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The time is 3:47 AM, according to the clock on her nightstand, when Natasha wakes to the slight sound of shuffling footsteps at her door. She’s at home - she bought a safe house just outside the city a couple months ago, close enough to get to the Tower when she’s needed, but far enough for some sense of security and seclusion. She’s only had two visitors since she got the place - Barton and Rogers - so the sound of footsteps in the middle of the night is anything but reassuring.
Natasha reaches quickly for the glock she keeps under her bed and the knife she’s got strapped to the back of her headboard, then she’s on her feet within seconds of the noise. She’s at the front door in the length of a breath, quiet on the tips of her toes, and she raises further on relevé to peer out the peephole.
He knocks as soon as she sees him. Bucky - James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier - is standing on her doorstep, hands tucked into the front pockets of his baggy jeans, hair long and falling in his eyes.
Anger and longing mingle, then twist in the pit of her stomach. Natasha opens the door halfway, holding it tight in her grip.
Her voice is steel when she speaks. “How did you find this place?”
Bucky gives her a sardonic look that seems to say, 'Really?’ He may be more assassin than spy, but he still has a certain set of skills. Of course he’d be able to find her. Natasha huffs, irritated.
He grins smugly. “You should teach Cap how to keep his secrets better. And yours.”
“Fucking Rogers,” she mutters under her breath. Then she opens the door wide enough for him to enter, glancing around carefully for anyone that might have followed him. But then, when the Winter Soldier doesn’t want to be found, he isn’t. She knows that better than anyone.
Natasha leads him inside and heads to the living room, glancing over her shoulder at him. “Care to explain what you’re doing here at nearly four in the morning? A girl needs her beauty rest.”
He quirks a brow at her in what she thinks might be disagreement, then settles into a more serious expression. “I needed to talk to you.”
“And that couldn’t wait till the sun came up?”
Bucky shakes his head. He looks almost grave now and says nothing for a long time.
Natasha furrows her brows. “What’s wrong?”
He won’t meet her eyes.
After a long moment, she speaks again. “Seriously? Because if you came all the way out here at this ridiculous hour to say nothing to me, then I swear to god, Barnes - ”
“I had a dream.”
He doesn’t elaborate.
She sighs. “Okay?”
“I don’t think it was really a dream. I think...I think they were memories.”
She swallows hard and aims for levity. “And you’re coming to me with this because…?”
“You know exactly why. How about you tell me.”
She’s silent for a long moment, then chooses her words carefully. “You want me to tell you that those dreams were actually memories.” Natasha pauses. “Because you know I’ve dealt with the same.”
He narrows his eyes at her. “Not just because you’ve experienced something similar. Because of our shared experiences, Natalia.”
The use of the name rattles her, and it’s more of a struggle than usual to maintain a neutral expression.
She takes a deep breath. “What do you think you remember?”
“You.”
The hope in his eyes feels heavy in her heart.
She keeps her tone even. “What exactly about me? Because Rogers tracking you down wasn’t exactly our first meeting.”
“I’m not referring to the times I shot you.”
Natasha waits with bated breath.
“I trained you,” Bucky starts. “I don’t remember for how long. But I remember a girl with bright red hair. The only one there to actually give me a challenge. That was you, wasn’t it?”
She smiles, pleased despite herself. “Yes, that was me. I don’t remember much from that time - my training in particular is very foggy. Widows who actually remember their trauma don’t perform as well in the field, apparently,” Natasha adds drily. “But I remember you from then. I remember training with a man with a metal arm. One of the other girls tried to break my leg after you told me I fought well during a lesson.”
“Keyword being tried, right?”
She smirks, glad for the brief moment of levity. “Of course.”
He smiles, then huffs a breath. “Training isn’t all I remember.”
“Is that so?”
“Are you going to make me say it, мое сердце?”
“If you would, James. I think I need to hear it from you.”
The use of his given name seems to settle something in him and give him the push he needs, all at once.
“We were lovers.”
Natasha doesn’t expect the way her full body flushes, the way her eyes start to pool with tears she must rapidly blink away.
She turns from him, taking a breath to regain her composure.
Bucky frowns. “Talia? I’m sorry,” he backtracks. “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”
She closes her eyes for the briefest of moments, then shakes her head.
“No, no. Don’t apologize. The memories you’re talking about definitely aren’t bad ones. Just... bittersweet.” She pauses. “What I remember, anyway.”
He gives her a sad smile.
Natasha continues. “Even after I broke my programming...there’s a lot I can’t recall from back then. Things are still jumbled. I don’t know what was real and what wasn’t. Not really. You weren’t the only one who had your mind wiped, Barnes.”
He stiffens. “Right.”
She gives a half-shrug. “Had to keep the Widows compliant. You know how it is.”
“Yeah,” he acknowledges. “What...and you don’t have to answer this if you don’t want, I’ll understand if you don’t, but…what is your clearest memory of me?”
Natasha frowns. He’s right. She doesn’t want to tell him. This is not a memory she’s ever discussed.
“What’s yours?” she counters, contemplating her decision.
He looks at her with an intensity that sets her aflame.
“It was fragments at first, you know? I couldn’t find a clear memory of you for a long time. A flash of curly red hair...your smirk...the way you handled a gun. Your quick reflexes in the field. The sway of your hips. That freckle you have on your right shoulder blade.” He shakes himself. “But eventually I pieced enough together, and...I...I remember a hotel. We were partners at the time. You were a full agent, I think, or were at least being sent out on missions without a handler. We shared a bed.”
His voice softens as he speaks, continuing, “You woke me up from a nightmare. I can’t remember what it was about, now, but I guess I’d been thrashing around in my sleep, and you pinned my wrists against the headboard so I didn’t hurt either of us while you told me it was okay, that I was okay, over and over again. You talked me down. Once you could tell I’d come out of it, you let my wrists go and just...ran your hands through my hair. Held me. Until I fell back to sleep. It was...tender. You were kind.” He swallows, eyes shining with emotion. “That’s what I remember. You were kind.”
Bucky takes an uncertain step toward her, and it’s not until he’s wiping the tears from her cheeks with the pad of his thumb that she realizes she’s even been crying. Natasha leans into the contact.
“That sounds nice,” she murmurs.
It’s long moments before she speaks again.
“My clearest memory of you,” her voice is rough with emotion she can’t seem to restrain, “is when they ripped you from my arms.” His posture stiffens but his thumb keeps swiping gently against her face as the stray tears fall. “I don’t know how they found out about us. I think they’d known for a little while and took their time planning how we would pay for it.” She lets out a humorless laugh. “Fucked up, right? They sent us out on a mission together, like usual, then stormed the safe house while we were in bed together. We fought them, and I think - I think I must have slipped up, and they stuck me with a needle to sedate me. It distracted you, and they got us both. I blacked out. I - the next thing I remember -” her voice is starting to get shaky, she knows, but she’s already started this story, and James is looking at her with rapt attention and muted horror, and she just needs to get this out. Once.
Natasha takes a shuddering breath. “The next thing I remember is waking up, restrained and weak. I was still sedated. And you were in, that...that chair, with the straps and the electrodes and that thing around your head, gagged and staring at me with such fear in your eyes. They made me watch as they wiped you. They made me watch you forget me. And yourself.”
She closes her eyes, leaning further into his touch. Her voice is a whisper now. “That’s my clearest memory of you. Everything else is bits and pieces of blurred memories. But that’s what they made sure I remembered. Losing you.”
“Jesus,” Bucky mutters harshly under his breath. “That’s…”
He doesn’t seem to know what to say, but he wraps his arms tight around her, cool metal around her shoulder and warm flesh pressed against her back. His embrace tightens, just barely enough to hurt, but the pain grounds her, reminds her that she is here and now.
They soften, and she melts into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his waist and simply breathing for long moments, and she feels the tension leave both of their bodies slowly as their breathing begins to sync. Without thinking about it, Natasha finds herself weaving her fingers through his hair. Bucky makes a choked sound in the back of his throat and buries his face in the junction of her neck and shoulder. She feels the corners of her mouth turn upward. She runs her hands through his long locks, and something bright and warm blooms in her chest when he nuzzles her neck lightly.
“James…” she whispers, pulling back minutely to look at him.
He gives her a slow smile. “You’re the only one allowed to call me that, you know.”
“Well,” she starts, tone laced with amusement, “I’m sure as hell not going to call you Bucky.”
That startles a laugh from him. “I’ll have you know Bucky is a perfectly good name.”
The name Bucky is his. It belongs to him and always will, and that’s not something anyone can take away from him, not really. He deserves that, just as she does. So she says: “If it’s good enough for you, then I suppose it must be.” She smirks, “But I’m still not going to call you that.”
“Perfectly fine by me. I like the way you say my given name. It’s the only time I feel like it’s ever held meaning.”
She tilts her head at him, then drops a hand to cup his cheek, and his breath hitches against her palm.
“Natalia…”
The corner of her mouth lifts and she finds herself unable to look away from him.
“Or would you prefer I call you Natasha now?”
She gives half a shrug. “Either is fine with me. But you’ll be the only one who gets to call me Natalia.”
“Yeah?”
The smirk works its way back onto her lips. “I like the way you say my given name.” With reverence, she thinks. Like a prayer.
Bucky reaches up with his metal arm and takes the hand she’d used to cup his cheek, then presses a kiss to her open palm. She shivers.
Natasha meets his eyes, and she’s not quite sure what she’s looking for in his gaze, but she seems to find it anyway - something like fear and desire and hope all tied into one.
Her hand is still in his, and she flips their grip again, now wrapping her fingers around his wrist, cool steel against her palm. She watches his eyes flare in acknowledgement, in interest. Slowly, very slowly, she pulls him closer until his body is nearly pressed against hers.
Bucky swallows hard, pupils dilating. “Talia…” his voice is rough and thick with yearning.
She takes the leap.
“Tell me you want this. That you want me.”
His voice is rougher, still. “I want you.”
She runs her fingertips up his metal arm, rubs the pad of her thumb along the patch of scarred flesh that meets his prosthetic.
Natasha continues. “Tell me that this isn’t just you trying to resolve your past or...some sort of obligation, now that you remember who I once was to you.”
He shakes his head. “Never. Jesus, Nat, I’ve been thinking about you for months even when you were just the gorgeous redhead who was friends with Steve. Honestly,” he laughs, “I don’t think there’s any version of myself that wouldn’t want you.”
Bucky inches closer, and then there’s no space between them, torsos pressed together, and all Natasha can do is wrap her arms around his neck and press her lips to his.
His lips are chapped, and he breathes sharply against her mouth in surprise, then he melts into her, tugging her bottom lip between his teeth and running his hands along her spine. She lets out a little moan, then threads her fingers through his hair again. It’s a wonder, she decides, that he still has this effect on her. After decades away from each other, he can still bring her to pieces with a simple kiss.
Natasha runs her tongue along the seam of his lips, and Bucky opens his mouth against hers, sighing and whimpering a little in response. His hands slide down her spine and reach to cup her ass. She pushes her pelvis into his in response, feeling him hard against her, and he lets out a hiss. They break apart after another long, lingering kiss, and both have to take a moment to catch their breath.
She hums in the back of her throat and meets Bucky’s eyes. His lips are swollen and red, cheeks flushed, and she doesn’t think she’s ever wanted someone more.
“So,” Natasha swallows, voice raw. “That definitely still works.”
He smiles, slow and roguish and beautiful. Bucky takes a long, deep breath, and tucks a strand of hair behind Natasha’s ear. “You can say that again.” He shakes his head with apparent disbelief. “How did I go so long without knowing I was missing this?”
She laughs, a little breathless.
Lifting a single brow, she asks, “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“Of course not.” Bucky is grinning widely now. “But I also think it may be the best one I’ve ever had.”
“Sap,” she accuses, but she’s still beaming at him.
He shrugs. “Maybe I am. I guess we’ll find out together.”
Natasha shakes her head, laughing still.
“Yeah,” she agrees, reaching down to give his hand a squeeze. “I guess we will.”