"No, but you're allowed to want something different." Something else they never talk about and his voice is lower and...resigned rather than irritable. She is exactly what she needs to be in order to make this work. And that's- that's fine. that's been fine, that will remain fine. But trying to winnow out and read what she might actually want that he could give beyond security has been like staring into an empty, fathomless void.
There aren't many people he wants to earnestly provide for-and even fewer on that list that will let him.
Bucky lets him fix up his arms, trusts him with the occasional meal, the solid, aching understanding that comes from their relationship with the Quarry. Rhodey, Rhodey used to let him do silly, outrageous projects, make anything his mind could dream up for a laugh, a smile.
Natasha wants what every woman wants but only because the women of the station she's working for wants them. It's all- veneers of paint and cream and masks that spiral all the way down to bone.
It's never bothered him, why does this bother him? Because they're on the edge of it, a few weeks out from a whirlwind announcement, engagement, ceremony, and if the Quarry goes well?
That last rung. It's all so very close.
"You're allowed a say. Your skin's still yours." Which is- enigmatic and a little embittered more on her behalf than anything else.
Without a word he takes the tray rather than letting her handle it- she needs whatever space he can offer after the reminder of the maze and he- needs to get his head on straight. Stop imagining camaraderie where there is none.
Stop wanting the impossible.
Far from the bed he's got half a mind to duck out, head back to the office. Nap there and get a few more hours in but that might upset the delicate balance they've achieved or- worse yet- make her assume he's upset with her- and he isn't. Can't be, won't be. So.
He detours to his walk-in and strips down, changing out of his work clothes, tugging up comfortable silk before padding barefoot back to the bed, sitting on his side to start up his nightly routine of rubbing in similar formulas of lotions for his face, his hands, buffing his nails. there are teams for this but- he'd always rather self-maintain. It's easier that way. "I've got an early day tomorrow. I'll try not to wake you up when I head out."
no subject
There aren't many people he wants to earnestly provide for-and even fewer on that list that will let him.
Bucky lets him fix up his arms, trusts him with the occasional meal, the solid, aching understanding that comes from their relationship with the Quarry. Rhodey, Rhodey used to let him do silly, outrageous projects, make anything his mind could dream up for a laugh, a smile.
Natasha wants what every woman wants but only because the women of the station she's working for wants them. It's all- veneers of paint and cream and masks that spiral all the way down to bone.
It's never bothered him, why does this bother him? Because they're on the edge of it, a few weeks out from a whirlwind announcement, engagement, ceremony, and if the Quarry goes well?
That last rung. It's all so very close.
"You're allowed a say. Your skin's still yours." Which is- enigmatic and a little embittered more on her behalf than anything else.
Without a word he takes the tray rather than letting her handle it- she needs whatever space he can offer after the reminder of the maze and he- needs to get his head on straight. Stop imagining camaraderie where there is none.
Stop wanting the impossible.
Far from the bed he's got half a mind to duck out, head back to the office. Nap there and get a few more hours in but that might upset the delicate balance they've achieved or- worse yet- make her assume he's upset with her- and he isn't. Can't be, won't be. So.
He detours to his walk-in and strips down, changing out of his work clothes, tugging up comfortable silk before padding barefoot back to the bed, sitting on his side to start up his nightly routine of rubbing in similar formulas of lotions for his face, his hands, buffing his nails. there are teams for this but- he'd always rather self-maintain. It's easier that way. "I've got an early day tomorrow. I'll try not to wake you up when I head out."