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psl for Natasha
[Sometimes it feels like years since Bucky let Steve assimilate him into his life again, moved him into the compound where the Avengers lived and worked; those were the days when he felt good, when he could smile and joke around and his voice had a Brooklyn tang to it. And sometimes it felt like only scant days, like he wasn't ready to be around people; those were the days when he tensed at sudden movements and sat like a scowling statue in an easily defensible corner.
The others did their best to cope with him there, some more successfully than others, but Bucky was still mostly an outsider. He didn't trust himself, and he wasn't sure they trusted him either, to go on actual Avenger missions and so he ended up mostly around the compound just trying to figure out where the hell to go from here. He did the best with Steve, but that was to be expected, but the others made him uncomfortable to varying degrees.
Oddly, though, a friendship had sprung up between him and Natasha. Nothing major, nothing world ending, but something warm and understated and real. Perhaps because they had both suffered, or perhaps because they had both done things that would never wash clean, but she was one that he seemed to be able to sit with whether he was having a good day or a bad one.
It was late at night when he padded into the common area wearing just some loose pyjama pants, expecting to be the only one up. His brow furrowed slightly when he saw that wasn't the case and he moved to the edge of the couch, voice a quiet rasp.]
Can't sleep?
The others did their best to cope with him there, some more successfully than others, but Bucky was still mostly an outsider. He didn't trust himself, and he wasn't sure they trusted him either, to go on actual Avenger missions and so he ended up mostly around the compound just trying to figure out where the hell to go from here. He did the best with Steve, but that was to be expected, but the others made him uncomfortable to varying degrees.
Oddly, though, a friendship had sprung up between him and Natasha. Nothing major, nothing world ending, but something warm and understated and real. Perhaps because they had both suffered, or perhaps because they had both done things that would never wash clean, but she was one that he seemed to be able to sit with whether he was having a good day or a bad one.
It was late at night when he padded into the common area wearing just some loose pyjama pants, expecting to be the only one up. His brow furrowed slightly when he saw that wasn't the case and he moved to the edge of the couch, voice a quiet rasp.]
Can't sleep?
no subject
Everyone's demons are their own.
The acknowledgement of bad dreams only gets a small nod, he knows what it's like to see horrors whenever he closes his eyes. He solves that by just not sleeping much, not until he's so exhausted that his body literally forces him to. Steve says that's not a healthy way to do it, he watches him sometimes with concern and sad eyes, but he never tries to make Bucky change.]
Just a minute.
[It's a non sequitur, considering the question, but he's still not always the best with conversational flow. He gets stuck in his own head puzzling things out, and then when he does talk it can be disjointed and it's always still minimalist. He turns and walks away from her after that, but only to the small kitchenette.
If she obeys him to wait there for a minute then she'll hear the microwave going, the ping of it finishing, and the smell of molten cheese. Bucky finally reappears with a hot pocket on a little plate, holding it out to her.]