Disclaimer: The Winter Soldier does not belong to me. One shot.

The shifting light filtered through the blinds, exposing the two figures lying in the bed. One, his face down in the pillow, had an arm carelessly flung out, dangling over the edge, fingers almost brushing the floor. The other was across the midriff of a woman, lying face up, her eyes closed.

He yawned, stray locks of hair dangling into his eyes, and he brushed them away. As he turned over, he swallowed, memories of the previous night swarming up to greet his awakening mind, tugging and nibbling at his mind like hungry fish. He closed his eyes, hoping to relive them. Beginning with walking with her through the busy night city, awash with neon colours and a frenetic atmosphere. Focusing on he fact that he was alive, walking, using his own free will, not a puppet being controlled by somebody else. And also focusing on the fact that a beautiful red head had her arm looped through his, who in terms of athleticism could match him any day. Arriving at the restaurant, being carefully ushered to a small table set for them both. Taking in the atmosphere of laughter, talking, and pleasure.

"This is a date?" he'd asked, doubtfully. She'd laughed, although not in mockery, but kindly. "Yes. We're sitting here, two people together, enjoying each other's company." She had raised her eyebrows at him. "Don't worry, you don't have to laugh at all of my jokes."

That had made him smile. He'd listened carefully as she'd explained the menu, pointing out what he might like, and what he might try to avoid. He bit his lip.

"Think it'll be ok?"

"You can eat solid food now," she'd encouraged. "You don't have to live on a drip feed anymore."

He laughed. "Yeah, its a big change!" He smiled. "I still eat pretty blandly. Trying to readjust."

"I can order for you, if you're not sure..." as soon as she'd said it, she blinked. "Sorry. You've had enough of being controlled. I meant-"

"Its all right," he reassured her. "Steve still helps me pick things out." He nodded. "What do you like?"

"Fish."

They both ordered fish, he being pleasantly surprised by the smoothness of the texture. She noticed how he took his time over every bite, as though still trying to reconcile himself to actually eating, chewing, swallowing and digesting, after 70 years of lying in cryo, only being allowed out to perform a basic function - to kill.

Sleep. Kill. Repeat.

She pushed the salmon onto her fork. "Oh, that's awful!" she heard him exclaim. She looked up, puzzled. "What is it?"

He was pointing, with his fork, at a man and young woman who had just entered. "Her." He shook his head. "You can see her bones."

Natasha twisted her neck, trying to get a look at what Bucky seemed so disgusted by. It was a young woman, dressed expensively. "Well, you can see her collarbone," she said, pleasantly, "but there's nothing wrong with it. That's how some people are."

He was shaking his head. "No. Steve and I were saying that back in the war, women looked like women." He looked at his plate. "I guess things have moved on. But no-one should look like a skeleton."

Natasha blushed slightly. His voice was a little loud, due, she knew, to the impact of cryo. She leaned over and placed her hand over his. "Hey, not disagreeing with you," she said quietly, "but its not a good idea to say things like that in public, all right?"

He nodded, but looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I just-" he shook his head. "I just don't know. I'm a man out of time."

"But that's not your fault," she argued. "You were captured, tortured, held prisoner for over 70 years. The world needs to catch up with you."

He smiled slightly, a little cheered by her words. "Thank you." He shrugged. "I still think she's too skinny though."

Natasha laughed, glad he was feeling better humoured. The first few weeks after finding him had been rough - he'd been a ghost, barely talking, barely sleeping. Steve and Sam had tried their best to assist, but eventually it had been decided he had to ride it out. As he grew more accustomed to living in the 21st Century, and to the quirks and peculiarities it contained, he'd begun to become more of a person. Less of a shell. Taken more of an interest in life - books, movies, nature, news.

Natasha had never raised what he'd done in Iran. The scar on her midriff was a permanent marker of his past. But as she'd grown to know him, she'd started speaking Russian. He'd responded, and a dialogue had formed. Conversations had turned into walks through the city's parks, nights in. Finally, at what she suspected was a little prompting from Steve, he'd falteringly asked her if she'd like to go for dinner with him.

"Its a breakthrough," Steve had commented.

"Oh yeah?"

"Oh yeah. During the war-" Steve caught himself, and smiled - "he was always the one with the girls. He would turn up with two, one for me, but usually leave with them both."

"What a player!" Natasha had smiled.

"I think his ego was dented after I got the serum," Steve laughed. "I remember Agent Carter talking about dancing, him trying to hit on her, and getting rebuffed. He commented he was turning into me!"

That did make her laugh. But as she looked at him now - shy, fragile, vulnerable, and slightly confused - it was hard to believe that this had been the cocky, self-confident man of Steve's memories, or the calculating assassin who had nearly ended her life. She shrugged and asked if he wanted dessert.

"Please." He smiled. "We didn't get much-"

"-during the war", Natasha deadpanned, and he looked worried. "Am I being boring?"

"No," she said, her voice gentle. "Never."

They left after cheesecake. He came with her, back to her small, tidy apartment. He'd walked around, noting the books, the CDs. Suddenly, he turned, his expression inscrutable.

"This is - I stay here- what will Steve think of me?!"

"He'll think -" she drawled, putting her arms around his neck - "that you're old enough to run your own life. And he's out with Kate tonight, anyway."

Bucky nodded. Leaning over, he kissed her, gently, on the mouth. She responded by pulling him closer, parting her lips, allowing him to repeat by using his tongue. A gentle, sensual exploration began, him tracing the curves of her waist, down to her hips.

"Want to be more comfortable?" She whispered. He nodded. As they moved towards the bedroom, he leaned in and kissed her more aggressively.

He smiled as he cuddled next to her. The metal arm was away from her, he made sure of that. She murmured, her eyes flickering. "Hey." Her voice was sleepy. "You ok?"

Bucky looked at her, turning to face her. "Yes." Leaning in, they kissed. She blinked and ran her hand down his flesh arm. A relationship had never been her intention, but it was the best thing, she reflected, that could happen. She unconsciously ran her other hand over her bullet scar. One day, she'd have to explain to him who had caused it, but looking at his face, wondered if she ever could. Leaning in, she kissed him again.

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