[The whisper of a smile sends a slow kind of warmth curling deep in Natasha's chest. It's a tendril of something familiar, battling the ache of loneliness that's taken up residence there.
If Natasha could've chosen anyone from her life back when she had one, Barnes wouldn't be it. Doesn't mean she's any less glad of his presence.]
Next time, I'll bring a blanket. [Natasha almost expects a blanket to appear complete with a picnic basket. The way this place is working, her hair and clothes changing at the slightest provocation, it doesn't seem so far fetched. But the ground stays bare and barren.
Guess she hasn't figured out the rules of this yet.
How about I pick up food at the cricket taco place. Bring it back to yours? [It's a compromise of sorts. There is no world in which she assumes "good cook" is on the list of skills Bucky Barnes has picked up during his decades of off-again-on-again life. It's certainly not something HYDRA would've bothered with. Weapons don't need to know how to cook; taste is secondary to nutrition.
Cricket tacos aren't exactly up her alley, but she imagines the Thai part probably makes up for the cricket part. It's not the weirdest thing she's eaten. Probably tastier than what they're serving at the safehouse. (Natasha suspects the food there is purposefully strange. A sort of shock to their system to get the Displaced excited about the food they encounter outside of it.)
Food aside, the kind of conversation they're going to have, is going to require privacy. It's not safe to speak about the nature of their strange existence here in public.
If Barnes tries to kill her-- well, she's supposed to be dead anyway. Right?]
Might even take you up on that nap. [Natasha glances over her shoulder and the wind picks up around them, howling through the canyon.] Though the rate this is going, I'll probably end up right back here.
[The longer they linger, the more exhausted Natasha will be in the morning, the longer until they can meet up for lunch, dinner or whatever time of day they pick for their meal. Sooner or later, she is going to have to fall.]
no subject
If Natasha could've chosen anyone from her life back when she had one, Barnes wouldn't be it. Doesn't mean she's any less glad of his presence.]
Next time, I'll bring a blanket. [Natasha almost expects a blanket to appear complete with a picnic basket. The way this place is working, her hair and clothes changing at the slightest provocation, it doesn't seem so far fetched. But the ground stays bare and barren.
Guess she hasn't figured out the rules of this yet.
How about I pick up food at the cricket taco place. Bring it back to yours? [It's a compromise of sorts. There is no world in which she assumes "good cook" is on the list of skills Bucky Barnes has picked up during his decades of off-again-on-again life. It's certainly not something HYDRA would've bothered with. Weapons don't need to know how to cook; taste is secondary to nutrition.
Cricket tacos aren't exactly up her alley, but she imagines the Thai part probably makes up for the cricket part. It's not the weirdest thing she's eaten. Probably tastier than what they're serving at the safehouse. (Natasha suspects the food there is purposefully strange. A sort of shock to their system to get the Displaced excited about the food they encounter outside of it.)
Food aside, the kind of conversation they're going to have, is going to require privacy. It's not safe to speak about the nature of their strange existence here in public.
If Barnes tries to kill her-- well, she's supposed to be dead anyway. Right?]
Might even take you up on that nap. [Natasha glances over her shoulder and the wind picks up around them, howling through the canyon.] Though the rate this is going, I'll probably end up right back here.
[The longer they linger, the more exhausted Natasha will be in the morning, the longer until they can meet up for lunch, dinner or whatever time of day they pick for their meal. Sooner or later, she is going to have to fall.]