#alt!postblip

@scinglives

Just because Natasha wasn't taking missions didn't mean she didn't still have a finger on the pulse of everything that was happening with the Avengers. She'd been managing the team in the five years of the Blip. She'd stepped away, giving more of that responsibility to Hill while she reckoned with new demons Vormir had left her with, but it was still her team. She doubted she would stay out of the fight permanently any more than Steve would be able to in the long-term.

She bit down on her first response, which was that a toddler could come up with a better plan. It was spiteful and also untrue. She leveled him a look that said get bossy with me, Barnes, I dare you. "I have better things to do than sulk, or babysit three idiots in Madripoor," she said coolly. There was a brief pause, concern slipping through her irritation. She did have things to do other than sit around and wait, but she'd still worry, and she'd still be there to help him with whatever fallout came from impersonating the Winter Soldier. "Call me if you get in over your head though," she added, softer. She'd be there if they needed her. She'd always be there.

Natasha would never admit it, but she was a little bit nervous to be meeting up with Steve and Bucky. It was the first time she'd seen either of them since the battle, and there had been no time to talk about anything serious then. She'd already faced Clint, and Bruce and Thor had left the city, so it was the one difficult conversation she had left. She was comforted a little by the fact that they were in a public place. None of them were the kind to make a scene there (anymore). The fact that Steve was going to meet up with them later... interesting. She had theories, none of them confirmed yet.

She ordered a drink and amused herself by flirting with a man at the bar while she waited. It had been a while, but it was alarmingly easy to slide back into the role. It always had been. Much harder to just be herself, assuming she even knew what that was. She'd spent a lot more time in the past five years managing the Avengers than going on active missions though, and it was good to keep her hand in. She was learning a lot from this guy. Mostly things nobody would want to know. She smiled when she spotted the person she was actually there to see and stepped away from the bar, taking her drink with her. "Sorry, sweetheart. Prior engagement. Say hello to your wife for me."

Not a day passed that Bucky didn't wonder how he'd ever been lucky enough to get to be with Natasha. She was one of the only bright spots in decades of torment, but it wasn't just shared history that bound them together. They'd been able to start fresh, the universe finally aligning to let them live in relative peace after the Avengers reversed the snap and Bucky worked on fulfilling the terms of his pardon. He was deeply sure of her: that he wanted to be with her, that she wouldn't bail at the first sign of trouble, but that didn't always stop the nerves. He wanted to be worthy of her, and he wanted to make her happy, and he worried sometimes he wasn't up to either task. But that was more motivation to try.

He used to be effortlessly good at this sort of thing. The Bucky of the 1940s wouldn't have sweated something like Valentine's Day or showing his girl a good time. The present-day Bucky was wildly out of practice and nervous about fucking it up. He knew he was unnecessarily psyching himself out thinking their first ever Valentine's should be special, but… shouldn't it? They'd never gotten to have anything this normal. He wanted the day to be great for her.

After some discussion, they'd agreed on a private tour of New York City, each of them choosing some of their favorite places to show each other. His hands were tucked in the pockets of his jacket, slightly hunched against the February chill while he waited for her on the edges of Chinatown. Despite the predictable seasonal cold, the weather was cooperating at least, no rain or snow, the sun occasionally peeking out from behind some clouds.

"True. He can't really hang it up or put it on a shelf, can he? Shelf's not worthy." An amused smile tugged his lips upward as he leaned against the back of the couch, watching Steve make his way unsteadily into the room. It had been a long time since he'd seen him drunk, not since he was a little guy in Brooklyn, and he sort of wanted to send Thor a thank-you note for giving this version of Steve back to him for a night, swaying and a little silly and a lot adorable. Bucky himself had no interest in being drunk again--after so many years of not knowing his own mind, being out of control of himself was the last thing he wanted--but he was glad to see Steve enjoying himself. He didn't get to let loose enough.

Sleep was a complicated thing for Steve, and he spent more nights fixing old bikes or running loops around New York City than he did getting quality hours of uninterrupted sleep. Ironically, he usually got his best sleep on mission. It was hard to wear his body and his mind down enough for sleep, and the combination of travel and fighting would do it. He was dead on his feet, and it took a long moment to even realize what was wrong with the room.

"Oh--" Once, he wouldn't have hesitated at there only being one bed, and it was still his first instinct. They'd shared plenty growing up, especially in the winter when Steve only had to think about snow to catch a cold. "Don't worry about it, Buck. I don't care if you don't. Looks big enough to share." Sure it did, Rogers. If he was still ninety pounds. "Or I can take the floor, if you want." His gaze flicked around the room, which wasn't much bigger than the bed itself. He was a soldier. He could sleep sitting up if he had to.

"I miss you too, baby. Tell me about your day." Bucky was curled on the bed in the hotel, his phone propped against a pillow while he FaceTimed with Steve. His mission was over, but it would take him another day to get home, two if he got paranoid about it.

It had been mere days since the Battle of Earth, and Bucky was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he'd missed five years of his life. Again. He was no stranger to losing time after decades on ice. He’d thought he was past that point of his life until they threw aliens and magic rocks at him. From his perspective, they'd lost the fight and won the fight in the same day, and that was… a lot.

He certainly didn't begrudge the teams a victory party in New Asgard, but he wasn’t much for crowds these days, or much of a conversationalist for that matter. He was leaning on a balcony railing with a drink that would unfortunately do nothing for him, and if he had to hear another word about the Big Three (aliens, robots, and sorcerers), he was going to throw something-- possibly the talking rodent who kept trying to barter for his metal arm.