We'll Always Have This

Chapter 7

Bucky stood in his tiny kitchenette, unsure whether everything he was preparing was worthwhile, whether she'd come tonight or ever again. She hadn't come last night or the night before, but if she did come tonight, he was determined things would go his way. The meal he'd been preparing was almost finished; it had been a pleasant change to cook some of the favourites his father had taught him, but with the meat being fresh and without the vegetables being canned or pickled. Perks of not being at war. This was the third chicken he'd roasted with vegetables; he'd eaten well since she'd left and felt better for it. Tonight, maybe like the last few, she may not even come, but if she did, he was prepared. He didn't imagine anything he'd slaved over was up to the culinary standards Natasha was used to. As a young woman in this decade, he suspected she'd sampled many delights, such that he couldn't even comprehend. Still, Bucky hoped the effort would be appreciated. He'd even bought wine instead of vodka; the vodka was still around to help him sleep, but the wine he'd purchased was a more meal-appropriate alcohol. The familiar tones of his favourite war-time tunes played in the background. He'd even shaved, but that had been this morning, and already a shadow was visible across his perfectly smooth jawline. There was nothing left to do; he felt nervous; it had been a long time since he'd had a date, a proper date. Date? Were he and Natasha dating? So far, they'd had sex and been intimate sleeping together; elements of their time together might be considered friendship or verging on a relationship. He inhaled nervously; he was in unchartered territory, and the wine wouldn't help. He considered the vodka- no, he wanted it to be like before the war. He went to the bathroom and monitored his reflection in the mirror.

"Get it together, Buck," he told himself as he smoothed his hair back into a band and re-tucked his shirt into his jeans. Jeans and a shirt would've insulted a girl on a date in his day as if you'd come straight from work or made no effort at all; a suit, shirt and tie had been the only acceptable attire. That was, of course, until he'd got his uniform. A soldier's uniform was all the girls wanted to see, and he'd happily obliged. He no longer had his regimental uniform, just his dog tags, and he only had enough cash from the odd jobs he did for food and rent; more formal clothing was a luxury he couldn't afford. He stared at his apprehensive reflection in the mirror. If he saw himself on a reflective surface on a mission, he saw the Winter Soldier, a wild animal muzzled with long, unkempt hair and fierce eyes. Since he'd gone into hiding, he often didn't recognise himself but for the dark expression and grim set mouth. The image he saw now, despite his tension, looked better, healthier, and cleaner, more like the image he remembered from his long-lost youth. He heard footsteps down the corridor followed by a pause, listened to the inhale of breath and the creak of leather as an arm raised to knock on the door, and he smiled.

Natasha felt tired; she'd hesitated multiple times about coming, but in the end, her desire to see him had led her to his door, and this time, it wasn't for the physical release. She'd brought no photographs with her either. The intelligence he'd provided her with a few days ago had proved accurate and would keep them vastly busy for a substantial amount of time. So tonight, she'd come here to avoid sitting on her bunk alone watching dubbed James Bond movies and eating boiled noodles. He opened the door, holding it open with a smile. He looked different, apart from the smile; he was clean-shaven, his hair swept back tidily in a band, and his skin seemed healthier. The smell of something cooking drifted to her nose from within. She cocked her head and gave him a half-smile.

"OK, soldier, what's going on?"

He didn't reply, merely extended his titanium hand towards the dressed table. She smirked and stepped into the room, allowing him to close the door behind her. She unzipped her jacket, and he took it from her shoulders to hang it on a hook on the wall before leading her to the table. A wildflower sat in a jar of water in the middle next to two unmatched glasses and ancient cutlery. He pulled out the chair for her, and she sat, feeling the smile on her face widen. He filled her glass with wine before preparing two plates and setting one before her- roasted meat and vegetables, nothing out of this world, but it smelt great. He sat opposite her. Neither of them had said a word, and his anticipatory expression made her bite her bottom lip to suppress a giggle.