Yelena finds Bucky sitting on the railing of the balcony that juts out of the motel room their staying in with the rest of the team.
"You don't talk much."
"Yup." He declares in a monotonous tone as he flips a knife between his fingers.
"Oh, you're not going to tell me why? Fine. I'll tell you what I think it is."
"I'm on the edge of my seat."
"Yes, you should be excited." She snarks back as she flicks her hair behind her shoulder before setting him with a pointed gaze. "I think you are afraid."
"Of what?"
"You are afraid of you. That part of yourself from Hydra. You are afraid that even though they said you healed, it'll all come back one day. It haunts you. Trust me, I know. I still can't sleep. And you know what's the worst part of the nightmares?" He raises his eyebrow to show his interest. "That they are real. They are not just a fucked up figment of my subconscious. They are memories, that I have to live through over and over. The things we wish to forget are the things we remember most." He stares at her for a moment, his fingers stalling their circular motion, then sighs and looks over the ledge.
"You're wrong."
"Really? That's unusual." He chuckles. "Not even a little bit right?"
"Well, the nightmares. But the rest? Not so much anymore. Granted, if you had said that to me two years ago, you would've been on point." She doesn't answer, just waits for him to continue. "I'm not afraid of turning back anymore because I put in the work." He breathes in quickly. "I'm afraid of failing." He admits, not looking at her anymore. "In the war, I wanted to serve, win of course, come home and settle down. That's it. But then I got brainwashed and when I came out of it, I had the metal arm and the serum. I can do so many things that normal people can't so I've gotta do the job. And that's okay because I wanna do it, I do, but each time I tried to help, I failed. Some bastard would get a hold of something then get a hold of me. Mind control then dusted, I mean. And yeah, I've had a few wins since then but still. I'm scared that I'll hurt more than help." She laughs, but not with malice, with understanding.
"You've misjudged me Barnes, we are the same. I became an assassin for hire because I was scared I wouldn't do the job right. Like Natasha was able to."
"Damn, we're not exactly stellar examples of society, are we?" She laughs harder this time, a real smile actually appearing on both their faces as she leans against the balcony railing. It's goes quiet for a while as they look out at the stars before she furrows her brow.
"If you don't mind me asking," he turns to her, a questioning look on his face, "why does no one call you James?"
"Oh, it just...it reminds me of my mom."
"Do you miss your family?"
"Everyday."
"Yeah, me too." It goes quiet again for a second, save for the sound of the people on the Greek street below.
"You can call me James. If you want." He looks at her then with a sense of vulnerability she didn't expect. Honestly, she doesn't know what to expect from him because he's been looking at her like that this whole time. Ever since they met, it seemed like he trusted her (maybe even the others but she hasn't stopped to investigate his relationship with all of them yet). He never once questioned her methods, judgement, or actions. She's never gained someone's trust so easily before. It feels...weird.
"Do you want me to call you that?"
"Yeah, I think I'm okay with it now."
"Good, I like it better than Bucky anyway." She looks at him again now and he's looking at her too, like he's asking her to trust him. "Why do you trust me so much?" He shrugs.
"I know how it feels to not be trusted." After he says that, she steals the knife from him, pointing it at his neck in one swift motion but he doesn't even flinch.
"What if I deserve not to be trusted?"
"Then I guess you'll prove that to me." She falters a little because that's not what she expected, he should have doubted her and changed his mind. He stands now, nearly a foot taller than her as he walks closer so the knife now presses against his neck. "Go ahead, prove it." He says softly but its not demanding, not in the least. In fact he said it so gently it could've been a lullaby. She stalls, her eyes widened from shock. She almost does it, just cause she wants to prove to him that with all the things she's done she shouldn't be treated with kindness but with caution. She was the Red Room's greatest child assassin and people fear her, that's how she liked it...right? Yeah. She doesn't back down, doesn't give in to this weird little mind game he's playing. She looks him in the eyes but that was a mistake cause he's still got that look on his face like he trust her. There's even a sense of understanding, like he gets this existential crisis she's having. She hates that.
She reaches forward with the hand that isn't holding the knife, her loose hair from the messy bun she put her blonde curls in falling in her face from the flurry of movement. She pulls on his human arm, twisting it behind him, when he doesn't respond she kicks out his knees and pins him chest first to the floor, pulling back her arm that wields the blade but before she does anything he grabs the leg that's draped over him with his metal arm, pulls it up and slips out of her hold. He grabs her wrists and looks at her with determination.
"I'm not gonna fight you."
"Why not?" She spits back venomously as she tries and fails to release herself from his grasp.
"Because that's not what you need." She glares at him, eyes blazing with fire.
"Fuck you! You're not supposed to care!"
"Why?" He's yelling back now, his jaw set. A image of young brown eyes begging her to stop hurting her father with a tiny four year old voice flashed in her memory and she clenches her teeth.
"Because you're supposed to be afraid! Everyone fears me and you should too because I'm one of the Red Room's greatest weapons!"
"Not anymore!" She shakes with the loudness of his voice or maybe it's from the truthfulness of what he said. "Not anymore." He whispers it this time. She stops fighting back and gapes at him. A million questions run through her mind, the most prominent being why he believes in her so much, why he believes nay, knows she won't betray or hurt him.
"How do you know?"
"It's like you said, we are the same." He lets go of her hands and she immediately pushes him back, everything suddenly feeling way to claustrophobic. She feels like he sunk that knife into her skin even though its laying on the floor innocent and bloodless. She can still feel his gaze on her and she shivers. Why are his stares so penetrating?
"I don't know if you're right or stupid." She breathes out, trying to gain her composure back after whatever breakdown she just had. She sits back on her knees and covers her face with her hands. "Pojaluista, James. Vy etogo nay zasluzhili." [I'm sorry, James. You didn't deserve that.] She apologizes hoarsely with a soft sigh.
"Vse vie poryadkoye, ya znayu, chto the nay eto imel vie vidoux." [It's okay, I know you didn't mean it.]
She gets up and shakes out her hands, blowing out her breath. She didn't think this would happen with him, with anyone in fact. He's giving her his trust, putting his life in bloody hands like hers. For some reason it feels like a breath of fresh air. Maybe she'll do the same. "Thank you." She cuts out quickly, looking at him with a set in her jaw.
"You're welcome."
"Y'know, if you keep doing that someone will eventually stab you in the back. Am I going to have to babysit you?" He barks out a laugh. She smiles, maybe this won't be so bad.