howlingplayground | The Memening... Soulmate/Arranged Marriage Bucky Only

He doubts that'll be any time soon.

He would rather be dead than under their control. He'd rather have his head shot out from her, than put his hands on her and hurt her or anyone else. He's done enough damage. "Then promise me this." He says, softly. "You'll drop me and run." He knows she'll understand. He'd rather it be her, than anyone else, because somehow he knows she understands.

Rude.

She looks back at him, then, eyes searching his face for a moment. She understands, of course. If the Red Room still existed and she was taken by them, she'd want someone to do the same. She also knows that Steve wouldn't make that promise. Finally, she nods. "I promise."

But true.

Steve absolutely would not. He'd do something brave and heroic and try to break Bucky free. And that might cost other people their lives in the meantime. And that is just unacceptable. When she nods, a knot in his chest loosens.

"Thank you, Natalia." He says, softly, keeping his eyes on the road.

She promised knowing full well that it would destroy her friendship with Steve if she honored it. But there are things he doesn't understand, this is one of them.

She smiles, nodding. "You're welcome." Pausing, she rests her head on the headrest, still looking at him. "What should I call you? Bucky? James?" Another pause. "Soldat?"

He knows it'll hurt Steve, but Steve will just have to understand. They weren't wide-eyed kids anymore. Sacrifices sometimes had to be made for the greater good. This is one of them.

He manages not to flinch at the last. "Bucky works." He says. Does it matter what he's called? Does it matter who he is? Not yet. Not to him.

It's true. She understood that quite well, having made such sacrifices plenty of times in the past. Only one of them left a sour aftertaste in her mouth. But this wasn't about her, or Drakov's daughter.

Bucky it is. They settle into a comfortable silence. If he doesn't break it, she'll close her eyes and doze for a little while.

He lets her sleep as he drives, silently, down the highway. The wheels of the car barely make noise as they rush them toward their destination. As Louisville's lights appear off to the right, he glances over at Natalia. She'd come after him, even when she shouldn't have. She'd done things and said things that let him know, she was one of the best.

Finally, pulling up to a dingier hotel where no one will ask questions, he reaches over and touches her shoulder. "Natalia. We're here." They've both spent nights in worse.

Her dreams are a mix of memories and strange allusions to reality. Their tattoos made several appearances throughout. She wasn't one go put much stock in dreams, but it gave her a clear impression that they were important.

She slept more deeply than she should have. She should have been on high alert, ready at a moment's notice. But she doesn't wake until he touches her shoulder. As soon as he does, her hand flies up to grab his wrist. A conditioned response he's sure to understand. Once her eyes open and she recognizes who's touching her, she releases him. Shoving the concern about how unaware she'd been to the back of her mind, she looks around. Ah. A hotel. She nods. "Alright." Glancing over at him, "You sure you want to stop? I could drive for a while."

He doesn't even flinch when she grabs his wrist. He's more surprised that she doesn't pull a gun or knife on him. He isn't worried about it. She needed the rest, so does he, but he can rest tomorrow. Tonight, there are other things to do.

"We're about two klicks from the safehouse." He says. "No reason to run further now, until I can get some funds, and a few other things." He says, gently. "I'll hit it and then we'll see."

In the position she fell asleep in, getting a hand on the potential assailant was more important than getting to one of her weapons. Besides, she's pretty damn deadly with her bare hands.

She nods in response. Slipping out of the car, she goes to the trunk to grab her bag before heading to the office. Glancing out of the corner of her eye, she checks to see if he's following or staying with the car. Either way, it doesn't take her long to secure a room. The only rooms available only have one bed. She made the choice to get the room, anyway. They'd figure it out later. With a nod to the clerk, she left to find their room (and retrieve Bucky if he hadn't followed).

He watches her go, and looks at the hotel. He's slept in worse, being under his handlers and... His eyebrows furrow. Sometime in the past. He's not sure when, though.

Seeing her come out, he gets out of the car and locks it. They won't be using it again, anyway. He'll grab something while he's out tonight. It's dark, but not late enough for him to leave yet. Once they're in the room - and he's cased/inspected it - he scrubs a hand over his face. "You should eat. I'm going to sleep a couple hours, and then go... retrieve things."

She should tell him about the air vent sometime. They could swap terrible sleeping places stories.

She let him do the work securing the room. He needs to feel the security more and she trusts his eyes. Once he's finished, she tosses her bag on the bed. "Alright. I'll grab some supplies while I'm out. Do you need anything?"

"Cheese crackers and a water." Something light, easy to stuff down on his stomach and it won't hinder him while he's working. He's done this before. So has she. "and be careful." One metal finger taps his temple. "This says there's more HYDRA out there than we realize."

He sighs. "And maybe get hair dye. Your red hair is... distinctive."

"I'm always careful." She arches an eyebrow. Dude, she evaded you for a while, didn't she? She knows how to hide.

Rummaging through her bag, she pulls out a zip up hoodie. She slips it on before turning back to him. Taking a step forward, she twists one finger in a red curl as she looks up at him. "What color do you want me to be?"

She may have, but he's not hunting her now. The last thing they need is her to get complacent just because someone of her level isn't hunting her.

His gut revolts at the idea of her red hair being destroyed, but he knows he's right. "Doesn't matter." He says, softly. "Nothing too distinctive." He loves her hair. But her red hair is well known, especially after telling the Senate Committee to bite her.

She hasn't been complacent since she was 5.

Was that a reaction just now? Does he not like the idea? She watches him intently. "Oh come on, you've got to have an opinion. They say blondes have more fun, but brunettes can be fun, too."

No, he doesn't want to have this conversation. He doesn't want her to change her hair. He wants to take her and keep her safe so that she isn't caught up in this bullshit with him.

He should never have gotten in the damned car.

"Brunette." He finally says, after leaning back on his hands and studying her. Brunette will allow her to blend in better. "Dark, almost black." Something distinctive, but not so much that she'll stand out in a crowd. He still doesn't like it.

Too late for that. She's part of the story, now, and she has no intention of letting him run off on her. If he did, she'd just track him down. They had to find answers to their questions, and the best way to do that is together.

She steps a little closer, innocently pulling a lock of hair forward to look at it. "Dark brown. Hmm. I suppose you're right. It's a shame, though. Been a long time since I dyed it anything." She watches him out of the corner of her eye, looking for any sign of a reaction.

She's being a brat. She's doing this on purpose. Too bad for her, he's not going to give her a reaction. "Better to hide, anyway." He says, watching her. He doesn't reach up and play with her hair, like he wants to. He doesn't even stiffen.

"Should get going. Only have a few hours." He needs sleep after all.

Eh, it was worth a try. She drops the act, her face going flat. Nodding, she pulls her hood up over her oh so distracting hair.

"Alright. You rest and do what you need to do. I'll be back soon." Without waiting for a response, she turns towards the door.

He nods and watches her go. Pulling his knife, he settles on the bed. He needs to sleep for a couple hours, and then he'll go raid the safehouse. Still, settling back, he can't help but remember Steve, what he'd looked like when he'd been pulled from the Potomac. He can't help but think of what she said to him to make him stay behind while she went off on this crazy adventure with him.

He'd punch the pillow, but it doesn't deserve that much punishment. Yawning, he finally settles in to rest.

Easy. She didn't tell him.

She takes a couple of hours to herself, grabbing a bite to eat and running errands. She either avoids or hides from any security camera she sees. She hasn't tried to dissappear this much in a while, it's good practice. She falls back into old habits as easily as slipping on an old worn t-shirt.

Food obtained, she found a shop that will suit her needs perfectly. Red hair no more. At least for now. Thus prepared, she returns to the hotel room.

Bucky doesn't sleep, but he does rest. When she returns, she's greeted with a thrown knife that quivers in the door near her head, and a silver hand closing around her throat.

Once he's more with it, he'll apologize.

He blinks, shaking the rest away. "Sorry," he says, removing his hand. "I - sorry." He whispers, shuddering.

The moment the knife embeds in the door, she grabs her gun. It's pressed against his stomach as he grabs her throat. Her other hand grips his wrist... for what little good that will do.

Her eyes are sharp, staring at his as she gives him the chance to come to his senses and let go. As soon as he does, she thumbs the safety on her gun and holsters it. She releases his wrist and reaches over her shoulder for the knife. Pulling it free, she flips it in her hand and holds it handle first to him. "Conditioning is a bitch. I think this is yours."

He really had not meant to do that. He didn't want to do that. He wanted to leave it all behind and never kill again, if he could help it. The Smithsonian had said he was a sniper in WWII, meaning he'd killed. But he liked to think he'd done it as a purpose a way of saving others' lives. But he didn't know.

He puts the knife away, flexing his metal hand. "Sorry." He whispers, again. He knows she understands some. He knows that she would, of anyone. But he still feels the need to say it.

"I should get going." He doesn't meet her eyes. He needs to get moving for the night and see what he can find.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject