Untangling a Memory

What does he know?

Regardless, the green eyes in his dreams always made him feel settled and secure. Sure, he couldn't actually tell if it was her or not, but the idea that he would see someone who put him at ease, who comforted him, right in the middle of dreams about him nearly dying and being tortured was relieving.

Bucky had the inclination to talk to Natasha about his dreams and what they could have meant. She had been so soothing after the fully-developed train memory. He wondered if she might be able to shed light on some of the questions he had and the information that alluded him. But he decided not to say anything. He didn't really like the idea of Natasha knowing he was dreaming about her, especially as much as he was. More and more, she was becoming speckled all over his dreams, and he worried that telling her might freak her out. Better to keep it to himself and work it out on his own.

The rest of Bucky's night was spent walking. After he'd written down as much as he could, he decided he needed to work some of the energy out of his system and fresh air seemed to be the best treatment. So, he headed out the door and followed his feet. He walked through the paths around the palace, down some of the quieter streets in the city, and across the grassy hills until the sun came up. When he arrived back at the apartment, he knew he should have been tired from lack of sleep, but he was ready to continue on with his day. After all these years on missions and recovering from nightmares, Bucky had gotten used to functioning on little sleep and rarely felt it's effects.

Once Bucky had changed out of his loungewear and into some gym clothes, he returned to the kitchen to start on some breakfast. He knew Natasha would be up soon and wanted to make sure she ate something prior to their workout. She had returned to light training, only things that required her upper body, and if he didn't make her breakfast, she would only have coffee before hitting the gym with him.

Once the kitchen had started to smell wonderfully of buckwheat waffles and coffee, Natasha made her way downstairs in her bleary-eyed stupor. She plopped herself down on her usual stool, a steaming mug already waiting for her. Natasha took big sips, smiling contentedly at Bucky.

"How many hours did you get last night?"

Bucky looked at Natasha over his shoulder as he continued to work on the waffles on the far counter. "How are you always able to tell when I am up half the night?"

"I just can." Natasha smirked at him, her face still lazy with sleep.

Bucky had to smile as he turned back to his task. She knew him too well. "I got some sleep. Three hours maybe? So, not too bad."

"Oooof. I don't know how you survive without coffee."

Bucky closed the waffle iron and unplugged it, finishing his last one and putting it on a plate for her. "You don't rest all that much either."

Natasha didn't usually see Bucky when she couldn't sleep, so she hadn't realized he knew how little sleep she got many nights. "That's why I drink all the coffee. Gotta make up for the lack of beauty sleep."

Bucky raised an eyebrow at her. He didn't need to say that she was beautiful, his incredulous look showed that he knew and he wouldn't play into her fishing for a compliment. "Come on. Time to eat."

Bucky grabbed both of their plates and brought them out to the terrace, Natasha grabbing her mug and hobbling along behind him. Her awkward walk was becoming a little more stable everyday.

As they sat down to breakfast, Bucky's mind unwillingly drifted back to the dreams from last night. Bright green eyes. Shoulder. Not shooting to kill her. James. Bright green eyes. Shoulder. Not shooting...

"Earth to Bucky..."

Natasha was waiving her hand in front of his face. He realized he had paused eating, a forkful of waffle hanging midair in front of his face as he starred in her direction, lost in thought. Bucky shook his head slightly, refocusing his thoughts.

"Sorry. I just... got distracted."

"Ha ha, clearly." Natasha smirked at him as she continued to eat steadily. "What's on your mind?"

Bucky looked her over, trying hard not to get lost again in his own mind. There was so much he wanted to ask her and yet nothing at all. He tried to determine if there was anything to pick out of his dreams that might give him some insight into what was real and what was just fantasy.

"Why do you call me Bucky?"

Natasha stopped mid-bite, looking him over. Her brow furrowed at the question. Her heart rate started to pick up and she hoped he wasn't noticing the change in the pulse of her neck.

"What do you mean?" Natasha finished the waffle she had on her folk, holding herself together. She waited for his next move.

Bucky watched her reaction. He knew what he wanted to say, but couldn't. How could he phrase it to test his own dream? "Well, you haven't always called me Bucky..." He let this hang in the air.

Natasha studied Bucky's face. Her inner dialogue was racing- What does he know? What does he remember? What should you tell him? Don't panic.

"You mean how I used to call you Barnes?"

Nothing. She gave him nothing. Was it all in his head? James. Now he was questioning whether he'd ever heard her say it at all. "Yea..."

Natasha felt like she was in the clear, having made her cover as she always could. "Everyone else calls you Bucky now. I thought you'd be more comfortable with that." She shrugged her shoulders and continued on her waffles.

Bucky considered this. He had been so focused on who said James in the dream that he hadn't even thought about whether he preferred her calling him Bucky or Barnes. But the more he pondered it in this moment, the more that he realized that Bucky sounded cold coming out of Natasha's mouth.

"If it's all the same to you, I think I prefer what you used to call me."

Natasha forcefully kept her muscles moving as she was cutting her waffles, but her heart skipped a beat. He must know, she thought. Why else would he bring it up?

"Ok, Barnes it is." Natasha lifted her gaze back to his and smiled.

Bucky smiled back at her, trying to hide the fact that it was half-hearted. Another dream that was turning out to be just that- a dream.

Natasha had returned back to focusing on her breakfast, but felt sick to her stomach. This was a chance to come clean about their history, if only part of it. But she wasn't ready. Telling him now felt so exposing and she wasn't sure she could handle how he might react. What if he hated her for not telling him sooner? What if he asked about the rest of it? So, she just kept her head down and kept eating.

The rest of their meal was spent in silence, as they both struggled to negotiate with their own thoughts and insecurities alone.

"Between the Lines" - Sara Bareilles