A/N: Spoiler Alert! This was story was inspired by Captain America: Civil War.

Enjoy, and don't forget to review.

Many thanks to CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur for the Beta, and Black' Victor Cachat for brainstorming.

Namaste,

Sunny

Captain America

Civil War

I Still Believe

Organic Plums are the Best

Bucharest, Romania

The market was bustling with activity. Humanity ebbing and flowing, a showcase in diversity. The sellers called out to potential customers, urging them to buy their products, which were superior in every way to his or her neighbor's.

On the edge of this mass of humanity, a woman sat alone at an outdoor café, knees crossed, sipping coffee, and watching the crowd from behind a pair of dark sunglasses while pretending to read the magazine in her lap. A small basket sat beside her in an empty chair. The server, a young woman in a green uniform, offered her a refill. She nodded, offhandedly adding, "Mulțumesc."

Her second refill was nearly gone when she saw him coming toward her, a cap pulled low over his eyes, dressed in such a way as to go mostly unnoticed by the rest of the crowd. He stopped at a fruit stand, letting his eyes roam over the offerings.

She left the price of the coffee, the magazine, plus a generous tip, hooked the basket over her arm, and got to her feet. He stopped again, and she made her move, joining him in his perusal of the fruit. She picked up a peach, giving it a squeeze. Too soft.

The man chose a small basket of strawberries, undecided.

"Try the plums instead." While not flawless, he understood her Romanian well enough. "And organic is the best."

He turned to look at her, his blue eyes unblinking, a flicker of recognition in their depths. "I know you."

The woman pursed her lips, allowing a spark of humor to enter her voice. "You should." She pulled her jacket and top aside to expose a mottled bit of flesh on her left shoulder. A physical reminder of their previous encounter. "You shot me. Twice."

There was a brief flash of fear in those eyes. He dropped the strawberries, and stepped back, preparing to run. He glanced down as her small, strong fingers wrapped around his wrist. "Relax, Barnes. I'm not here to take you in."

~~O~~

Bucky relaxed, though he stayed alert to his surroundings. "How did you find me?"

"That's not important. And don't worry. Rogers doesn't know I'm here."

Confused by her smile, he weighed each word for hidden meaning, and found none. "Why are you here?"

She glanced over his shoulder, and leaned fractionally closer. "Politie. Don't turn around. Keep your eyes on me, and smile. We're just two friends spending the day at the market looking for bargains."

When the police car had gone, Bucky thought about their previous encounters. "I don't know your name."

"Natasha Romanoff. You might know me as the Black Widow."

He rolled the name around in his head without verbalizing it, neither name familiar. "Plums?"

That smile was back. She placed four of the dark purple fruit in a bag, paid for them, and set them in the basket hanging from the crook of her right arm. "Just a suggestion. They have a variety of benefits to cognitive health. They boost the memory, the immune and nervous systems, aid in combating anxiety. And you've had more than your fair share of stress the last seventy years."

Apparently, his agreement wasn't required as she took his arm, drawing him with her past the fruit stands, stopping to choose a bunch of leafy vegetables, one dark green avocado, a single bulb of garlic, and a handful of shelled walnuts. A few other vegetables found their way into the basket as well, in addition to a pungent cheese.

"What are those for?"

"Like plums, they're considered brain food. We'll stop on the way for a couple of salmon steaks, olive oil, wine, coffee, and dessert."

Now Bucky was more confused than before. "Where are we going?"

Natasha's hand squeezed his lower bicep. "Your place, of course."

The tone of her voice, as well as her words, threw him just a little. He'd nearly killed her on more than one occasion, and now she was going to cook for him? Nothing about her indicated deception, but he'd keep an eye out for trouble just the same.

~~O~~

They left the grocery store with Bucky carrying everything but the basket. With both of his arms full, Natasha wasn't able to hold his elbow as she'd done in the market. Since leaving Steve on the banks of the river after the ship crashed, Bucky had avoided physical human contact as much as possible. Now, he missed the small caresses she'd given him without his permission.

Normally, Bucky had no thoughts about the long climb to his apartment on the top floor. Today, he wondered if it would be too much for Natasha, but he needn't have.

At his door, he set the bags on the floor to take out the keys, and let them in. Natasha went directly to the kitchen, giving the sparsely furnished décor a cursory glance. He helped her unload the bags, setting everything on the counter.

The basket was put out of the way, and the paper bags folded, and placed in a drawer. She removed her jacket, tossing it over the back of the sofa.

He tried to see the room from her point of view. The walls hadn't been painted in a long time, showing darker spots where photos and paintings had hung. Mismatched wallpaper, a clunker of a radiator, the old green sofa that sagged in the middle, and on the other side, a lumpy mattress, and a single closet that served as his bedroom.

In the kitchen, he had a coffee maker on the counter, few cooking utensils, pots and pans, and silverware. The refrigerator hiccupped, and shut off with a rattle, drawing her attention to the bars of chocolate, and other snacks he kept there.

Natasha took out two baking pans, and placed them in the sink. Before she could ask, he opened the upper cabinet that contained bowls, plates, and cups. He wanted to ask her again why she was here, deciding to save the questions for later.

Going to the closet, he removed his cap, jacket, and long sleeved shirt. The day had warmed enough that it wasn't necessary. He placed the items neatly inside, hanging the jacket on a hanger, dropped the shirt in the laundry basket, and set the cap on the shelf. His shoes were placed side by side with his boots in the bottom of the closet.

He turned quickly at the sound of a footstep behind him to find Natasha standing by the side door. It was disconcerting the way she watched him without blinking. To hide his discomfort, he looked over what she was wearing. Like him, she wore dungarees or blue jeans, as he found they were called now. She'd taken off her shoes, leaving her feet covered in a pair of purple socks that matched the sweater. The left shoulder had slipped off showing the bullet wound again. In his memory, her hair had been straight instead of the slight wave and the shorter hairs over her forehead.

Natasha shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and when Bucky's eyes met hers, she was smirking. "You wanna help me cook, or continue to stare?"

When he didn't immediately join her, she came to stand within a foot of him, her head tilted back to keep eye contact, startling him when she took hold of his hand. "You can cut up the vegetables, and I'll do the rest."

A tug on his hand urged him to go with her. At the counter, Bucky noticed that she'd taken hold of his metal hand, not the flesh and blood. What did that say about her, about them? It seemed to indicate trust on some level. Yet hadn't he given her the same courtesy by going along with whatever she wanted since they met in the market?

"I'll get my knife."

Natasha nodded, and Bucky saw a formidable looking knife on the counter next to the vegetables. "Use one of mine. For the onion, cut the ends off, remove the skin, and cut it into thin slices. When you're done, chop the walnuts into smaller pieces. Then we'll do the avocado and tomatoes."

~~O~~

From the corner of her eye, Natasha watched Bucky perform the tasks she'd given him, taking care to do them precisely as she'd directed while she prepared the salmon for baking. Every couple of minutes he would glance over at her as if seeking her approval.

Natasha peeled and minced the garlic, tossing it in the bowl with the rest of the marinade ingredients. She stirred vigorously until combined, poured it over the salmon fillets in the glass baking pan, covered it with the foil from the store, and put it on the top shelf in the refrigerator.

"The salmon has to marinate for about an hour. Grilling only takes a few minutes. How's the salad coming?"

Bucky looked at her, and back to his task. He set the knife aside, and brushed the walnuts into a pile. "Okay, I think. What next?"

They spent the next few minutes with Natasha showing Bucky how to prepare the avocado and tomatoes. When that was done, she rinsed the fresh spinach, portioned it into bowls, added the walnuts, avocado, tomatoes, onions, crumbled some bleu cheese over it, and added a vinaigrette dressing. She handed him the bowls to take to the table while she poured the wine, a decent pinot noir to go with the fish.

Taking the seat across from Bucky, she handed him a cup. And just as she suspected he'd do, he sniffed the reddish liquid. Holding out her cup, Natasha made a traditional Russian toast, "Za vashe zdorovie."

Belatedly, he tapped her cup with his. She stopped him with a hand on his arm before he could take a drink. "Your response should be spasibo."

Obediently, Bucky replied, "Spasibo." He waited until she'd taken a drink to do so.

Natasha used her fork to push the food around in the bowl. "So, Barnes, how did you get from D.C. to Romania?"

Bucky stabbed a forkful of salad, his eyes going from her to the bowl. "My name is Bucky."

"Bucky then. Different question. All this time we've been together, why haven't you used my name even once."

"Mostly everyone leaves me alone. No one has ever asked my name, or offered me theirs." Following his bite of salad with a sip of wine, Bucky glanced at her and away.

Again, she took his hand. "You don't have any friends here?" Silently, he shook his head. "You have friends in the States. You have me, and Steve's been looking for you for months."

~~O~~

Annoyed, and trying not to show it, Bucky set his fork down and drained the last of the wine. Natasha refilled his glass, patiently waiting for an answer. "I don't deserve that sort of devotion."

His companion's response was short and to the point. "Why?"

How could she ask such a question after their encounter in Washington? He attempted to kill not only her, but Steve, the man with the wings, and many others. Not to mention those he'd already killed.

Instead of answering, he refilled his cup and carried it to the window that looked out onto the side street. He felt rather than heard Natasha come up behind him, not resisting when she laid her hand on his shoulder to offer sympathy. She tugged, and he turned to face her. The cup was taken from him, and set on the window sill.

To his surprise, she wrapped her arms around his waist, placed her head against his chest, and squeezed. Reluctant to do the same, Bucky looked down at the top of her head. It had been so long since anyone had touched him this way that he could scarcely recall it. Possibly the night Steve had gone to the recruitment center at the Stark Expo. He'd shipped out the next day, and hadn't seen Steve again until the lab.

Natasha lifted her head, and Bucky found himself looking into her eyes. Green, with flecks of a silvery color mixed with bits of dark orange. "Aren't you going to hug me back?"

"What if I hurt you again?"

To encourage him, she grabbed his wrists and placed his arms around her. Afraid of being too rough on her, he held on loosely. One side of her mouth turned up in a grin. "If you were going to hurt me, you'd have done it by now, and I'm tougher than I look. This hugging thing works best if both parties fully participate, Bucky."

He did as she said, and found she was right. This moment of comfort was something he'd needed for a long time. The touch of another, holding on, not judging, offering a brief reprieve from the loneliness he'd endured for so many years.

Finally relaxing into the embrace, Bucky let out a long wavering sigh, closed his eyes, and pressed his cheek to the top of Natasha's head. They stayed just like that for what felt like hours, but in reality, was only a few minutes.

They separated when a beeping interrupted the stillness. Natasha pressed her hands against his chest, and he reluctantly released her.

"Time to put the salmon and vegetables in the oven. I hope you like cauliflower."

She moved the fish from the refrigerator to the oven, pushed the second pan filled with the cauliflower in with it, and closed the door. "It'll only take about ten minutes. Salmon cooks fast."

~~O~~

When dinner was over, Natasha threw out the trash then filled the sink with hot water and soap to wash the rest. A lock of hair came loose and stuck to her cheek. She used her shoulder to move it, but that only made it worse.

Bucky came to her rescue, using a finger to move the wayward hairs back behind her ear. She flashed him a smile of thanks, and went back to work. When she was done, she sat on the sofa, patting the seat next to her. Reluctantly, he joined her.

"You don't have a radio or television. What do you do for entertainment?"

Pointing his chin at the makeshift bookcase, Bucky shrugged. "Read. Been trying to catch up on what I missed."

"Good idea." Her phone appeared in her hand. "Wanna listen to some music?"

"Yes."

A few taps on the phone produced the soothing sounds of a woman's voice. It was a song he knew, had been one of his favorites back before he and Steve graduated high school. Before the war. Before he'd been turned into the Winter Soldier. Closing his eyes, Bucky let his mind wander back to a time long past. He was at a dance, holding a teenage girl in his arms as Ethel Waters bemoaned the fact that her man had left her.

Don't know why
There's no sun up in the sky
Stormy weather
Since my man and I ain't together

There was a gentle touch, warm fingers taking his left hand. He didn't need to open his eyes to know what Natasha had in mind. He stood, and she joined him. Turning his hand until their palms touched, he placed his other hand on her hip. He opened his eyes as her hand rested on his right shoulder and they moved to the beat, just an easy side to side sway with an extra step to turn them.

Keeps raining all the time
Life is bare
Gloom and misery everywhere
Stormy weather
Just can't get my poor self together

Sliding her hand to the back of Bucky's shoulder, Natasha exerted pressure to close the gap so that his long hair brushed her cheek and ear. This close, she could smell his scent, earthy, with a touch of sweat. At the same time, Bucky turned their hands, folding them inwards, the back of hers touching his chest. She could feel his heartbeat pounding out a steady rhythm.

I'm weary all the time
The time
So weary all of the time
When he went away
The blues walked in and they met me

If he stays away
That old rocking chair's bound to get me

All I do is pray
The lord above will let me
Walk in that sun once more

Bucky inhaled sharply as her cool fingers slid underneath his hair. One finger trailed up and down his nape, tickling slightly. Partly in retaliation for what she was doing, and partly because he wanted to, he inched the hand on her hip inward until he could feel the ridges of her spine through her clothes.

Can't go on
Everything I had is gone
Stormy weather
Since my man and I ain't together
Keeps raining all the time
Keeps raining all of the time

The bottom edge of her whisper soft sweater teased the back of his hand, urging him to slide underneath until he could touch her skin. She gasped at the contact, and he felt a bit smug that he could cause her to make such a sound. Again, he wondered how, after all that had happened between them, she could trust him so much that she would let him touch her this way.

Natasha lifted her head from his shoulder, and he missed the warmth. That thought fell by the wayside when she brushed her fingers lightly over his cheek, and down to touch the corner of his mouth.

Her lips parted, and her tongue darted out to moisten them, almost as if she were issuing an invitation. It had been so long since he'd held a woman for something other than bringing an end to her life that Bucky chose to accept the offer. And if it turned out not to be what she wanted, he would stop.

All I do is pray

The lord above will let me

Walk in the sun once more

Can't go on

Everything is gone

Stormy weather

Since my man and I ain't together

Keeps raining all the time, the time

Keeps raining all the time

Just as the song ended, Bucky looked into Natasha's eyes, and the spark she felt when she first took his arm in the market fanned itself into a full-fledged flame. He lowered his head, and she rose up on her toes to meet him halfway.

Her head spun, making her dizzy, a reminder of the first time Clint had taken her on a wild rollercoaster ride to de-stress from a particularly difficult mission. And just like then, her stomach did a little flip just before Bucky laid her on the mattress, and followed her down.

Seeing his face above her, long hair falling forward, she experienced a brief moment of déjà vu, then it was gone.

Natasha hooked one leg around his hip, and rubbed the side of her foot up and down the back of his thigh. His response was to slide his right hand under her sweater just far enough to touch her stomach. One finger found the indention of her navel. Softly rubbing the outer edge made her gasp then moan into his mouth.

~~O~~

His arms wrapped around her small waist as he rolled onto his back. All that lovely red hair fanned out around her head as she looked down at him with surprise, those green orbs having darkened with desire. And for the first time, he said her name. "Natalia…"

Grasping the bottom of that purple sweater, Bucky drew it up just enough to slide his hands along her soft skin. He felt the inward curve of her waist, and the flaring out of her ribs. Taking a chance, he moved upward a few inches, and encountered no barriers to his questing fingers. He sat up, forcing Natasha to rest her bottom on his thighs as she helped him take off his shirt.

Her nails raked through the hair on his chest, down to the closure of his pants, and that was the last coherent thought he had until he awoke the next morning.

A note was propped against the lamp on the box he used as a bedside table. All it said was "Call Steve" and "Eat the plums." A cell phone lay next to it.

He got out of bed, pulling on his boxers hoping to see Natasha sitting on the sofa drinking coffee, and nibbling on the chocolate pastries they hadn't eaten the night before. But he was alone.

Bucky powered up the phone and accessed the contacts. There was only one number, Steve's. He crushed the phone in his metal hand, letting the pieces fall into the toilet. With a huff of mild frustration, he flushed.

Later

Steve brought the Bug to a halt, and got out to talk to a pretty blonde woman. Bucky's legs were cramped in the small back seat, depriving him of a comfortable ride. To Sam, he said, "Can you move your seat up?"

Sam's answer was short. "No."

Bucky understood that he was still pissed off about their fight on the Insight helicarrier, and the fact that he and Steve had nearly died because of him. Instead of making an issue of it, he scooted to the middle, relieving the pressure on his knees.

Steve and the girl engaged in a semi-passionate kiss reminding Bucky of the one night he shared with Natasha, and how idiotic he'd felt the next morning for letting things get out of hand that way. On the other hand, Natasha had been a willing and enthusiastic partner, so he guessed that made it okay.

Turning his head slightly, Sam asked, "Tell me something, Barnes. What's it like to go seventy years without, you know, engagin' in a little mattress dancin'?"

"You mean sex?"

His companion huffed loudly. "Yeah, I mean sex."

Bucky let a smirk come into his voice. "Wouldn't know. It's only been a few weeks."

Sam twisted around in his seat, his mouth open, and eyes wide. Then he returned Bucky's smirk. "You dog! What was her name?"

Crossing his arms, Bucky lifted his chin. "I don't kiss and tell, Sam."

"That means it's someone we both know, right?"

There was no chance for Bucky to respond. Steve came back carrying the shield, and Sam's wing pack. He stowed them in the trunk, got into the driver's seat, and started the engine.

Sensing an undertone between his friends, Steve glanced from one to the other. "What's going on?"

Facing forward again, Sam crossed his arms. "Not a damn thing, Cap. Just our boy here's been gettin' frisky with the ladies, and won't pony up a name."

Embarrassed by the turn in the conversation, Steve cleared his throat. "We don't need details."

"That's good, 'cause he won't give."

Peeved that Sam wouldn't let it go, Bucky huffed again. "Fine. One hint."

"Don't keep us waitin', Barnes."

"Chernaya Vdova."

The car slowed down for the light, and Steve glanced in the rear view mirror. "We don't speak Russian, Buck."

A smug grin took over Bucky's face again, and one eyebrow rose impertinently. "Yeah. I know."

TBC

Romanian:

Mulțumesc = Thank you

Politie= Police

Russian:

Za vashe zdorovie = Here's to your health

Spasibo = Thank you

Chernaya Vdova = Black Widow (from Google Translate)