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Natasha lets out a relieved sigh, pulling the blanket up over Peter’s shoulders. Finally, finally he’s asleep.
He shifts, whimpering, and she lets her hand rest on his head, murmuring softly in Russian. He turns his face down into the pillow a bit more and is still. She settles the weighted blanket and sits down in the chair.
It’s been three days since the battle.
She’s pretty sure the cleanup is still ongoing. She’s barely seen anyone other than Bruce and occasionally Shuri, and that’s only because they need to take care of Peter. She hasn’t left his side, except to use the bathroom, since he was injured. She knows it wasn’t her fault but she still feels responsible, and she knows he needs her now.
So she sits in his room, and mostly reads and sleeps and helps him ride out panic attacks and spasms of pain. And if she’s being honest with herself, there’s nowhere she’d rather be right now.
The door opens slightly. “Can I come in?” Bucky asks, so quietly she almost doesn’t hear him.
Natasha gets up and steps across to the door. “He just fell asleep,” she murmurs. “You can come in, but be quiet.”
Bucky slips through the door, closing it behind him. He twists his hands. “Hi.”
“Hi.” She half-smiles.
“How are you?” His tone is hushed and perfectly level.
“I’m okay.” She glances at Peter. “And you?”
“I, uh…” He clears his throat. “I’m okay.”
“Good.” She nods.
“I wanted to ask… what should I call you?” He winces. “That sounds awkward. But everyone here is calling you Natasha, or Nat, and I…”
“I liked Natalia.” She tries to smile.
“Okay.” He nods, blowing out a breath. “Natalia.”
“And you?” She twists her fingers together.
“…I don’t know.” He meets her gaze for a second. “Steve calls me Bucky, but my real name is-”
“James.”
His gaze cuts back up to hers, and he nods. “That… that’s fine.”
The silence stretches out long enough to be awkward. She wants to say something, but she can’t think of anything.
“I remember it,” he says at last. “All of it. The Red Room, Moscow, all of it.” His breath is ragged. “I remember you called me moy drug and you were my ballerina. I remember how hard I fought to hold on to your name when they wiped me. I remember calling you moya lyubov’ that night-”
“Don’t.” She turns away, closing her eyes. “Please… please, not now.”
He stops. “I’m sorry,” he whispers after a pause.
“It isn’t that I don’t want to remember Moscow,” she says softly, wiping her hand over her eyes. “I still- care about you.” She turns to him again. “But I can’t do this right now.”
He takes a deep breath. “I understand. And… and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say all of that. I only wanted to say that… that I remembered you.”
“I’m sorry,” she says. Her gaze cuts over to the sleeping teenager. “But…”
“But Peter is your priority right now.” Bucky’s voice is soft. “I understand, Natalia.”
“He’s only sixteen.” She’s not sure what she’s trying to explain, or why. “I’m the only one who can be here for him right now. I… I can’t leave him.”
“Natalia.” He takes her hand, and her breath hitches. “I understand completely.”
Natasha meets his gaze. “I’m sorry. I just… I don’t have time right now.”
“Then I’ll wait until you do.” He smiles slightly. “When you’re ready, we can talk. I talked to Steve about it, and I’m going back to the Compound when all of you do. I’ll be nearby if you want me.”
She tightens her grip on his hand. “I’d like that,” she says. “Thank you.”
He nods. “Take care of Peter.” He steps back. “Take care of yourself too. When there’s time, we can be… us.”
She lets go of his hand. “Thank you, for… understanding.”
He opens the door. “If there’s anything I can do for you- either of you- just tell me.”
“Thank you.” She tries again to smile at him.
As the door swings closed, she sits down. She’s going to cry now, she thinks, and she curls up to let it happen. She’s too tired to try not to.