Natasha wakes up
nesting in a few quilts and many pillows. Noting the unreasonable muscle pain
she’s feeling, she sits up, dislodging quite a few strategically placed pillows
on the way.
“Hi,” Bucky Barnes
says from a comfy chair across from the couch that Natasha lies on. “Um… so
“Okay,” Natasha says.
Her throat feels like it’s been freshly sanded.
“I’m just here to
make sure you get your fluids and antibiotics, don’t have a dizzy spell and
crack your head on a doorjamb or something,” Bucky says. “You’re an adult.
“Thanks for the
consideration,” Natasha says, and follows his gaze to the television. “I gather
that you’re also here for the Netflix?”
“I’ve honestly just
been marathoning Mad Men since you
really started sleeping,” he offers. “It’s pretty okay. I think Sharon oversold it.”
Don Draper stares
into the middle distance, eyes wet and smile sadly sardonic. Bucky Barnes just
about meets his glance, eyes only a little dryer. Natasha rolls over and goes
back to sleep.
Waking up only a
little bit later from one of the worst dreams to involve fucking Alexander-era
Colin Farrell, Natasha is disoriented and has a bad headache. She stumbles to
her feet, one quilt wrapped around her and another one dragging behind, ready
to start the journey to the cabinet with the drugs, when Bucky comes out of the
kitchen with a cup of tea and a couple of fat blue pills Natasha remembers not
taking after her last hospital stay.
“Nice,” she grunts,
downs the pills with a brisk gulp of tea. He raises his eyebrows.
“Better get back on
the couch,” he says. “Those are going to hit you like a truck.”
“Doubt it,” Natasha
says. She is seventy to eighty-percent sure that she was hit by a truck once,
and the experience is hardly comparable.
“Your accent is
coming out,” Bucky says later. Natasha has appropriated him as an extra pillow
in the really excellent couch nest.
“Don’t be rude,”
Natasha mutters. “Men in glass houses.”
She looks at the
television in disgust.
recommendations will be worthless now,” she says. “Tree of Life and Breaking Bad
and the like.”
“Yes, it was truly
criminal to break up your Steven Seagal marathon,” Bucky laughs.
“No more prestige
film,” Natasha mutters. “No more HBO.”
“Breaking Bad is AMC,” Bucky says.
“You disgust me to my
core,” Natasha says, and shuts her eyes.