Natasha was dressed but lying flat with her eyes closed when Steve sat down in the chair next to her camp cot.
"Nice suit," he said.
Without looking, she smiled. "It's a horrible suit, Rogers, but it's the kind of thing she wears." She sounded slow and thoughtful.
"If you don't like it, why do you own it?"
"Because sometimes I need to impersonate the kind of person who'd wear this suit at a moment's notice." She sighed. "That bolthole was a pain in the neck to set up, too. I hated to burn it."
Steve was sure it shouldn't have surprised him that Natasha had multiple properties in the DC area she could go to ground in, only about half of them in SHIELD records. "Are you sure you're going to be okay for this?"
At that she did open her eyes and rolled her head enough to look at him. "They're gonna give me the good drugs. I will be feeling no pain, trust me. If I'm still alive at midnight I'll crash hard, but by then it won't matter." She smiled. "One way or the other."
Steve nodded. Natasha hitched herself up till she was leaning against the wall at the head of the cot. It didn't look comfortable to him. "OK, what's up?"
"My brainwashed best friend tried to kill me yesterday," Steve said, as calmly as he could manage. "Isn't that enough?"
"You'd think," Natasha said. "But that's not it. At least, that's not all."
Steve slouched in his chair, resisting the urge to pull his shield into his lap like a security blanket. "You're too good at this."
Natasha gave him a level look. "Good enough to know when you're trying to distract me, Steve. Now spill."
"I recognized him twice," Steve said, and he knew he was hard to understand but he had to get the words out as fast as possible.
Natasha's brow furrowed.
"You remember I told you about the films, of the man who looked like Bucky?"
She started to nod and froze halfway through the motion as the implication hit her. "The...blue movies," she said. "Bozhe moi, Steve, are you sure?"
"I remember thinking that he had something wrong with his left arm," Steve said bitterly. "The skin was a little off-color. In the later ones, they had him wearing the same fucking mask." That mask had turned into a symbol in his mind, somehow even worse than the metal arm. At least the arm was intended to make the Winter Soldier more effective; while the mask served the practical purpose of obscuring his identity, there were infinite ways it could have been designed that wouldn't have made it a goddamned muzzle. "So I spent five months watching my best friend be raped, and getting off on it."
"Steve," Natasha said, and he shook his head. There was no forgiveness for this. "There was literally no way you could have known, Steve."
"I should have recognized him sooner," Steve said. The words were like pus from an infected wound, painful to say without relieving any of the pressure. "The whole reason I liked them was because he looked like Bucky!" He laughed, or tried to. "Guess there was a reason for that."
Natasha leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes for a second, letting out a long breath. Steve said nothing. Maybe she'd realized how badly he'd failed. But when she turned her attention back to him, her eyes were fierce.
"You thought he was dead," she said flatly, with no hint of the amusement that usually colored her tone. "It was perfectly rational to assume it was just someone who resembled him. Normally people age in thirty years, if nothing else." Steve started to respond but Natasha overrode him ruthlessly. "I know you want to think everything in the world rests on your shoulders, Steve, but this is not the time to indulge your masochistic streak. Right now if you think of him as Bucky, if you pretend you could have done anything differently, a lot of people will die. Right now he's the Winter Soldier. You can worry about saving him when the mission's done."
Steve looked down at his hands.
"Promise me, Rogers," Natasha said, quietly but with force.
"I promise," Steve said.
*
"But Steve," Hill said, more emotion than he'd ever heard from her.
"Do it," Steve grated. His gut ached, his calf and shoulder burned. Once the guns started to fire, he'd be done. Insight would be stopped.
Once the guns started to fire, the mission would be over.
FILL: 95, Not Dead 6/7?
"Nice suit," he said.
Without looking, she smiled. "It's a horrible suit, Rogers, but it's the kind of thing she wears." She sounded slow and thoughtful.
"If you don't like it, why do you own it?"
"Because sometimes I need to impersonate the kind of person who'd wear this suit at a moment's notice." She sighed. "That bolthole was a pain in the neck to set up, too. I hated to burn it."
Steve was sure it shouldn't have surprised him that Natasha had multiple properties in the DC area she could go to ground in, only about half of them in SHIELD records. "Are you sure you're going to be okay for this?"
At that she did open her eyes and rolled her head enough to look at him. "They're gonna give me the good drugs. I will be feeling no pain, trust me. If I'm still alive at midnight I'll crash hard, but by then it won't matter." She smiled. "One way or the other."
Steve nodded. Natasha hitched herself up till she was leaning against the wall at the head of the cot. It didn't look comfortable to him. "OK, what's up?"
"My brainwashed best friend tried to kill me yesterday," Steve said, as calmly as he could manage. "Isn't that enough?"
"You'd think," Natasha said. "But that's not it. At least, that's not all."
Steve slouched in his chair, resisting the urge to pull his shield into his lap like a security blanket. "You're too good at this."
Natasha gave him a level look. "Good enough to know when you're trying to distract me, Steve. Now spill."
"I recognized him twice," Steve said, and he knew he was hard to understand but he had to get the words out as fast as possible.
Natasha's brow furrowed.
"You remember I told you about the films, of the man who looked like Bucky?"
She started to nod and froze halfway through the motion as the implication hit her. "The...blue movies," she said. "Bozhe moi, Steve, are you sure?"
"I remember thinking that he had something wrong with his left arm," Steve said bitterly. "The skin was a little off-color. In the later ones, they had him wearing the same fucking mask." That mask had turned into a symbol in his mind, somehow even worse than the metal arm. At least the arm was intended to make the Winter Soldier more effective; while the mask served the practical purpose of obscuring his identity, there were infinite ways it could have been designed that wouldn't have made it a goddamned muzzle. "So I spent five months watching my best friend be raped, and getting off on it."
"Steve," Natasha said, and he shook his head. There was no forgiveness for this. "There was literally no way you could have known, Steve."
"I should have recognized him sooner," Steve said. The words were like pus from an infected wound, painful to say without relieving any of the pressure. "The whole reason I liked them was because he looked like Bucky!" He laughed, or tried to. "Guess there was a reason for that."
Natasha leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes for a second, letting out a long breath. Steve said nothing. Maybe she'd realized how badly he'd failed. But when she turned her attention back to him, her eyes were fierce.
"You thought he was dead," she said flatly, with no hint of the amusement that usually colored her tone. "It was perfectly rational to assume it was just someone who resembled him. Normally people age in thirty years, if nothing else." Steve started to respond but Natasha overrode him ruthlessly. "I know you want to think everything in the world rests on your shoulders, Steve, but this is not the time to indulge your masochistic streak. Right now if you think of him as Bucky, if you pretend you could have done anything differently, a lot of people will die. Right now he's the Winter Soldier. You can worry about saving him when the mission's done."
Steve looked down at his hands.
"Promise me, Rogers," Natasha said, quietly but with force.
"I promise," Steve said.
*
"But Steve," Hill said, more emotion than he'd ever heard from her.
"Do it," Steve grated. His gut ached, his calf and shoulder burned. Once the guns started to fire, he'd be done. Insight would be stopped.
Once the guns started to fire, the mission would be over.