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“Thank you for stopping by.”
Natasha Romanov was not used to having guests over. Stark, Barton, Van Dyne - they were coworkers, allies, and reliable, but not people she was trying to hang out with on her off-hours. Occasionally Carter would stay over, but that hardly felt like it counted. She was Carter. She was different.
The point was - Natasha was not prepared to host Happy Horgan, never mind for the Secretary of State to stop by her door with a bottle of wine and a sad smile.
“I thought you could use a drink,” he had suggested.
“Alone?” she had retorted, eyes sparkling with insincere flirtation. “Why Bucky… I never took you for a romantic…”
She let him in… and after an awkward dinner filled with small talk about life and politics, they were finally tipsy enough for Bucky to let his feelings come out.
“So. He’s back,” Bucky started. He didn’t say his name. He didn’t have to.
“Mhm.”
“I’ve dreamed of this moment,” Bucky confessed, carefully inspecting Natasha’s expression. “But I imagine for you, it was more of a nightmare?”
Even two glasses in, Natasha’s Red Room training kicked in. Not a hair was out of place, her face was completely neutral.
“Carter seems happy. Therefore, I am happy,” Natasha declared, before taking another swig of her glass, downing it in one sip.
“I don’t think that is how that works,” Bucky said. His lips curled into a teasing smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know you... care about Carter. But you are not the same person.”
“I know,” Natasha softly replied. “I just. Red Room, y’know? I’m not very good at individualism. I still always want what’s best for the group.”
Bucky raised one eyebrow. “And you think that silently pining for your best - and arguably only - friend is best for the group? For the Avengers? For the country?”
“Carter’s pining for Rogers is motivating for her,” Natasha countered. “It can also make her do stupid things, sure, but if it means she’ll try to solo an army of Red Room assassin droids… Who am I to complain?”
“Nat. I’m not saying you have to complain. I’m just saying. You should let yourself feel what you feel. Good or bad. Don’t lie to yourself,” he suggested.
“Mhm,” Natasha responded, refilling their wine glasses. “And what do you feel for Steve then?”
“Love,” he declared. The word hung out in the air for a few moments. The apartment felt still.
Natasha, once again, fell back on old habits. Her lips curled into a faulty smirk and she leaned back in her chair, trying to retain a sense of confidence.
“For another man?” she questioned. “That’d be quite the scandal.”
“This is America, Nat,” Bucky countered. “You’re not still in the Red Room. We’re not Russia. We’re making progress… if slower than I would like.” He ran a hand through his hair, sighing loudly. “Besides. I am single and have never had a public partner. There are already rumours…”
Natasha almost choked on her wine from laughter. “Oh, so a single man must be gay? That doesn’t sound particularly progressive, Bucky…” she teased. “Y'know, Yelena never wanted romance with anyone. It isn’t for everyone.”
“True,” Bucky said with a shrug. “As I said… progress has been slow, but I believe things will get better.” He gestured at Natasha expectantly. “What do you believe? What do you hope for?”
Natasha let out a long, slow sigh. She felt muscles tense that she hadn’t realized could be tightened.
“What do you want me to say, Secretary?” Nat finally said. “That I am hopelessly in love with my best and potentially only friend? That even as a child, Carter! The Musical was my gay awakening? That I’ll confess to Peggy and we’ll run away together to the Island of Lesbos, leaving Steve for you?”
Natasha’s rant rang out in the room for a moment. Bucky slowly shook his head.
“I didn’t mean to pick a fight, Nat. I just wanted to let you know… If you need to talk to someone, I’m here.”
Nat resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Like she would call up the Secretary of State on a whim to talk about her gay panic. Still, it was a nice gesture, as token as she felt it was.
“How long are you going to stick with him? Wait for him to wake up and notice you've been waiting for him just as much as Peg has?”
“Same as always,” he said, downing his drink and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “‘Til the end of the line.”
“Za zdorovye,” she found herself saying. “I’ll drink to that.”
And she downed another glass of wine.