a little by the strong emotion, managed a sharp nod and Pepper smiled, biting her lip. Natasha could see the warning signs of unshed tears before Pepper turned away, letting Tony take center stage.
Tony and James looked each other over frankly, but then Tony saw the metal of James's left forearm -- he'd nervously pushed his sleeve up a little on the elevator -- and Natasha could see the wheels start to turn. SHIELD's files on the history of James's arm were thin and mostly outdated; the prosthetic he wore now was of Latverian design and construction and they had nothing on it.
"At the earliest socially acceptable moment, I want to play with your arm," Tony said, eyes still on it.
"I'm not sure there's ever a socially acceptable moment for that, Stark," Clint said from down in the main seating area, where he was talking to Bruce.
"Also, I think I can probably build you a better one," Tony added, reaching out for James's hand and then stopping himself, like he remembered at the last moment that this was The Winter Soldier and there could be unpleasant consequences. That it would be impolite had undoubtedly never crossed his mind.
James took a half-step back and held up both hands in defense, his left a little further out of reach. "This one does everything I need."
"Except blend in," Tony retorted, unfazed and unpersuaded. "It's summer and you're wearing long sleeves to cover up. I can definitely get you something that will look and feel like real skin and won't smell like plastic or industrial lubricant. Not to mention offer up a few other bells and whistles that can come in handy. How's the tactile sensitivity on that thing? We've been working on prosthetics for years. This--"
"Tony," Pepper cut him off firmly. "Stop coveting other people's appendages."
Tony gave her a bright, genuine smile. "Nobody's appendages are coveted more than yours, Pep. And the rest of you, too."
Pepper rolled her eyes and escorted James and Natasha to the main seating area, where Clint and Bruce were waiting.
Bruce's greeting was low-key and James seemed grateful for that. Bruce was in good spirits, mellow and more curious than anything about James, who in turn was curious about the man with the gentle voice and the terrible alter ego.
Natasha greeted Bruce with a smile. She was always a little reserved around him because she and the Hulk had not had the best of relationships. She was the only one he'd tried to kill -- as opposed to batter about indifferently -- and he'd done it twice, although once it had been by proxy, another woman with red hair Steve had had to risk his life to save. Bruce had assured her that the Other Guy's ire was not some passive-aggressive attitude on his part and he was always kind and quietly friendly toward her, but she doubted the two of them would ever have the relationship Bruce had with the others save Thor, whose relationships worked on completely different parameters than anyone else's anyway.
There was wine and beer and a selection of dips and vegetables and breads because Marcel, Tony's personal chef, enjoyed showing off and, she suspected, missed them a little, too. Natasha accepted a glass of white wine from Tony and a small plate dotted with dollops of green and gold and rust and cream and what to dip in them from Pepper and took a seat on the couch facing west, so she could see the rainbow sky of a summer sunset over New York City. She had hated almost all of her time as Natalie Rushman, for various reasons, but there had been small things she did not despise and Tony Stark's penchant for breathtaking vistas and a chance to quietly enjoy them had been one of them.
When she returned her attention to the others, now all set up with drinks and food, they were talking about Steve, which was probably to be expected. Bruce was forbidden near the Wyoming house for different reasons than Tony and Pepper, but it still meant that the three of them had not seen Steve since before his 'death' more than a month ago. While they could get updates -- Fury was very willing to compromise there in exchange for adherence to the ban -- it was not the same.
"... off the respirator, but how does he look?" Tony was asking.
"Pinker," Clint replied. "Less like a wax sculpture."
"And?" Bruce prompted.
"And that's it," Clint answered with a shrug and a sip of his beer. "From the neck up, he still looks like a construction project. From the next down, he looks like he always does except he's lost a little weight and the calluses on his hands are gone."
Natasha hadn't noticed Steve's hands and she felt a little ashamed because if she'd touched him at any point, she would have.
They discussed the setup in Wyoming a little, the layout of the house, the staffing, the security. James finally spoke up, after sitting uneasily and silently next to Clint near Bruce, to say that he was comfortable with it and that he and Natasha had tested it last week and not found it wanting.
"How is Peggy doing?" Pepper asked. "This has all been so very hard on her, but then to uproot her life... I'm sure she never gave it a second thought, but I also know that this was not how she planned the sunset of her days."
Natasha looked over at James, who'd spent the most time with Peggy and seen her at her most vital and her most cognizant of her mortality and been the focus of both extremes. He had been looking down at his beer glass, but maybe sensing her gaze, he looked up and his expression, for a moment long enough that she knew he meant for her to see it, was so very vulnerable. And then he looked away because Pepper was still waiting for an answer and looking at him.
"She's being Peggy Carter," Clint answered before James had to. "Which is still what Nick Fury wants to be when he grows up. Mostly the most badass grandma ever and the entire detail keeps trying to impress her so that they'll be her favorite. The rest of the time, she's bored as fuck and missing her life in Philly."
"She wouldn't change a thing," Natasha added. "She's exactly where she wants to be. Where she needs to be. Even when she's bored."
"Although if Steve doesn't improve faster than he is, she might just get bored enough to become the crystal meth queen of Wyoming," Clint cracked, which necessitated explaining what Peggy was watching on television these days, which made Tony and Pepper and Bruce laugh until they cried.
James smiled a little, but not with any real energy. Natasha thought he was thinking about Peggy, with whom he'd clashed at times, but who was also, as she had been for Steve, the last link he had to his past. Which for James, far more than for Steve, was something precious because it was untouched by the taint that had come after. Natasha didn't think James missed the person he'd been before he'd gone to war, before Schmidt and Zola had gotten their hands on him the first time; she wasn't sure if he even remembered who that man had been. But he missed being Bucky Barnes, Howling Commando, all the more so because he didn't think he could ever be that man again. And that frustrated her because he could be, at least in part, if he'd let himself. Maybe he would, down the line, but it was still too soon. She wouldn't press him on it, at least not yet. So she watched him tonight, mostly silent, not sullen or withdrawn, just with nothing to say and unsure of his place to say anything. This was nothing like her James and, from what she has learned, even less like Bucky, but it was nothing at all like the Winter Soldier and so long as he didn't retreat into that, it would do.
Pepper did try to draw him out, asking him carefully about his status with SHIELD. He explained that he had accepted consultant status for now -- "good choice!" Tony chirped -- but he was unhesitant to add that it was mostly to keep his access to Steve and Peggy.
As they followed the summons to the dining table, Bruce expressed his surprise that James would even go so far as to agree to carry a SHIELD ID at all.
"What Fury wants me to do is more or less what I was going to do anyway," he replied and nobody needs that translated. "If I can do it with SHIELD's resources backing me up, well, all the better. I've been turned out by lesser people for lesser goals and this way, I can still keep an eye on them."
It was a bitter and cynical things to say until it wasn't.
Pepper tried to keep the actual table conversation lighter and without references to murder or dismemberment and, because she was Pepper, succeeded, with one notable exception. But Tony really was fascinated by James's arm.
"Has SHIELD put you up in a hotel or are you stuck in the dormitory?" Bruce asked James as they finished the first course, a summer vegetable galette.
James looked utterly surprised at the question.
"Ah, shit," Clint grumbled. "I knew we forgot something. Is it too late to call the 'Carrier?"
"Why is anyone calling SHIELD for a bed?" Tony asked, perplexed. "You've got a couch, Natasha's got a few surfaces to sleep on, and we've got a few floors of guest accommodations. You call the Helicarrier now, you're going to get a probationary agent who's going to put him up in a Motel Six in Paramus."
Which was probably true on all counts, but Natasha, who had also genuinely forgotten to make lodging arrangements for James, was hesitant to offer her own couch, since it could be interpreted as a gateway to her bed and she was not ready to think about that yet. But offering up the personal spaces of anyone else was forward and might not be welcome. For all that James was calling himself Bucky, however uneasily, and was committed for the time being to work on the on the side of the angels (as defined by Nick Fury), he was still enough of The Winter Soldier, who had shot Natasha once, Clint twice, and killed more than anyone really wanted to count. And that did not necessarily make him ideal houseguest material.
"I don't want to put anyone out," James, clearly sensing, that, said before anyone else could say anything. "I can get a place. SHIELD just told me I get thirty-five years of back pay and a pension from the Army. I can spring for a hotel."
"They gave you your DD-214?" Clint exclaimed, incredulous. "I had to wait to be rung up on treason charges before they gave me mine."
It has been long enough that Natasha didn't flinch at that, but it was a near thing not to wince.
"Please tell me you're going to spend it in more interesting fashion than Captain Boring did," Tony pleaded. "A subscription to MLB Extra Innings and buying out the farmer's market is not exactly living la vida loca."
"You ate very well off of those farmer's market runs," Pepper chided, then turned to James. "You wouldn't be putting us out if you stayed here. There's nobody on the personal guest quarters levels right now, so you'd have privacy, amenities, security, access to JARVIS, and I promise to keep Tony from stealing your prosthetic."
James clearly wanted to decline and Natasha could understand why, even though it was probably the best option. She was almost on the verge of accepting on his behalf when Tony tapped his plate with his knife.
"Steve's place," he announced. "Why don't you stay there? Nobody's using it, it's secure as hell, it's private, you'll recognize the pictures on the wall, and we already know where the creepy SHIELD surveillance is and what to do with it. Because you know wherever they put you that's not here, they're going to try to tag you."
"That's actually a really good idea," Clint admitted.
"I come up with them on a semi-regular basis," Tony replied magnanimously. "But seriously, it's perfect. And I have spare keys."
James nodded, although he didn't look too enthusiastic about it. The matter settled, Tony moved on to the next topic.
Dinner finished and they went out on to the balcony for coffee and dessert and brandy. It was pleasant, if not quite the easy flow of past Avengers social events.
After a polite interval lasting precisely long enough for Tony to eat a couple of berry tarts, he begged and pleaded for James to let him scan the prosthetic arm so that he could start building the newer model.
"It can be a spare!"
Pepper looked pained as she sighed and asked Tony to please stop accosting their guests.
James surprised them all by agreeing. "I have a very mixed history of listening to a Stark say 'Trust me, I know what I'm doing,'" he warned and it was a mark of how eager Tony was that he didn't even flinch at the reference to Howard. But everyone else laughed. Natasha smiled because James hadn't made too many jokes about his life before the Winter Soldier.
Bruce trailed along behind them, shrugging guiltily as Pepper teased him gently for his prurience. But he was smiling as he did it.
"I can see some of the man Steve tried so hard to save," Pepper said when it was just her and Clint and Natasha. Just the ladies, really, because Clint was out on the balcony's lower level aiming the telescope at the stars. "But he's been through so much and those scars are so deep."
Natasha's relationship with Pepper was complicated and discrete from her relationship with Tony. Pepper didn't see her as either a sister or a betrayer, didn't hold Natalie either over Natasha's head or near to her own heart. But Pepper liked Natasha, despite everything, and she respected Natasha, also despite everything, and she saw a kinship of a different sort between them and Natasha... didn't mind. Liked it, actually. She didn't have many friends and few of them were female and if Pepper wasn't quite a friend, she was still a woman Natasha could spend time with and not have to feel like it was a competition or that they were a threat to each other and it was refreshing. And there were, Natasha would grudgingly admit, many things that Pepper could teach her still.
"It's not the same as with Steve, that endless reservoir of grief and pain that he just marched steadily through until he didn't feel it anymore," Pepper went on. "It's so much darker and more damaged. I hope we can do something, even a little bit, to ease that pain. So he'll be in that much better a frame of mind to face Steve for real when the time comes."
And that was why Natasha liked Pepper, in a nutshell. She didn't presume on some imagined sisterhood to ask about Natasha's relationship with James, past or present. And she didn't tell Natasha that it was her obligation, for Steve's sake, to get James's head on straight. She saw the problem with clarity and nuance, acknowledged the scope of it, and then said 'we' and not 'you.'
"Someone should call SHIELD and tell them we're going to be using Steve's place for Barnes," Clint called up from where he was now aiming the telescope at Brooklyn. "Or else Matt Corrales and his boys are going to be busting through the door in tac gear and full magazines before he figures out where the bathroom is."
Natasha frowned. "You have Tapper's number in your phone," she called down.
"He's pissed at me," Clint replied. "This is going to piss him off even more and I'm going to get sent to Egypt again."
"Man up, Agent Barton," Pepper exhorted, smile on her face. "And I have it on good authority that you don't hate Egypt nearly as much as you insist you do."
"You've never driven in Cairo," Clint retorted, but he pulled out his phone anyway. And sent a text instead of making a call.
When it came time to leave, someone had to go with James down to Steve's apartment to show him where it was and how it worked. Natasha wasn't sure it should be her, whether one very long day was enough to make the late night subway ride less awkward than the pre-dawn car ride had been. So she didn't volunteer, let Pepper -- who was discreet, but not blind -- leave it open to James to choose his companion so that he could ask Clint if he wanted.
He asked her.
They walked to the subway with Clint, who was going to continue on foot to his place because it was a nice night. The subway ride was short enough that not talking wasn't a statement or even awkward.
"Jesus," James coughed when they got out in DUMBO, looking around in open surprise at how the neighborhood had changed over the decades. What had once been an industrial zone was now one of the most expensive areas in the city and he shook his head at the places and people they passed on the way to Steve's apartment, a loft in a converted factory. Natasha went up the stairs first, ready to call SHIELD in case they hadn't disarmed the extra security they'd put in place since Steve's shooting, but they had and so she was able to get in easily once she'd figured out the keys and the biometric lock.
She opened the door, turned on the lights, dropped the keys into the little bowl by the doorway, toed off her shoes, and then went to the controls for the central air conditioning because the place was stuffy and warm. James stood by the door, still and observant.
"Come on," she told him, gesturing with a tilt of her head. "The nickel tour awaits."
The apartment was neat but lived-in. SHIELD continued to send their secure cleaning service even after Steve's 'death,' so someone had emptied out the fridge and the fruit bowl and even watered Steve's burgeoning collection of herb pots on the kitchen window ledge. But the rest was the same, evidence of a life interrupted. There was a now-outdated Sports Illustrated folded open on the kitchen island, a US Army baseball cap covering up one of Steve's sketch pads on an accent table, and a half-finished painting on the easel, the line drawing standing out like skeleton bones. It was what Steve had thought he'd be returning to on a warm Monday night in May.
It was hard for Natasha to look at, the immediacy of it all so very strong. James, meanwhile, was both extremely curious and profoundly nervous. He paused in front of everything that really mattered to Steve -- and he found these unerringly, even if they were not what anyone would look at first. A blue bud vase, for instance, imperfectly glazed, that Steve had picked up at the farmer's market because it had reminded him of something he'd had with him from his mother until he'd enlisted. James picked it up, looked it over to possibly see if was the original one, and put it down with a chuckle.
He spared only a passing glance at the row of photos on the mantle, turning away as if by force. If he'd looked longer, he would have seen a silly one of him there, holding a stuffed rabbit toy in one hand and his sniper rifle in the other and grinning, a group photo of the Commandos, and the most recent addition, which had been a present from Tony: a color photo of Steve and James in a pub in London in their service uniforms, ties tucked into their blouses but askew nonetheless, sitting in a booth and leaning against each other at the shoulder, smiling blearily at the camera with matching looks that owed more to exhaustion than alcohol. Howard Stark had taken it and Tony had only found the negative last year, during the search for The Winter Soldier, and he'd held off on giving it to Steve until a couple of months ago.
The apartment was large, but uncomplicated in layout and form, so it didn't take long for James to orient himself. Which was not the same as making himself comfortable, but that was too much to expect right away.
"So this is it," she told him as they stood in the living room. "The rest is pretty self-explanatory. We probably won't have to show up at 44th Street tomorrow, so you'll have some time to get adjusted, or at least start to. You have my number and you have Clint's and Tony's, although he's probably going to--"
"Can you stay?" James asked, embarrassed and apologetic both. "I don't mean... I'm not asking for anything beyond that. I'll sleep on the couch. Just... I think I underestimated how weird this would be. I lived with him for most of my life before..." he trailed off, holding out his left arm, shorthand for everything that has been done to him. "I've washed his underwear and I've worn his socks. This shouldn't be wrong, but that's what it feels like."
Natasha watched him, right hand in his hair and a slightly wide-eyed look on his face. He was overwhelmed and, she thought, ashamed. For asking her for comfort, maybe, but mostly because of who he still felt himself to be.
"You're no less worthy to share his things now than you were then," she told him firmly. She was still feeling the whiplash, a little, of the day's emotional roller coaster, but this was a simple thing to give. "I'll take the couch. I've slept on it before."
She dug out pajamas and a toothbrush from her bag, then helped James find towels in the linen closet.
She was woken up in the middle of the night by James having a nightmare; he cried out in English, she groggily noted before burrowing back down into the cocoon of the sheets. She wouldn't check on him because he'd hate to have his vulnerability reinforced like that.
In the morning, they went out for breakfast because there was no food in the apartment. What had happened between them hadn't been forgotten, but it had maybe been accepted. They could move on. They stopped at the grocery and drugstore for essentials so James could have things in the house even if they were going to be traveling soon. He knew what he wanted, moved around in the stores without hesitation, and if she squinted a bit, it was all very normal. It made her curious if he'd ever had a place of his own since he'd left the one he'd shared with Steve, if after he'd gotten out of stasis permanently there'd been anywhere he could have called his for even a short while, whether he'd had an apartment in Latveria or just bunked down in a barracks somewhere with Lukin's other private soldiers. But it was perhaps too soon to ask that question, especially because she had the suspicion that the answer was no.
She went home after putting the milk in the fridge, pointing out that she had to do the same for herself back in Manhattan. James let her go with a nod and a thank you, sincere and yet very clearly saying far less than he meant.
Her own apartment was elegant and not nearly as inviting or personal as Steve's. She'd gotten used to having a fixed address, but she'd never really nourished the idea of a home. Everything that was meaningful to her could be tucked into a bag and carried off at a moment's notice in case of fire or assassins. There was nothing anyone, friend or foe, could find out in the open that could hurt her, emotionally or politically or otherwise. She wished she didn't have to live this way -- it wasn't necessary for security reasons, but the alternative made her too uncomfortable. It made her feel vulnerable to have things that mattered to her on display, even to people she'd welcomed in to her life. Which was why she'd wondered about James. Once upon a time, he'd had a home, with Steve; Steve had told stories of their attempts at domesticity, how they'd both been kind of messy but prone to fits of cleanliness and how he would iron but James would mend and how they'd lived around and with each other. James could draw on that, at least, when he was ready. Natasha had never had a home, never had a partner in the enterprise of living, and wasn't sure she knew how to do it by herself.
She went to bed early and got up late, exhausted for far more reasons than her itinerant body clock, which was more or less adjusted to North America.
Tapper called her mid-morning and told her that FININT had been plowing through Kronas's records and Lukin's bank accounts and they'd found one of his slush funds, one unaffiliated with the accounts Lukin used to buy things for Doom. And what they'd found therein were transfers to accounts that were already on SHIELD's watchlist because they belonged to HYDRA.
"Can you call Barnes and get him to come in, or at least call in?" Tapper asked her. "The HYDRA task force people have a billion questions about Lukin's connections that they apparently didn't already ask him."
"You have the number to Steve's landline," Natasha pointed out.
"He's not answering it," Tapper replied, frustrated. "And he doesn't have a cell phone on file. I presume you have means of reaching him, so... please?"
James had a cell phone, or, rather, multiple cell phones. He used disposable ones and then threw them away. She promised Tapper she would get James in touch.
When she called him, he was out buying running shoes. She passed on the request and didn't offer to accompany him, although she phrased things so that he could ask without it being readable as another confession.
"They're going to insist on issuing you a phone," she warned. "Don't tell them you don't need one. Just tell them that Tony's giving you one."
James chuckled, understanding. SHIELD would not miss the opportunity to bug him or otherwise track him. "Is he?"
"If you let him play with your arm again, he'll give you his firstborn," Natasha assured. "But he'll cough up the phone. He gave the rest of us new Starkphones because he didn't want SHIELD listening in when he called us."
"I don't think I want to fight Pepper about the baby," James replied. "But I'll take the phone if it's offered."
He didn't ask for her to come with him and, in fact, he scoffed at her asking if he needed directions. "The map of Manhattan hasn't changed since the last time I lived here."
Clint called in the evening to tell her that he was getting sent to Egypt again and it was all her fault.
"Actually, it's Barnes's fault," Clint amended. "He's the one who told them that Lukin had to shift his operations to Alex after the mess at Gioa Tauro. Which was also his fault because he blew the place -- and me -- to kingdom come."
Natasha smiled as she surfed through the dinner options on Seamless. "If it makes you feel better, I think he's paying for it today," she told him. "He got called in to talk to the HYDRA analysts."
Clint made a noise of sympathy. "Harsh," he agreed. "But the fucker did put me in the hospital for almost a month. How is he, by the way?"
"He sounded better," she answered, debating between Afghani and Korean. "Hard to tell how much is bravado over the phone."
"I like him," Clint offered. "He's seriously fucked in the head, but when he's got that under control, you can start to see why Steve hung out with the guy."
The rest of the evening was spent doing some contact massaging and maintenance work. And breaking up with the guy she'd been seeing casually for the last several months. He'd been accepting of her erratic schedule -- she'd told him that she was a pilot for a private jet company -- and he'd been careful not to make more of their relationship than it was. When he asked why, she said that an old boyfriend had moved back to town and she wanted to see where it went. Which wasn't the truth; she was ending the relationship because she knew she was going to be away far more than even a pilot would be able to justify and while both the undemanding companionship and the sex were enjoyable, the pressure of maintaining a cover under stress would take that joy away. If there were other reasons, some that might have glancingly grazed that truth, she would consider them at a later date.
Also posted at DW.