Natasha shoots a look in Bucky's direction, a glare with a sharp edge to it, because she doesn't need to be reminded that there's nothing truly safe in this place. "That's all you can do here is hope, Barnes," she responds flatly, holding the look for a lingering moment before she lets it fade away in favor of closing her eyes again. "Really?" She sounds genuinely annoyed now, eyes still shut but brow pinching in frustration. "You still can't remember my damn name? Still?" Perhaps he doesn't remember anything, but he's got some semblance of logic to him. He's not mindless. He's not the same creature that she still has nightmares about with cold metal fingers wrapped around her throat, closing her windpipe...
"Natasha." She finally corrects, sounding both exasperated and defeated. "It's Natasha. It's not that hard to remember. Natasha." Her rigid look fades a little at the muttered show of gratitude though, and Nat slumps against the wall a bit more before giving an audible sigh and opening her eyes to stare at the ceiling through a veil of floating dust. "You're welcome."
He's afraid. He won't say it, but he is and Natasha knows it. It's not that crippling sort of fear that makes you crumble to the ground, gasping for air. People like them don't experience that fear anymore, it's been erased along with the little piece of humanity that it was attached to. It's the kind of fear that you feel in your shoulders. The kind that keeps you up at night with pulsing adrenaline and a racing heart despite how exhausted you are, the kind that makes you realize you may have to put your life into the hands of someone you don't trust. It's the worst kind of fear there is. Sometimes Natasha wishes she knew how to crumble instead.
Knowing that fear herself also means that Natasha knows how hard this is for him. She's sitting right there and yet she's not foolish enough to think that James feels anything but completely alone in that moment. She looks at him again, this time with a softer gaze that Bucky would have no way of knowing is remarkably rare from her. She wants to ask him what he remembers but that's not going to help. The last thing he needs right now is to be interrogated. He'll ask questions if he has them. She doesn't know whats going on in his head, but she does know that she's got more answers now than he does.
"Sit down, James." She says it almost kindly, voice serene now. It's not a demand. "We don't know how much downtime we're going to get, we need to rest as much as we can while we can do it. You haven't had to run like that without a performance enhancement in a long time, your body needs time to bounce back. You can't push yourself too hard."
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"Natasha." She finally corrects, sounding both exasperated and defeated. "It's Natasha. It's not that hard to remember. Natasha." Her rigid look fades a little at the muttered show of gratitude though, and Nat slumps against the wall a bit more before giving an audible sigh and opening her eyes to stare at the ceiling through a veil of floating dust. "You're welcome."
He's afraid. He won't say it, but he is and Natasha knows it. It's not that crippling sort of fear that makes you crumble to the ground, gasping for air. People like them don't experience that fear anymore, it's been erased along with the little piece of humanity that it was attached to. It's the kind of fear that you feel in your shoulders. The kind that keeps you up at night with pulsing adrenaline and a racing heart despite how exhausted you are, the kind that makes you realize you may have to put your life into the hands of someone you don't trust. It's the worst kind of fear there is. Sometimes Natasha wishes she knew how to crumble instead.
Knowing that fear herself also means that Natasha knows how hard this is for him. She's sitting right there and yet she's not foolish enough to think that James feels anything but completely alone in that moment. She looks at him again, this time with a softer gaze that Bucky would have no way of knowing is remarkably rare from her. She wants to ask him what he remembers but that's not going to help. The last thing he needs right now is to be interrogated. He'll ask questions if he has them. She doesn't know whats going on in his head, but she does know that she's got more answers now than he does.
"Sit down, James." She says it almost kindly, voice serene now. It's not a demand. "We don't know how much downtime we're going to get, we need to rest as much as we can while we can do it. You haven't had to run like that without a performance enhancement in a long time, your body needs time to bounce back. You can't push yourself too hard."