Chapter Text
Natasha Romanoff only ever skated by herself. It was the one thing all her teammates knew about her. "Oh, she’d never share the spotlight with a man." But even years later, everyone would remember her, hands intertwined with his, gliding across the rink the afternoon of the 15th of December, the day of the Northeastern Figure Skating Championships.
They’d all grill her about him later, their eyes quizzical. Ask her if she’d been secretly training with him for years, if she liked him, if they were in love. All ridiculous questions. Natasha would roll her eyes, denying it all. No one would believe her.
Naturally, the truth wasn’t as romantic. She’d met him three months before, and they had made a deal.
In the stillness of the empty ice rink, Natasha placed the middle of her right blade behind the left, forming a perfect "T" shape. Her skates left a wake of powdery snow behind her as she came to a stop. Once smooth as a sheet of glass, there were scars all over the ice, marking the trail she had followed during her practice.
She scanned the arena, her breath still short from the routine she had just completed. Without the Friday night crowds, it was quiet and peaceful, and although there were a couple of people on the steps—some watching her, she figured—she had tuned them out, her own breathing and her blades slicing through the ice the only sounds she could hear.
Every day of the week but one, you could find Natasha on the ice. There was certainly no other way, if she was to win the collegiate championship next year. She couldn’t slack. Her competition sure wasn’t.
But there was more to it. She reveled in it, as she had since she was a child. She basked in the thrill of the jumps that could kill the average person—Or break a few bones, at least; and despite not being able to watch herself in the moment, she could feel the beauty of her movements. As her body spun to the music that filled her ears, the bounds of her world would disappear; nothing could stop her.
The sound of the bell brought her out of the spell. Time was up. She skated over to the railing and sat on the bench behind it, taking off her skates.
Natasha carefully wiped down one of her blades. It was a mindless ritual: untying her boot laces, wiping the ice off the blades, putting the soakers on them. Her mind was somewhere else entirely. So lost in thought was she that she almost didn’t notice the man that sat beside her, closer than any stranger should. Why? The rest of the bench was empty but for a mother and her child at the far end of it. Had he ever heard of personal space?
"Hey." Oh. He was trying to talk to her. God, she hated it when random men approached her.
Unimpressed by his boldness, Natasha turned to look at him. He had a fond look in his eyes and a smile to match.
"…hey," she said warily. What had she done to seem that approachable?
"You’re really good," he said.
She squinted. "Can I help you?" She said, a sharp tone to her voice.
"Yes, actually," he said. "I hope you don’t think it’s weird, but I was wondering if you'd like to be my partner for regionals."
Natasha raised her eyebrows. The question took her off guard. She knew about the regional championship, but she paid it no mind. She had her own college championship to worry about, and she could qualify for nationals through it anyway.
"Partner?" She started shaking her head. "N—"
"I think we'd make a good team," he interjected. "I used to have a partner," he added, "but she moved away."
He told her she’d gone to the other side of the country, so he was looking for someone to replace her. It was just for the upcoming competition, he assured her. After they won regionals —he was that confident— if she didn’t want to skate with him anymore, he would find someone else.
She asked him to elaborate. It was weird. Not that he needed a partner, but that he’d asked her, someone he’d never met. Eyes sparkling, he described the way she moved about the ice. "It’s like you’re flying." It was a bit much, but endearing nonetheless. "I'm not too bad either," he said. "I really think you and I could take first place."
Natasha stared at him for a moment. She'd never had an ice partner before. No shortage of boys had asked her, but she always turned them down. She'd always preferred to skate alone. Couldn't imagine trying to make it work with someone who didn't understand her movements, who's breathing could clash with hers.
"I’m Bucky, by the way," the man said, holding out his hand. "Bucky Barnes."
Natasha hesitated for a second before shaking his hand. "Bucky?"
"That’s my name."
"Why?"
"What do you mean why?" He said.
"Why did your parents do that to you?"
Bucky's lips curved into a smile, and he bit lightly on his lower lip. "I'll tell them you asked," he said, his eyes glinting with amusement.
"Natasha." she said.
"Natasha," he repeated, tasting the word on his tongue.
"You should know, I'm not really a pair skater."
"I get it," Bucky said. "But think about it. You might like it. And it’s not forever. Just this once. Then we’re done."
"I—"
"Just think about it," he broke in. "Just go home and think about it, please?" She studied him. His brown hair was thick, with a slight curl to it. He ran his hand through it once or twice. She took it for restlessness, although he concealed it well otherwise. He had to be a few inches taller than her, but the way they were sitting, it was hard to know for sure. His tired eyes had a rare sincerity to them— despite having exchanged nothing but a few words with him, he barely felt like a stranger.
"Okay." Natasha said. "You know I’ll just tell you the same thing tomorrow, right?"
Bucky smiled. "Right. I’ll see you around," he said as he got up. He then turned and walked away, but before he was all the way out of sight, he turned back to give her a small wave. She waved back and then sat there for a moment, staring at the door he had just walked through.
Yawning, Natasha tossed her backpack on the floor as she walked into her room. She collapsed onto her bed, shutting her heavy eyelids. Up since early that morning, and wrapped in homework, class and practice, she barely had a moment of rest.
Her phone beeped, waking her out of her near drowse, the sudden brightness of the screen in the dark making her squint. "Did you RSVP to the wedding?" the message read. Natasha rolled over, staring at it. It was less a question than a reminder. Even if his face and name weren’t staring back at her from the top of the screen, she’d have known who it was from. They'd had the same conversation two weeks prior.
"It’s your sister's wedding, for God’s sake."
"Stepsister."
"Natalia."
"Relax, I’ll be there."
Her father must have known that she hadn't RSVP'd yet.
She could almost see him sitting at his desk, letting out a deep sigh and quickly sending the text before moving on to something else. She knew he didn’t actually care whether she showed up or not. But it mortified him that Natasha’s relationship with his wife was tenuous, and not going to her daughter’s wedding would only make it worse.
"Of course I did," she texted back. She knew it was useless to lie, but she didn't feel like dealing with his nagging at the moment.
The truth was, she had been avoiding it, holding on to the foolish idea that she could find a good enough excuse not to attend. An excuse for herself, that was. Ivan could be pushy, but Natasha knew that were she to insist on not going, he would leave her alone. If it came to a battle of wills, she would always win. He would complain about it, whisky in hand, sitting on his favorite leather chair. How he couldn’t get her to do anything she didn’t want to. He was right, he couldn’t. Not anymore.
See, it wasn’t just that she couldn’t stand her stepsister. Any flaws Anya had, Natasha chalked them up to immaturity, despite her being the older one.
Thing was, Anya was marrying Natasha’s ex, Alexi. The marriage didn’t bother her, their old relationship being nothing to yearn for. If there was anything to feel about the whole ordeal, it was pity. For Anya, for getting married at 23, and for getting married to him. She wasn’t even sure Anya loved him— She’d just always wanted what Natasha had, and for once she had gotten it.
No, Anya and Alexi weren’t the problem. It was the guests, who were the sort that could keep nothing to themselves, transparent to a fault— Or maybe she was just too good at reading people, a skill she had mastered since childhood.
The ones that cared about her would be worried, concerned; treat her with kid gloves. The ones that didn’t but pretended to would give her looks of pity—or worse, advice. It would go on the entire night: Family members trying to reassure her that it was okay, that she would "find someone one day"; well-intentioned friends telling her that she was better off anyway— which she had known since the day she and Alexi split. She preferred to avoid the whole thing altogether.
Natasha could just not go, but it felt like accepting defeat, somehow. She wasn’t a coward, intimidated by a few words or mean glances. And her absence would speak of things she had kept to herself for years. Of her bitterness, her resentment, all the complicated feelings she harbored towards her family and was still trying to put into words.
It was easier to just go.
She huffed as she tapped on the link on Ivan’s message bubble, and her eyes fixed on the two questions on the page.
"Will you be attending?"
"Plus one:"
A brilliant idea struck her—or so she thought— and she searched for him on his skating club website. Apparently his name wasn’t just "Bucky", but James Buchanan Barnes, and maybe his self confidence wasn’t misplaced. She scrolled endlessly, watching video after video of him at competitions. He was good, Natasha concluded, after losing count of how many she had seen.
She smiled to herself as she filled in the form with his name.
"James," Natasha said, making Bucky look up to meet her eyes, delighted by her use of the name he hadn’t told her. "I'll be your partner."
Too busy strapping on his skates, he hadn’t noticed her approach. His lips instantly tug up at the sight of her, red hair in a ponytail, slightly wavy— she must have just undone the bun she wore for practice.
He had been watching her. An accident at first—he’d been too early for his own practice, and she was on the ice—it had become his favorite pastime. At times, he told himself he was just studying her technique. But really, it was just a beautiful sight.
That first time, he had told Sam, his roommate, about her. Pacing around the living room of their Brooklyn apartment, he went on about how she glided with a dainty grace, yet her movements were strong and confident. How she owned the ice like none of his friends did.
Sam lied sideways on the couch, wrapped in his favorite throw blanket, his eyes following Bucky’s movement. Bucky stopped as he realized how Sam was staring at him. His interest in ice skating didn’t go beyond sitting among the crowd to watch his friend compete once in a while— although Bucky tried to teach him once, holding his hands as he stomped across the outdoor rink.
"Is she pretty?" Sam asked, the look in his eyes a giveaway that he already knew the answer.
Bucky paused, as if he had to think about it. "Very."
Sam hadn’t stopped teasing him since.
"Why do you look so happy? You finally talk to that girl you’re obsessed with?" Sam had told him last night the moment he saw him walk in.
Bucky would have rolled his eyes at his assumption, hadn’t he been genuinely elated about his interaction with Natasha. But of course, it was nothing more than the excitement of having maybe found a new skating partner. And now, Natasha’s words confirmed that he did.
"Oh— you will?" It had been the answer he wanted, hoped to get, but his eyes widened still.
"But," she said, a suspicious smirk adorning her face. "I need you to do something for me." Oh, he would do anything she asked. "Be my boyfriend at my sister’s wedding." What?
"What?" Bucky said.
"You heard me."
He chuckled. "I mean, at least let me take you on a date first, don’t you think?"
She rolled her eyes. "Not like that, you idiot. Pretend to be my boyfriend."
He knew what she meant. "Why do you need a fake boyfriend for your sister’s wedding?"
"That’s none of your business." He’d been intrigued by her before, and her reply only made him more so.
"Fair enough." Bucky almost felt guilty. Pretending to be Natasha’s boyfriend at a family function didn’t sound like a chore at all. Hell, it sounded fun. It would be a breeze compared to what she would do for him. "Let’s do it."
She almost smiled. The prospect of lying to everyone in attendance made the wedding far more enticing. James was perfect for the job. He was cute enough to draw attention, distract them all and be the talk of the night; and he’d owe her, so she wouldn’t feel like he was doing her a favor. She only hoped that he wasn’t one to ask too many questions.
"I’ll get your plane ticket tonight," she said.
"Wait. Plane ticket?"
"Don’t worry, my dad will pay for it."
"I—" Bucky was brimming with questions, but also with the feeling that Natasha didn’t like being interrogated. And the last thing he wanted was to have her change her mind about pairing up with him. "Okay. So… practice tomorrow at 4?"
"Okay." They shook hands, like it was a business deal— And in a way it was. A bit of an unfair one, if you asked him, but he’d be the best fake boyfriend in history to make up for it.