Winter Widow One Shots

Why Won't You Marry Me?

The silence in their Brooklyn apartment was heavier than usual, thick with the smell of stale coffee.

Bucky sat on the edge on their worn couch, his hands resting on his knees. The polished metal reflecting the street lights from outside. Natasha sat across from him, curled on the arm chair, her hands cupped around a mug of coffee she hadn't touched in an hour.

"You okay, Natalia?"

She didn't look up. She didn't respond. Just dropped her head further, her red hair falling into her face.

"You didn't happen to grab pancake mix at the store today did you?" he asked, his tone shifting lighter, searching for anything that might coax her back into the room.

He didn't wait for the answer he knew wasn't coming.

"That's alright." He smiled, even though she couldn't really see it. "I'll run over tomorrow. We still have eggs... unless I burned the last of them."

Nothing.

"I might've burned the pan, too."

A tiny shrug.

"I'll take that as forgiveness from you."

He leaned back into the couch until the springs groaned. "Alpine got out again today, think its Liho's fault. Your cat is a trouble maker, she's teaching Alpine terrible things."

Natasha's gaze flicked sideways, briefly tracking across the floor to where the two cats were curled together on a frayed rug near the unlit hearth. The black stray and the white one were a soft, rising-and-falling tangle of fur in the shadows.

"It's gonna get chilly tonight, maybe it's time we finally use it?" Bucky asked. "Course we still have cleaned it out, ma always warned me that it would be dangerous to light our fireplace if we hadn't cleaned out last winter's soot."

Natasha blinked and shook her head.

"Guy at the deli finally repeated my order back to me right today," he continued, rolling his right wrist. "Then still gave me the wrong sandwich."

"I'm sorry."

"There you are." His smile softened. "Thought I'd lost you."

Natasha swallowed.

"They gave me ham."

"You hate ham."

"I know." he shrugged. "Ate it anyway. Maybe next time. Dunno why I keep going there. Another shop is bound to get it right. Maybe it's cause he gives me an extra pickle every time he gets it wrong."

"That's nice."

"Not really." He pulled a face, his nose wrinkling. "They are terrible pickles."

The corner of Natasha's mouth twitched so briefly it disappeared before either of them could be sure it had happened.

Silence settled again.

He drummed the fingers of his metal hand against his knee, the rhythm soft and uneven.

"I cleaned the kitchen."

No reply.

"I even did the dishes."

Another long pause. The rain outside picked up, heavy drops beating a steady cadence against the fire escape.

"You wanna know something?"

She didn't answer.

"I found four spoons in your nightstand."

A slow blink.