[for Natasha]

[onlyapassenger]

He can't sleep. This isn't, in itself, that unusual. Hell, given the amount of time he and Jason actually spend in their house, it's a wonder they have one at all, their nights generally spent elsewhere (and in fairer company than each other). That Bucky's once again found himself sitting crouched in Natasha's window is little more than a bad habit, the only thing speaking to some deeper trouble being his timing and his attire. On a normal night, he might show up in pajamas and combat boots, minimally armed, with his hair already mussed from an attempt at rest that he knew would surely allude him.

Tonight, though, he's dressed in uniform, the shield strapped to his back. Backlit by the moon, the figure he cuts is more imposing than playful, a pronounced tension in the set of his shoulders. His timing leaves something to be desired, as well; it's much later than he usually shows up, and it's clear from the flush in his cheeks that he's been outside for some time, though his purpose doesn't immediately present itself.

Eyes falling on Natasha, he allows himself a small, tired smile, even as a sigh that speaks to weeks of unneeded stress escapes his lips. His fingers itch to reach out for her, but he performs the courtesy of toeing off his boots before he goes any further into the room, pulling down his cowl as he begins to undress. His heart feels tight in his chest.

"Sorry I'm late," he murmurs, slipping into Russian for no other reason than wanting the reminder of something that was uniquely theirs. (His sweep of the perimeter was clean; there's no one listening in -- he's not being paranoid, though life has given him every reason.) "Needed some air."

Comments

[widowskiss.livejournal.com]

She's not been waiting. They keep their own hours and always have, but Natalia is awake the moment he lights in her window, rolling onto an elbow to watch him slip inside. The uniform is a surprise. To her knowledge - which may yet prove itself incomplete, James keeps his secrets well - he's not worn it since the fall of Rapture, but he wears it now, blue stretched over shoulders bent with a fatigue that troubles her.

"You don't look as if it helped," she replies, on her knees and reaching for him. What solace the open air could not provide, Natalia is determined she will.