Chapter Text
“Okay, it’s okay. I got you. It’s gonna be okay. You’re going to be okay.” Blood spills over her fingers and her hands slip under each other as she tries to stop the bleeding, but it’s too much coming too fast, and when his heart finally stills under her hands, she starts screaming.
Natasha awakens with a jolt, gasping for breath as she tries to untangle herself from the sheets wrapped around her legs. Once she does, and she can feel the AC on her bare skin, her breathing begins to slow. Her knotted hair snags painfully as she runs her fingers through it, and she blinks until the room comes into focus. She can see the dresser across from the bed, her nightstand and lamp, and piles of clothing on the chair in the corner. Her reflection stares back at her from the mirror, but her face is covered in shadows. She drags her hand down her face, unsure if it’s sweat or blood that’s making her skin slick.
Bucky stirs next to her, and even though he’s half asleep, she can see his metal arm reaching toward her in the darkness when she turns to look at him. “Come here.”
The pressure on her chest lessens.
Natasha slides down in the bed and curls up next to him with a shaky sigh. His arm falls around her bare shoulders and pulls her close, his other hand bringing the blankets up to her chin. He smells like faded cologne and eucalyptus shampoo. She runs her fingers over the scars on his shoulder and presses gentle kisses to the seam where the vibranium meets flesh before laying her head and hand on his chest. Bucky’s heart drums steadily under her palm, and suddenly she’s able to breathe again.
“You okay?” he whispers, and her heart swells as he kisses her hairline.
Natasha closes her eyes. “Better now.” Bucky runs his thumb back and forth over the curve of her shoulder as she falls back asleep. She’s relieved to find darkness waiting for her instead of Bucky’s lifeless body.
Her ringing phone wakes the both of them after what feels like only seconds of sleep. She sits up clumsily, fumbling for the phone on her nightstand. Fury’s contact lights up her screen when she picks it up.
“Make it stop,” Bucky groans from beside her, and the blankets shift as he pulls them over his head and rolls away.
Natasha answers the phone with a sigh, flopping back into the bed as she raises it to her ear. “Hello?”
“Good morning to you too.”
She’s too tired for this. “It’s 3 am, Fury. Someone better be dying.”
“I have an assignment for you.”
She rubs her eyes. “It couldn’t have waited until the morning?”
Natasha can sense Fury’s exasperation through the phone, but she’s not sure why he’s upset. Nobody should be upset at 3 am unless they’re being woken by a phone call from their boss. She would know.
“This isn’t me calling you in to sit a 9-5 at a desk, Romanoff. Wilson was shot down a few hours ago by a subgroup of ex-KGB operatives. We think Hydra is poking its head out again.”
Natasha sits up straighter, the nauseous feeling from earlier returning. Every ounce of warmth drains from her body. “Is he-” She’s glad Fury interrupts her because she’s not sure if she wants to finish her sentence.
“He’s not dead, but he’s grounded. A busted arm and a bad attitude to match. He’ll be discharged in a few hours. I’m sending you after the guy who supplied the weapons while Barnes and Rogers lead the rest of the team to take down the subgroup itself. I’m getting on the phone with them once I’m done here.”
“Uh, don’t bother. Barnes is here. I’ll tell him.” And then, before Fury can ask about why Bucky is in her bed, she continues, “I’ll let you know when it’s all over.”
“I’m sending you the file. And, um, I guess I’ll send over Barnes’s, too.” Then the phone beeps as the call ends, and Natasha tosses it onto the sheets beside her. They rustle as Bucky rolls over to face her.
“What was that about?” His eyes are just glassy orbs in the dim light, his voice thick with sleep.
She takes a breath. “Sam’s injured. He was shot down by what Fury suspects was an ex-KGB subgroup.”
Bucky blinks, raising himself onto his elbow. “What? Is he okay?”
“Yeah. Just pissed. Fury wants you and Steve to head the team going after the group while I go after the arms dealer.” There’s a pause, and then she says, “It’ll be your first mission back since -”
He finishes her sentence for her. “I got shot.”
“Yeah.”
His hand finds hers in the dark, and he gives it a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll be okay. I could have gone back a week ago if I had wanted to.”
“Why’d you wait?”
He shrugs. “I didn’t feel like it. Going back to work. These last few weeks have been…nice.”
Natasha chuckles. “We’ve just been laying around my apartment for a month.”
“Which is why going back to work seems less than ideal.”
After he had been discharged from the hospital, Bucky and Natasha had only a few days before they had to be out of the safe house given to them by SHIELD for their mission. Fury had given them both a month off in medical leave, and even though Natasha didn’t need it, she was thankful for it anyways. Her feelings were all over the place, what with watching Bucky die in front of her after realizing that she cared about him. In a more-than-friends way. And that scared the shit out of her.
Which is why she was the one to suggest they go their separate ways after they got back. She thought that maybe her feelings for him were just an overreaction, that her mind was simply playing tricks on her heart that her falling asleep next to him every night wasn’t that big of a deal. So she decided that time away from him would give her enough time to figure everything out.
But when she woke up screaming a few nights later, with no way to calm herself down, she called him. Something she hadn’t done in the history of ever, with anyone. Relying on someone to regulate her emotions went against everything she had ever been taught, and she felt sick the second she hung up the phone. So sick she thought she actually might throw up.
Her nausea didn’t abate until Bucky crawled into bed with her at an ungodly hour, kicking off mismatched shoes as he pulled her to him. Goosebumps covered his skin because he had forgotten to bring a sweatshirt and it was the middle of November. And then he stayed.
Looking at him now, Natasha’s heart swells. With warmth and joy, but also with terror. Afraid of how much she cared about him, scared of how much she was starting to need him. The Black Widow wasn’t supposed to need anybody, but Natasha Romanoff? She absolutely did.
Natasha pulls him to her before the fear can overpower her, closing her eyes when his grip on her tightens.
“I’ll be okay,” he repeats.
“I know,” she says, not sure if she could say the same about herself.