You take the man out of the city, not the city out of the man

[stillfriends]

Natasha had learned long ago that worrying was a waste of time. You crossed bridges as they came. Was it necessary to have multiple plans in case that particular bridge was lined with dynamite or occupied by opposing forces? Absolutely. But having a plan or improvising in the moment was different than constantly fretting over all the what ifs and wasting time and energy on something that may never come. Therefore she didn't worry when Steve missed their weekly check-in. She knew that he had his hands full with his recently deprogrammed best friend and ex-Hydra agent and she knew better than to take it personally.

But she felt the foreign feeling of worry enter her mind when it had been 48 hours later and Steve had yet to check in. She had expected a (needless) apology and a report on how Bucky was dealing with things this week. She knew that the check ins were more than just about each other's safety, it was also because they were a team, even if the Avengers was just another piece of Natasha's past. When she tried his phone there was no answer and she refused to call too many times, a stubborn part of her still hating to admitting any kind of vulnerability, even now. Even with Steve.

Which is why she had decided that when her current solo mission was over she would simply drop in on the two men at the safehouse that Steve had mentioned they would be using last week. Worst case scenario was that they weren't there and she'd have to start tracking their whereabouts from the location they'd been at last contact. Best case scenario, they'd gotten so caught up with the mission or each other that Steve had merely forgotten to check in or check his phone - which was laughable for Captain America, but possibly not beyond the possibility depending on circumstances.

She had flown in on the redeye, taking a cab from the airport to a busy and touristy part of Luxembourg City before slipping into a cafe and then out the back alley. From there, she'd walked the rest of the way to the safe house, nestled in a quiet neighborhood with very little traffic and private estates. This was one of the nicer safe houses, though the rooms were small and densely decorated in standard European fashion. She'd bypassed the gate and climbed the wall instead, not being able to help herself from catching Steve off guard. She knew it would amuse him if she defeated his defenses, though she was less certain about how Bucky might react.

Which was why she was quiet as she opened the back door to the kitchen and tried to ascertain where the men were in the house before making her presence known. The last thing she wanted to do was catch the Winter Soldier off guard and cause Steve any more grief as they moved room to room, destroying the safe house in the process. She set her bag down on the kitchen table and followed the soft sound of music down a dark hallway to a brighter living room, trying to stay in the shadow of the hallway for as long as she could. She made out the shadow of Bucky against a bookcase, her eyes sweeping the room for any sign of Steve. There wasn't one, and as much as she had wanted to surprise him first, she thought it was best to let her presence be known.

"Hey," she said, stepping out of the hallway and knocking on the doorframe to telegraph her presence so as not to startle him.

Comments

[notworthallthis]

The music is old. Familiar. From a time so long past it’s hard to hold onto, try as he might. Things were easier then. Simpler. Or it’s just the rose-colored glasses of looking back. Hard to say, sometimes.

As silent on her feet as she is, Bucky still knew the second she had entered the house. There was a sudden shift in the air. A feeling of knowing he is suddenly not alone. Steve returning from his supply run, maybe.

But Steve doesn’t bother with sneaking around, not when Bucky still doesn’t feel like he can trust himself, no matter how much trust Steve has in him. They’re at odds on that fact, but it’s okay, they don’t have to agree; Bucky is just glad he still has him, that everything he’s done didn’t put a wedge between that couldn’t be removed. He would be in a much darker place without that, he thinks.

Her footsteps are light, and the knock on the doorframe makes his whole body go tense. His fingers twitch at his side, itching and eager to grab the knife tucked into boot.

But the familiar, low pitch of her voice lets a portion of that tension ease out again. His eyes slide shut with the soft sigh that escapes him. After a moment, he abandons the bookshelf to turn toward her, “You need to get better about announcing yourself,” he says and it’s somehow both a warning and a teasing jab all at once.