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It was a rainy Tuesday when they met. She was just she, and he was just he. There was no Natasha, just "Sam". There was no Bucky, just "Alex". A mission, a job. An accidental meet.
And again.
And again.
And again.
The universe? Maybe. Fate? Maybe. Who knows what brought them together. But, at some point, someone was asked out, and hours turned into months and years.
If you asked Bucky, he’d say he fell in love with her at a coffee shop. They were on a mission and she was singing a song about love, or something, but he just loved the way her hair fell over her face and how she didn’t need to push it out of the way because she knew where her fingers went for the next chord so well she didn’t need to look. He loved her in run-on sentences and coffee runs at two am. He loved her through fights and rough sex, and bad days and worse days. He loved her so much that he almost bought a ring. But
“I don’t want to get married.” Natasha blurted. The dishes that had been balanced so carefully in the sink (over months because they were both never home with enough time to give them the care that they needed), fell ever so slightly. Bucky flinched as they clattered and moved to check and make sure nothing had broken.
I don’t want to get married. I don’t want to get married. I don’t want to get married. I don’t want to get married. The words echoed around his mind as he grabbed the sponge and worked on a mug with a ring of brown in the bottom.
“James…” She begged. “C’mon. This is barely a relationship. This is… we are roommates who have sex sometimes. Not… not a couple in love ready to get married. Steve told me.” Natasha said the last part quietly, like a whispered secret she had held close to her chest for so long that she wasn’t even sure she knew what she was saying anymore.
He used more force than necessary, the dishes clattering as he placed them in the dishwasher.
“Talk to me… Please, James.”
He stopped. “Don’t call me that.” His voice rumbled out low and quick, and it was gone as fast as it had come.
“Buck–”
“No.”
“See! This is what I’m talking about. This isn’t a relationship if I can’t even call you by your name!” Natasha blurted out.
It was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room when he finally spoke. No more than a whisper, she wasn’t even sure if she had heard him speak at all.
“I want you gone by the end of the week.”
And then he was gone, like a ghost. The front door slammed behind him and she finally breathed. For the first time in so long… she was free. She hated that she was thinking like that. He didn't trap her in a cage, she was free to go when she pleased.
It just didn’t work . She reminded herself. I just don’t love him the way that he loves me .
He loved her like a white picket fence loves a house in the suburbs. He loved her every hour of every day of every month of every year.
She loved the consistency. Coming home to someone every night, sleeping next to a warm body, the two coats in the entryway. She loved him like… well, she didn’t. Love him, that is.
And in the end, they’d be okay. They’d see each other in the halls, walking down the street, and it would remind them of old times. And maybe, when she saw the new girl on his arm, she’d regret what she’d said. But, maybe she wouldn’t.