"Long ti no see, Mr. Barnes." Natasha held her bag in both hands, standing straight in front of the table. She didn't inspect him with her eyes; after just a glance, she looked away and turned around to take the nu from the waiter.
Bucky was stunned there for a few seconds before suddenly coming to his senses, moving around the table to pull out a chair for Natasha.
"Thank you." Natasha smoothed down the skirt around her hips with a hand, then sat down, placing her bag to her right. She opened the nu and began to look through it.
Bucky sat back down across from her, first placing both hands on the table, then taking a deep breath, leaning back, and looking towards the passing waiter. He then put his hands back on the table, leaning forward.
Natasha focused intently on the nu. The dim light in the restaurant flowed over her sculpted facial features. Her brow bone, eyelashes, lips, and jaw seed like miniature worlds of infinite mystery. The tremor that breathing brought was like an earthquake, where tiny people made of microscopic dust fell in panic, pouring down in golden rain through air segnted by edges and lines, dancing with rekindled ashes.
Bucky felt as if his eyes and heart were cracking like lava. All the ntal preparedness he had was completely useless. Natasha's beauty was like the sharpest sword in the world, and in this first round of clash, he was already losing too much blood in the invisible battlefield of hormones.
Humans will always repeatedly fall for the sa type of person. Before they realize this, everyone confidently believes they won't stumble twice at the sa place. But what's causing their fall isn't a step or a trap, it's a high wall that completely blocks the way forward. They crash into it, turn around to find a new way, and after going around in circles, return to the sa spot, crashing into the sa wall, like a dark cody that's humorously yet tragically despairing.
The feelings of self-assuredness before the date when looking in the mirror crumbled almost instantly. Natasha appeared younger, a novel experience of beauty for others. But for Bucky, who had truly witnessed the young Natasha, it was a disaster because the Natasha of his youth was not like this.
Their appearances were the sa, but their temperant and soul were completely different. This made Bucky realize she was no longer the lover of his youth. But more despairing was that he still loved this form, like an incorrigible lecher, once again and forever.
The crowd gathered in the Avengers Base almost scattered in all directions.
"Give up, there's no hope," Wanda said, shaking her head. "I know that look all too well. Even with a knife to his throat, he wouldn't leave."
"He reminds of young Tony," Pepper said. "Like a bee chasing honey. Males in mating season are the craziest creatures on earth. If any one of us showed up to interrupt his date, he'd throw us into the Atlantic, even you, Steve."
Steve also sat down on the nearby sofa, resting his arms on the chair back, "I've never seen Bucky look at any woman with such eyes. He's sunk. I could pull him out of the river, even the Arctic Ocean, but not the Neutron Star."
"I don't have anything particularly in mind to eat," Natasha closed the nu casually. Only then did her gaze move slightly, scanning the restaurant surroundings but noticing nothing unusual. This ant the troubleso group hadn't arrived yet. She could only persuade herself to calm down and focus.
She handed the nu to Bucky. Bucky took it, finding himself almost unable to read the English dishes. His brain was trying hard to recognize the words but was too slow, too ineffective.
"If you don't rember what I like, then order what you like." Natasha took a small mirror from her bag, flipped it open to check her eye makeup, and pursed her lips, seemingly inspecting the condition of her lipstick.
This sentence was like a bucket of cold water poured on Bucky's head, making him instantly sober. He didn't feel guilty, only alert. Natasha was treating him with the sa attitude as her mission targets, acting indifferent to gain control of the conversation, and accusing him of "not rembering" was typical PUA, aiming to make him feel guilty.
Natasha was angry. That was Bucky's first feeling. Freed from the manipulation of hormones, he started to feel abnormalities. He had never imagined Natasha would dress up for a dinner, because if refusing was the intent, indifference and impatience would be the normal state.
She could have easily worn sportswear, even flip-flops, so the restaurant wouldn't let her in. She could have just not shown up, as no one could force her, or simply selected an old outfit and applied casual makeup. But she did none of that.
This rcury-like flowing dress was too fitting. The straight, smooth red hair further accentuated the beauty of her features. Platinum-inlaid mother-of-pearl earrings certainly weren't items from stores on Fifth Avenue. Even that small bag was probably a rare survivor after being sifted from the sands.
She was stunningly beautiful, radiantly bright. When she walked into the restaurant, everyone was looking at her. No one would mock Bucky acting like a clueless kid, because if they were sitting across from Natasha, they might be just as nervous as a cowboy visiting the city for the first ti.
This is certainly not normal. Bucky wasn't so conceited to think his old romance with Natasha warranted such a grandiose display. Suddenly, Bucky recalled a saying Natasha had once told him, a Russian proverb from her holand — "If you find a woman more beautiful than usual, either she's fallen in love with soone, or she's started to hate soone."
Being hated by the Black Widow is a terribly frightening thing, akin to being targeted by a venomous spider in the jungle. Even if you haven't been bitten yet, it sends chills down your spine and makes you break out in a cold sweat.
Yet, Bucky let out a sigh of relief. He knew this reaction wasn't normal either. He knew that he might be sick or mad, but he genuinely felt relaxed. It was as if the world at that mont had beco a better place, and even the sound of the violin had beco cheerful.
Then countless mories surged uncontrollably. There were so many images of the young Natasha in his mind that they could make a movie, but none could align with the Natasha before him, nor could they align with any other images of her. Still, Bucky was srized by the mories.
"I'll have one of this." Bucky said, pointing at the nu, "And another one of this. Oh, and no black pepper on the steak, less cheese on the baked scallops. And one more foie gras..."
Bucky ordered a whole variety of dishes. When the two glasses of aperitif were set on the table, he took the initiative to speak: "Long ti no see, Natasha. Since we reconnected in Arica, we haven't had a good chat."
"Turns out you're here to reminisce? You told you wanted to discuss Steve's birthday, that's why I ca."
Blatant provocation. Bucky thought to himself. Bringing up a third man during what's supposed to be a date for two, even if he's married with children and is his best friend and comrade, is still a form of provocation.
"Yes, I initially wanted to talk about Steve. A 100th birthday is quite a respectable occasion, and I think we all genuinely want to celebrate for him. But after seeing you just now, I changed my mind. I think we should talk more about us."
Natasha lowered her head slightly, her slender fingers caressing the stem of the aperitif glass. The cold-colored veins were clearly visible beneath the pale skin of the hands that usually only had close contact with triggers. Bucky rembered very clearly the feeling of those fingertips cutting through muscles and touching his arteries.
"I thought we had nothing left to discuss," Natasha said, "I accepted that outco, and you didn't object. That ans everything is over, doesn't it?"
"You know that doesn't count, Natasha. I accepted modifications and brainwashing. They shook my will, changed my thoughts, and added things to that I had to insist on, and it's because of those things that I had disagreents with you."
"I never had a disagreent with you," Natasha said, "The problem between us was essentially my issue with the Soviet Union. It had nothing to do with you."
"That's not true at all." Bucky gently shook his head, "If you really want to put it that way, then there's a third party between you and the Soviet Union, and that's Hydra. You know who's really stirring things up behind the scenes, you just don't want to admit it."
"You're right." Natasha's tone sank, carrying a coldness she herself wasn't aware of, "So do those great leaders corrupted by Hydra not need to take responsibility for their own weakness?"
"We've discussed these issues long ago." Bucky said, "The negligence and corruption of those infiltrated individuals led to tragic results. But if it weren't for Hydra, it wouldn't have caused such a catastrophic outco."
"That proves you're just like them." Natasha said with a cold laugh, "After committing wrongs, in order to find excuses for their own weakness, they fabricated a mighty, irresistible enemy to shove all their mistakes upon, while making themselves feel comfortable in their own cowardly existence. Sergeant Barnes, do I need to remind you what you used to do?"
Bucky's fingers slowly tightened. His chest rose and fell swiftly for a mont but then cald down. Looking at Natasha, he said, "If you were dead, I would accept your accusation of my weakness. But I must also remind you, Lieutenant Romanov, you are still alive."
The atmosphere beca stiff. Neither of them spoke again, almost simultaneously bringing the wine glasses to their lips, silently drinking the wine. The atmosphere was as silent as the Titanic, clinging to the sa piece of ice but each walking on their own snowfield.
"Let's not talk about the past anymore," Bucky said, "Do you think we can find answers to these questions? We're not the ones who should be responsible for this. Why can't we let these matters go?"
"Of course, it's because you don't want to let them go." Natasha heavily put down the wine glass, looking at Bucky, "If you wanted everything to pass, you wouldn't have co to find . You know I will never give up asking questions, even if the questions themselves have sunk. But as long as we remnants are still barely surviving, the torrents of the past era have never stopped. On us, in our mories, our personal feelings are becoming increasingly minuscule under its wash. This is the price survivors must pay in great changes, the price of our survival. I realized this on my last night in Minsk, Instructor. Was it earlier than you imagined?"
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