She'd known Bucky in an entirely different life before. The life when she was a nothing more than a ruthless spy, when he was still The Winter Soldier, when he had been nothing but another target to her, a mission that had been handed to her in the form of an envelope that contained a slip of paper with his name and a set of coordinates where he could be found. She still wore the scar from that meeting, a permanent and constant reminder of that they'd forever be tied to one another. That no matter how many countries may have separated them, his face would always remain in her memory.
The face that she saw now, though, wasn't the one of The Winter Soldier. The features were still the same; the same sharp jawline highlighted by a dusting of stubble, the same icy blue eyes that had looked upon her before, cold and unforgiving. He was simply Bucky now, a man trying to piece together his memories and forget the horrors that he had otherwise caused.
What they had was his way of forgetting, one of the many ways that he tried to distract himself, to clear his mind. And it was Natasha's way of doing the same, she had her own memories that she was always running from, they enabled one another.
They didn't say a word to one another, they never did. The release was purely physical in the way that everything about the meeting always was, Natasha crossing the length of the room in silence until she stopped only a short distance from where he was seated on the edge of his bed, her eyes dark and desiring as they narrowed at him.
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no subject
Sometime during CACW before shit hits the fan???
The face that she saw now, though, wasn't the one of The Winter Soldier. The features were still the same; the same sharp jawline highlighted by a dusting of stubble, the same icy blue eyes that had looked upon her before, cold and unforgiving. He was simply Bucky now, a man trying to piece together his memories and forget the horrors that he had otherwise caused.
What they had was his way of forgetting, one of the many ways that he tried to distract himself, to clear his mind. And it was Natasha's way of doing the same, she had her own memories that she was always running from, they enabled one another.
They didn't say a word to one another, they never did. The release was purely physical in the way that everything about the meeting always was, Natasha crossing the length of the room in silence until she stopped only a short distance from where he was seated on the edge of his bed, her eyes dark and desiring as they narrowed at him.