#howlingwintercommando

Betty tapped her fingers against the casing of her phone, staring out the window. The sky was staring to darken like there was going to be snow. Something she did not really want to deal with especially since it reminded her of dark days at the artic. But it was reminding her of something else she had been meaning to do. Before everything explode anyway. She picked up her phone, sending out a quick text before getting up to gather her things. Even if he said no, she could still eat.

Hey Bucky, want to get lunch near that little café about a block from the tower. I haven’t seen you in a while and would love to catch up. My treat~

ER

She slid on her dark purple winter coat, looking at the phone screen when it buzzed. That was another thing that made her sad working at Stark Industries. They really did not want you to have your phone on you and if you did they prefer it be on vibrate so as not to startle anyone else. Waste of time really but the pay was good. Her eyes scanned over the response, grinning at it. She would have a lunch date after all.

I’ll be there in about twenty minutes, see you then.

ER

Betty pushed her way out of R&D, heading towards the bustling streets where everyone else was trying to get to their lunch dates. She took a bit of comfort in the noise, in how she was entirely unimportant in the grand scheme of things. It was nice to have so many people pass by and not a single one know what she had done. Especially since that day was slowly coming up once again. Her face dipped lower in her collar before moving back up again. This wasn’t the time for such thoughts. She was going to see Bucky after all and he deserved a smile if nothing else.

The wind was freezing, bitter enough that every breath felt as though it was driving ice down into his lungs, even through the mask that he wore.  It had a keen edge, sharp as any knife he wielded.  The snow had stopped at least, settling over his position, masking where he lay as effectively as any other cover.  He could feel the cold sinking deep into him, until it felt as though it had sunk into his very bones.  He stared out from his position, an iron grey sky above, bleak white below, punctuated by the harsh edged concrete structures that he was watching.  

He had been there for long enough that time had blurred, seconds becoming minutes becoming hours.  He had seen the target disappear into the building.  Now was the time to wait until they came out, drove past his position so that he could take the shot, could finish the mission.  He systematically tensed and released his muscles, starting at his feet, working up to his head, keeping the blood flowing, keeping his body temperature high enough to stay at optimum functionality under the circumstances.  

Silently he shifted, the movement almost imperceptible as he flexed the fingers of his right hand, noting the way that he was beginning to stiffen in the glacial temperatures with a flicker of something approaching irritation.  It was not his chosen way to spend the days before Christmas.  Vaguely he wondered if he’d even make it home that year.  He focused back on the base, switched on to what he was doing, until he heard a crackle over the comm line.  He forbore the urge to sigh.  Each message had turned the mission into more of a pain in the ass than the one before it and he wasn’t looking forward to the next one.  

“Well hey there handsome”  

The familiar throaty chuckle that accompanied the Russian words made him smile beneath his mask.  “Nat, what are you... you’re in with the team on this one?”  

“No.  I’m currently stood in a corner of the courtyard of a palace in St Petersburg.  I hacked into the system when I had some downtime earlier.  I thought that you might like the company.”  She replied, her voice low and soft, the conversation private.   

“You...”  

“Don’t underestimate me idiot.  How’s it going there?”  

“Cold.  Boring as hell.”  He replied.  “So, humour me, doll...”  

“You’re about to say ‘what are you wearing’ aren’t you?”  

“You can’t blame a guy for tryin’... Been out here in this for...six hours last count.  They’re showing no signs of coming out.  What are you doin’ in St Petersburg?”  

“Infiltrating a diplomatic event.  It’s decidedly dull you know.  I miss having a decent dancing partner.  You want to know what I’m wearing?  Black velvet with silver embroidery, sinfully soft against my skin, those heels that you got for me in London, silk stockings, gossamer thin, just asking to be peeled off... all of it just waiting to pool on the floor so that there’s nothing left of this outfit save for the silver earrings I’m wearing...”  

As the note in her voice changed he swallowed, a reaction that was involuntary, heard her laugh in response as she picked up on his silence.  “Y’know, doll...this would be a lot better if you were here right now...”  

“Just giving you something to think about to warm you up.  A hint for when you get home.  For when I get home.”  She paused for a beat.  “I have to go.  The dancing is about to start again, and there’s a certain person that I need to spend some time with.  Stay safe, my idiot, don’t freeze.” 

“It wasn’t on my agenda.” He retorted. “Mind you it never was.  Stay safe, don’t go findin’ yourself another dancing partner.”  

ship meme: christmas edition

Who starts putting up decorations in October?   Actually neither of them.  Because firstly, they are generally fairly busy, secondly, neither of them think it’s right to do it before December. Who buys the advent calendars?  Natasha.  She finds the custom quaint and amusing and enjoys opening the little doors.  

Who places mistletoe all around the house?  Bucky.  Because seriously, any excuse to kiss Natasha is a good one.  

Who wraps the presents for other people?  Neither in particular, although either would be willing if asked nicely or bribed correctly.  

Who puts the final star/angel on top of the Christmas tree?   Most might assume it was Bucky because he has the reach.  In reality Natasha gets on his shoulders and does it because it amuses her and she likes to give the tree a finishing touch.  

Who’s the one that hates eggnog?  Natasha.  She thinks that it’s sickly and disgusting and cannot fathom why anybody would drink it.  Bucky in return asks her how the hell she can find any enjoyment in pickled cabbage.  

Who’s the one that bakes Christmas cookies for guests?   That would be Bucky.  He’s surprisingly handy in the kitchen.  

Who sends out the Christmas cards?  Natasha because she’s the one organised enough to get on and remember to actually do it.   Who knows all the words to ‘Twelve Days of Christmas’?  Bucky.  It’s something that he remembers from when he was a child.  Natasha likes to mess with him and purposely sing the wrong things to try and make him second guess himself.  

The darkness had drawn in outside, flakes of snow drifting down past the window, lit briefly by the glow from the inside of the apartment.  The evening was theirs, a fire burning in the wood burner, candles taking the place of electric lighting.  It was warm, cosy, music playing softly in the background, a bottle of wine and two half empty glasses standing on the table.  

It was the sort of evening that he couldn’t help but appreciate, the sort that he hadn’t thought that they would be able to have.  And yet, after everything, there they were. It made it something to be cherished, a memory to be carefully tucked away, kept safe.  

He looked down to where Natasha was comfortably sprawled along the length of the couch, her head in his lap, his fingers lightly tangled in her gleaming, auburn curls, reflecting again on the path that had brought them to that point, on how lucky he was to be with her, to have what they did.   “What is it you’re thinking about?”  Her voice was low and warm, holding a vague edge of amusement as her green eyes met his.  

“Just committing this to memory.”  There was no point in being anything but honest with her.  For starters she would see right through him if he chose to deflect, for another thing?  He had no wish to hide his thoughts from her, not then.  She understood besides what memories meant to him, how important they were.  Understood because they were the same to her.  Something to be kept, to be claimed, to be kept safe.  

“Sap.”  The affection in her voice seemed to curl around him, sweet and welcoming.  There was a pause and he raised one eyebrow in question, waiting for her to speak.  “You know what my first memory is?” 

He shook his head.  “No.”  

“I didn’t think that I’d told you.  I haven’t told anybody.”  There was the barest ghost of a smile touching her lips, tinged with a hint of melancholy, and he stayed silent, knowing that she would tell him, that it was a gift that she was giving him, a part of herself that she hadn’t given away to anyone else.  “It was before the Red Room.  It’s vague, but it’s real, and it’s mine.  I was perhaps four or five.  I remember sitting in the kitchen in front of the fire.  Sitting on a woman’s lap, my mother.  I don’t remember what she looked like, or the man who was there, my father, not really.  I remember that she had a shawl wrapped around us both.  I remember the crackle of the fire.  I remember that he was playing the violin, and that she was singing.  Singing to me, a lullaby.  It’s not...there is no more to it.  It’s strange. The next memory that I have is of the night that I was taken.  The night that they dragged me from my home, still only four or five years old, barefoot and confused, not knowing why these men had come and had killed my parents.  It was around the same time as the first memory, except the second one is filled with blood and death, and with the cold.  It sets the scene for what was to come.”  

She paused and he could feel a mix of emotions run through him, sorrow and anger at the forefront.  He saw her roll her eyes at him as she reached up, her hand coming to cup the side of his face for a moment.  “It is long past.  You know that.  That first memory, my first memory?  That’s something that I treasure.  That once I had a family, that I was loved, that I had parents who cared for me.  The second reminds me that they loved me enough that they fought until their last breath to try and keep me safe.”  

The smell of hot melted cheese, spicy tomato sauce and warm pizza dough filled the apartment as Natasha strolled in, dropping her bag down by the door with a sound of satisfaction.  It had been a long week, and she was glad to be home, glad to be done with that particular mission.  

She heard the unmistakable sound of metal against glass and she couldn’t help a slight smile at that.  Pizza and beer.  Too predictable.  She would put good money on the fact that there was a baseball game on the TV as well. Without saying a word she went into the lounge, seeing the game on the television, a box with a pizza open on the table, uneaten with tendrils of steam rising in the air, surrounded by a disassembled rifle, and Bucky there with beer in hand.   “Hey doll, didn’t know you were gonna be back today.”  

He looked round with a smile as she came further in, standing behind him, leaning over the back of the couch, hands on his shoulders, looking down at him.  “I wasn’t going to be.  Things thankfully came to a conclusion.  I’m going to get a drink, get changed and then if this isn’t a private moment, I thought I might join you.”  There was a teasing note in her voice and it was answered with a low laugh from him.  

“I guess I could fit you in to my busy schedule today...” 

“Idiot.”  With that affectionate comment hanging in the air she disappeared into the bedroom to get changed, having no intention of leaving the apartment again that day.  It took a couple of moments to swap outdoor clothes for yoga pants and one of his shirts, and a moment more to go back through to the kitchen to make a drink.   As she stood waiting for the kettle to boil she heard a sound that nearly made her burst out laughing.  “James?  Are you sure I’m not disturbing a private moment?  I’m sure that I can go and invade elsewhere if you need some alone time... perhaps Steve would be interested in some company...”  

She was answered by another moan and then, “Blame Steve for this...he’s the one who turned me on to that pizza place.  I thought that pizza was just pizza but holy shit this is fuckin’ heaven in a slice.  Best damn pizza in the city...Nat, doll, you gotta try it.”  

“Why do I somehow feel that I’m coming between you and your lover right now?”  She asked, strolling back into the lounge, sitting down beside him, pulling him in for a kiss, tasting the flavour of the pizza and beer as she did.  “I’m not sure that I want to come between you and your beloved...”  

He grinned.  “We’ll make it a threesome...”  

“First time for everything...”  As he picked up the slice of pizza again she leaned in, biting the other end.  “This might get messy.”  

The soft sound of a knock at the door was enough to draw a grumbled curse from the man not-sleeping next to her, and to make Natasha open her eyes and shift slightly, loathe to leave the warmth of their bed.  She couldn’t help the slight smile the touched her lips as she felt a hand come to rest on her hip, accompanied by half-asleep words.   “S’only that punk, Steve.  I know that knock... and he knows it’s... far too fucking early...” 

Something approaching a laugh escaped her as she settled back down again, pulling the duvet around her, eyes already adjusted to the gloom, looking over to James, seeing the gleam of his eyes as he looked back at her.  “He might want something important.”  

“He’d have phoned...and...happy honorary birthday, doll.” 

She couldn’t help rolling her eyes at that.  “Just go back to sleep.”  

“I’m awake now, thinking of getting the coffee started.  And beginning the job of getting all 87 candles on a cake for you...”  

“In comparison to the arduous task that faces me on your next birthday, James, of somehow fitting 99 candles on a cake, I think you’re getting off lightly.”  She laughed at the grimace he gave her before he stretched and drew her into a slow, languid kiss.  “Old man...”  

“Heinous old bat...” 

She laughed and punched his shoulder.  “Go and make the coffee before I muster up a real threat.  And if you even dare to carry out that plan with the cake I will make you regret it until you’re 100.”  She paused for a moment with a smirk.  “Which actually isn’t too far off...”  

He hit pay dirt in the wee hours of the morning -- thank God, as he he’d sifted through enough satellite photos to strain even his not inconsiderable vision. He should’ve come to Stark immediately after Belarus; even if his satellites hadn’t been specifically looking out for HYDRA, they sure had proven a hell of a lot more useful than anything he’d tried and failed to dig out of...well. Not SHIELD. HYDRA itself.

But with Stark having granted Steve access to his personal global surveillance records, Steve finally found it: a bunker deep in the heart of Siberia, not so unlike Schmidt’s base in the Alps. Steve was willing to bet something big and important was buried there, considering that this particular site was apparently important enough to merit guarding.

“Got you, you bastard.”

He opened a comm link to Bucky, Sam, Sharon, and Remy, already standing to get changed as he spoke.

Outside the hotel room the night was dark, the streetlights providing a steady, twinkling glow, while the Eiffel Tower was a sparkling column of light, stretching skywards.  He stood on the balcony of their room, leaning against the railing, looking out across the city, just taking in the view, taking a few moments to reflect.  The scent of night blooming jasmine drifted past on the breeze along with the scent of the warm night itself.  

They were married.  

It was something that he still couldn’t quite believe, that still brought a smile to his lips as he considered it.  He thought back to the day, to the way it had seemed to pass in a whirlwind.  The way that it had felt standing there, with his best friend at his side, waiting for his bride, the woman that he loved to come and meet him at the end of the aisle, ready to marry him.  

He thought about that moment when she’d started to walk towards him, with Clint at her side, her arm looped through his, a familiar smile just tugging at the corners of her lips, green eyes never leaving him.  She’d taken his breath away, a vision in deep crimson, her auburn hair swept up, burnished and gleaming in the light.  He’d turned to Steve for a second, then back to Natasha.  The ceremony had been brief and simple, had gone smoothly and easily and the night afterwards had been one filled with good food, music, drink and friends, had been fun and intimate and exactly what they had wanted from their wedding, something to share with those that they considered closest to them.  

And then they’d headed to Paris for a honeymoon, just some time out, time away for them both.  

A sound in the room beyond made him look back towards the softly lit hotel room to see Natasha coming towards him, a glass in each hand of delicately fizzing champagne.  

“Enjoying the night, dorogoya moya?”  

He chuckled, nodding as he took the champagne flute from her.  “More now.”  

“Base flatterer.”  She retorted with a laugh, expression totally open and unshadowed, holding genuine amusement.  

He grinned and shrugged, holding out his champagne flute towards her, watching as she lightly chinked the glass against his.  “What is this toast dedicated to then?”  

“To us.”  Her reply came without hesitation.  “To the time we’ve had and the time to come.  And, to you, Mr Romanoff.”