Run (A Bucky Barnes Recovery Story)

91 Ballerina

Extra chapter today because I'm having a bad day and because this is mostly fluff anyway. :) -BB

Natasha liked to read. She liked knowing things and learning things and keeping information on hand. She thought about this as she packed up book after book from her shelves in her old apartment, setting them into boxes gently, piling them on top of one another. She and James had picked out spots to set up the bookcases up at his place. By the TV and in the hall and near the kitchen.

She packed up pictures and little ballerina figurines she’d been collecting. She packed up clothes and boxes of old letters and the weapons she kept on hand just in case.

She heard James let himself in, because he wasn’t quiet and she felt him join her, stacking boxes behind her silently.

“When do we leave?” He asked after a while, after their quiet had become comfortable.

“What, for Russia?” She asked.

“Yeah,” he replied.

“Two days,” she said. “We’ll get some back-up, I know Fury’s getting ahold of the other Avengers, but I’m not sure who he’ll send with us. And we’ll put some of the finishing touches on this sinking ship of Hydra’s over there.” She looked over her shoulder at him, staring down at boxes, his arms at his sides. “We’ll be back in a couple days. It’ll be like a mini-vacation, just with more guns.”

“I do want this,” James said, as though he were reminding himself as much as he was telling her. “I asked for this.” He looked over at her then. “Are you scared?” Natasha looked down and thought and realized she wasn’t sure. But when she looked back up at him, she shook her head.

“I think maybe I would have been,” she said. “But not now. Not anymore.” James nodded and looked back over to her boxes, reaching up to push his hair out of his face and taking in a deep breath and he looked like he was going to say something, but he closed his mouth and remained silent. They continued packing in comfortable quiet until Natasha turned and saw James holding one of her ballerina figurines, turning it in his plastic-capped left hand and she watched him study it, try it turn it one more time, but of course, his fingers were slow and ungraceful and they both sucked in a breath loudly to watch it fall from his hand. Before Natasha could react, James was swooping down, with his right, of course, and he grabbed it out of the air just before it shattered on the ground and she heard him let go of his breath, relieved.

He stood back up hastily and shoved the figurine at her as though he didn’t trust himself with it anymore, apologizing profusely, but Natasha just smiled at him and looked down at the tiny ballerina she’d taken back from him and shrugged.

“Hush, James, don’t worry about it,” she said to him and set it down in the box at their feet. “No harm done, it’s not your fault.”

“If I had my other arm,” James was saying and he was scowling at his left hand, it’s fingers jerky and clumsy.

“We can blame Tony,” Natasha said and smiled at him until he smiled a little back.

“Why ballerinas?” He asked as she turned back to unshelving. “I never pegged you as a collector.” Natasha shrugged.

“I’m not,” she said. “You’re right, collecting, it’s too messy. Too much stuff, too many… Emotions. Hard to disappear when you have to pack up porcelain figurines in bubble wrap first.” She laughed a little to herself. “But I do it anyway. At least, for these. I’ve had this set for a long time.” Because she wanted to show him now, Natasha turned back and knelt down into the box and began digging through until she’d found all five figures and she unwrapped them all carefully and set them on the shelf before James. They were all a little different, with pretty painted faces and pink tutus in different positions. One was turning a pirouette on her toes. Another was holding one leg up above her head. A third sat on the ground in a graceful split. They were all a little faded and chipped. One had black marks across her torso, despite what looked like attempts to scrub it off. A few were missing hands. Natasha pointed at the black marked one. “This one was actually in my bag when I was being shot at one time. It was missed by a second.” She smiled up at him and he was looking at them all, studying them, enthralled, presumably with the way she loved them. “I’ve been carrying these around ever since I had to stop performing.” James looked at her.

“You were a ballerina?” He asked and she nodded.

“It was technically undercover work, while I waited for assignments. It was my life on the surface of everything,” she said.

“You loved it,” he observed and she nodded again.

“You can tell?” She asked. “Yeah, I loved dancing. The music, the gracefulness. And it was almost peaceful for once, on the stage. I haven’t known much peacefulness. Not like dancing, at least.”

“How long did you do it?” He asked.

“Oh,” Natasha thought. “A couple years.”

“Do you want to go back?” He said and, well, did she? Natasha realized she hadn’t thought about it. She missed it, surely, but going back… She didn’t want her life from back then. She wanted now, with James, even if it had to be without dancing.

“I’d love to dance again,” Natasha admitted, picking up one of the figures and beginning to pack it again slowly. “But I wouldn’t want to go back in time, if that’s what you mean. I like being here. I like being with you.”

They finished packing soon after that, Natasha’s apartment left bare and clean and together, they carried the boxes one door over into James’ place. Natasha knew James had some trouble holding them because his left arm was so weak and fragile, but she knew he wouldn’t want her to say anything and so she only kept an eye on him from behind to make sure he wasn’t hurting himself. They set up piles of boxes against the walls and then James turned to her.

“I used to dance, too,” he said. “Not… Not like you, and I was never professional like you, but I liked the music. Swing music and big bands and…” He looked like he was remembering, but he didn’t look pained or like the thinking was jarring his programming anymore, which was great and Natasha felt relieved for him. She listened to him reminisce about girls he’d take dancing and how Steve hated it, but he’d never had more fun and how it all sort of came to an end after the war and how he’d like to do it again, too. And she wanted to take his hands then, lead him until they were waltzing, even though there was no music. “It’s weird to remember,” James was finishing speaking, she could hear it in his voice. “I’m not used to that.” She stepped closer to him then, as he fell silent, and took up his hands gently and he smiled that smile at her, the one she recognized because she knew it only really truly came when he felt delighted. He smiled like that at her if she kissed him, too, and she grinned back flirtingly.

“There’s no music,” he said.

“So hum something,” she replied.

“I haven’t… I haven’t danced in seventy years,” he added.

“Give or take some,” she said with a laugh. “We’ll start slow.” And they did, with her leading until he felt more comfortable, and they did turns and gentle swirls and James began humming some tune she’d never heard before, but it was slow and sweet and part of her wanted to put her head on his shoulder and just close her eyes and let them go in circles, but an overwhelming part of her couldn’t tear her eyes away from his because in that moment, she was just so desperately glad that they were together.