Natasha really didn't want a roommate and―just off the top of her head―could come up with a handful of reasons why she shouldn't even be considering one.

One: her apartment was barely large enough for her despite having two rooms.

Two: Barton tended to drop by unannounced and she doubted he'd stop even if she had a roommate. No matter how horrible her roommate could turn out to be, she didn't feel like it was fair to subject them to that.

Three: her job often required her to be out at odd hours. Even if she got lucky and found a roommate that didn't mind, she'd always feel bad about staying out so late or leaving so early.

And four: she had a number of enemies. She'd worked hard to be one of the best bodyguards in the country, but it came at a price. She'd made enemies and even had her own personal nemesis if she did say so herself. Should one of them ever discover where she lived... Well, Natasha didn't really want to think about that.

So no, Natasha really didn't want a roommate and quite frankly, it was safer for everyone if she didn't have one. However, her rent was due and she had to call in yet another favor in order to pay it on time. Even Clint was starting to worry which really just left her with one option: find a roommate.

"I know someone who's looking for a place."

Somehow, the topic had come up during her current conversation with Clint and Steve. While Natasha generally appreciated her colleague's input, she was not in any particular mood to share.

She'd just gotten back from a job that had not been fun, both due to the fact that her client was handsy and the Winter Soldier had made a surprise appearance. God, if she ever saw his stupid face on the streets, she was going to shoot him as payback.

"That's convenient," Natasha muttered, glancing at Clint out of the corner of her eye. "Almost as if someone told you I'd be offering."

Clint didn't look at her, but Steve had the decency to look a little apologetic.

"He's familiar with the lifestyle, is all I'm saying," Steve told her. "He knows what I do and what it means. Besides, he does this whole freelance thing that means he's out of town often."

"If he's out of town so often," Natasha asked, "why is he looking for a place in New York?"

"Everyone needs a home base."

By the time they left the bar to return to their separate apartments, Natasha had Steve's friend's phone number and had promised to send him a text.

When she texted him the following morning, she didn't exactly expect a response. She sent him a copy of the ad she'd written for the newspaper and told him to text her if he had any questions. She expected to never hear from him again. Hardly three minutes after the message was delivered, however, her phone dinged and she glanced at it to see Steve's friend had already filled out and returned the application.

She didn't really have free time, but during her lunch break, she set aside a moment to read through his application. Halfway through and she knew he'd probably make a decent roommate, if not because he was Steve's friend, then because he had a military background (just like Steve).

If she was going to risk having someone else live with her, she needed to be sure they could handle at least minor threats. Should someone come knocking, she didn't want to worry about her roommate.

That night, she accepted his application and got a text in reply.

From James Barnes: I hope Steve didn't pressure you into accepting my application because I'm his friend

The message almost made her laugh. God, if he was like Steve, she was going to have a blast messing with him. For now, though, she'd try to play nice.

From Natasha: No, not at all :) considering you're familiar with my work already, you were the best choice

She spent the rest of her evening texting him and trying to get to know her future roommate. Aside from the name she'd seen on his application―James Buchanan Barnes―and the little information that Steve had shared with her earlier, she really didn't know much about him.

By the time she learned that everyone called him Bucky, she had already taken to calling him James. It had been weeks and the name had stuck since it was the only name she knew him as. At least, it had been until she'd had a conversation with Steve where it had taken them both much too long to figure out they were talking about the same person. Almost as soon as the conversation had ended, she sent James a text.

From Natasha: You never told me you went by Bucky. I just made a fool of myself in front of Steve

It was a few hours later before she got a response but when she did, it made her laugh out loud in her empty apartment.

From James: Consider it payback. He swore up and down he didn't know anyone named Natalia when I told him you'd given me the apartment

With a snort, she realized she had never actually told him her name. Her legal name had been on the rental agreement which meant he could only have gotten it from there.

From Natasha: No one calls me Natalia. I go by Natasha

From James: Too bad, it's in my head at this point. You'll be Natalia forever

It was only fair since she doubted she could bring herself to think of him as Bucky.

Despite needing the rent money, it wasn't easy to find a good move-in date. At first, James had mentioned moving in immediately. They had set a date, but he had to cancel last minute when his work pulled him out of town.

It was good timing, though, because Natasha was assigned to Fury's personal security detail last minute for the same day. In any other situation, she would have told Fury to find someone else because her roommate was trying to move in. When word got out that Fury was the Winter Soldier's next target, however, she'd had no choice but to go.

She didn't have time to send him a text that said anything other than "ok", but he must have been just as busy because he never replied anyway.

When she finally remembered to text him and ask about a new date, she was just getting back from Washington DC and sporting a new bruise across her ribs thanks to that goddamn Winter Soldier. Kevlar vests were a godsend, but the bruise left after getting shot through one was certainly a pain. Although she knew better, the pain seemed worse knowing that the shot had come from the Soldier.

There were days when she was sure―would swear up and down―that the Winter Soldier had made it his personal mission to screw up all of her jobs and maybe even kill her in the process. At first, it had seemed a bit like a game. Now, it was more annoying than anything.

Nursing her bruised ribs and taking another dose of painkillers, Natasha checked her phone to see if James had responded yet. He had.

From James: Does two weeks from now work?

It did and Natasha set the new date in her calendar.

The weekend before James was set to move in, Natasha spent the day cleaning. She knew that if Fury had his way and assigned her to Stark later that week, she wouldn't have any time. The billionaire was a friend, but he was also a bit paranoid and apparently needed a bodyguard in order to attend his own expo.

Fortunately, she finished cleaning before Monday rolled around and on Tuesday, James texted to let her know he'd be arriving that evening at 7pm.

While she had warned Fury that she needed to leave on time that evening, she didn't. It wasn't until 6:30pm that she was racing out the front door and towards her apartment. Without traffic, it would take her twenty minutes to get home. Considering the time, she'd be lucky to make it in forty.

Luckily for Natasha, traffic was lighter than she expected and she pulled into the car park at 6:54pm. In a flurry, she locked her car, stuffed her handgun in her waistband, and sprinted up the stairs to her apartment.

The kitchen was still a mess from that morning and she had a first aid kit spread across the living room (thanks to her recent encounter with the Soldier), but there was no time to clean up now.

At 6:59pm, someone knocked on her door.

Taking a deep breath, Natasha moved towards the apartment door and pulled it open with a smile on her face. As soon as her eyes landed on the familiar brunet in front of her, however, she jumped for the handgun she still had stuffed in her waistband.

The Soldier was on her before she could draw her weapon.

With a grunt, they both hit the floor and Natasha's gun skittered across the carpet. She cursed and rolled, slipping out of the Soldier's grasp even as he stretched to reach her.

"Of all the goddamn days." She grunted as he landed a kick to her still bruised ribs.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

She kicked his feet out from under him and he crashed to the floor. Jumping on his back, Natasha kicked his knife from his hand and blocked him from reaching for another. Left thigh pocket. Just like she had expected from him.

He rolled, but she held firm and twisted his wrist up to his shoulder. With a pained growl, he attempted to throw her off of him again, but she merely wobbled.

"How the hell did you find me?" she growled in his ear, twisting his second arm in an attempt to immobilize him.

"How did I―What are you doing here?" he snapped in reply. "Where the hell is Natalia?"

"Natali―"

Natasha froze and the Winter Soldier noticed. In the moment it took her to realize what he meant, he broke free of her grasp and twisted out from underneath her. He was on top of her in the same moment with his hand locked around her throat.

"What did you do to Natalia, Widow?" he snarled.

"I am Natalia," she snapped. His grip around her throat tightened.

With an angry roll of her eyes, she locked her leg around his and twisted her arms through the one he had locked around her throat. In one fluid motion, she twisted and slipped out of his grip. Rather than dive back in and attack him, however, she took a step back and glared.

"Tell me you're not James Barnes," she demanded.

The Soldier's eyes narrowed. "How do you know that name?"

A quick glance out the door confirmed her fear. There were two suitcases just outside the door and the Winter Soldier wasn't wearing his tactical gear. He may have had a knife or two on him, but he hadn't come looking for a fight. He'd come to move in.

The Winter Soldier―James, apparently―seemed to have the same realization a minute after her. His eyes flickered from her to the messy kitchen and back to her.

"You have got to be kidding me." His eyes narrowed. "Of all the goddamn apartments in the whole city."

"You're welcome to leave," Natasha told him. Even as she said it, she knew she wouldn't make rent that month. It would almost be okay, though, because the last thing she wanted was to live with her self-proclaimed nemesis.

"Unfortunately, I can't," James grumbled. He glanced back at his suitcases that were still sitting in the hall. "It's a little hard to find a place to live here and this was the only place I could afford."

"How charming," Natasha deadpanned.

For a long minute, neither of them said anything. Natasha half hoped he'd leave on his own so she wouldn't have to admit to needing the rent money. Unfortunately, as with every other time the Winter Soldier had shown up in front of her, luck was not on her side.

"So..." He dragged out the word and Natasha almost punched him for it. "You stay on your side and I'll stay on mine?"

* * * * *

It took a week before Natasha stopped glaring at everything she saw that belonged to James: his toothbrush, his shoes, him. She didn't see him often―she had been assigned to guard Stark during the week of his expo―but his things were still scattered around the apartment. He had a shelf in the fridge, a spot in the bathroom, and a habit of throwing his jacket on the couch instead of taking it to his room.

For the first full week, they hardly spoke more than a few words in passing to each other.

By the second week, Natasha had figured out his routine. He woke up early and left for an hour. Even if she didn't know Steve's meticulous habits by heart, it wouldn't have taken long to figure out that James went running with him every morning. Steve often asked when she'd join them when she eventually arrived at work.

They didn't often talk about James, but when they did, one thing was very obvious: Steve had no idea what James's "freelance work" actually was.

After a full month of living together, Natasha was unfortunately used to James's comings and goings and the way he liked to leave his dirty weapons in front of the TV. She still scowled when he moved her things in the fridge or when he got gunpowder on the carpet, but his presence wasn't nearly as unsettling as it had been at first.

It was exactly one month and four days after he moved in that they had their first real conversation.

"So, you're a bodyguard."

Natasha looked up from her recipe to see James turned on the couch facing her. She raised an eyebrow.

"How'd that happen?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes so hard it gave her a headache. "Joined the military, hated the killing-people part, and switched careers. You're an assassin. How'd that happen?"

Unlike her, James grinned.

"Joined the military," he echoed teasingly, "loved the killing-people part, and switched careers."

She snorted and James's grin widened. Turning his attention fully away from the TV and setting aside his still dirty gun, he said, "We're not that different after all, Romanova."

"I beg to differ," she argued. "Unlike you, I don't leave my dirty weapons in the living room."

He seemed to have sensed the meaning behind her words because he got up without a word and carried his gun into his room.

Pleased with herself, Natasha turned back to her recipe and attempted to continue, only to be interrupted again.

"Since we're living opposite lives," James said, walking back into the room, "I have a question."

She tried not to huff in annoyance, but the way James smirked at her told her she hadn't been very successful.

"We often end up on opposite ends of the same job," James reminded her. Her eyes narrowed. "That would be a bit awkward now that we're roommates, so we should create a system."

"Or you could stop working as a hitman."

James shrugged. "I could, but I won't. Here's what I had in mind: we let each other know before we take a job."

"Why?" Natasha asked. "So you can follow me around and kill my guy?"

"No," James snapped, "so that I don't have to shoot your guy to get my rent money."

With a bit more explaining, the idea sounded (unfortunately) good. If she told James about the jobs she took, he could avoid taking offers that would likely end in shooting at her. If James took a job first, she could convince Fury to place her somewhere else and give her a different job.

"I'd just hate to shoot you," James told her with a smirk. "Now that we're roommates and all."

"Get out of the kitchen."

He did.

* * * * *

Surprisingly, James's idea worked. Fury raised an eyebrow the few times she asked to switch jobs, but he never bothered to ask for much of an explanation. Unfortunately, that meant that Steve was often the one who took on jobs involving the Winter Soldier. Luckily for Steve, though, James seemed much less trigger happy around with his best friend than he had been with her.

The first time Natasha had told James about her next job, she'd been wary. She'd been on edge the entire time, half expecting him to undermine her meticulous planning and take out her client in some unseeable way. When she finished the day, however, and returned to find James napping on the couch, she was pleasantly surprised.

One of the biggest unforeseen benefits of the idea, Natasha had to admit, was that it meant they were forced to communicate. Between living together and texting constantly to update the other on their current or new job, there was hardly a moment where they weren't in contact. Even when one of them went abroad.

From James: I have a package being delivered today and it'll explode if left outside. Pick it up?

He was in Mexico and Natasha was at home nursing yet another bruise from her kevlar vest.

From Natasha: What time?

The least she could do was prevent their apartment complex from being destroyed.

And so it continued.

What had at first started out as a way to avoid facing each other at work had turned into a new pastime. Natasha forced him to play games with her through iMessage and James called to ask what she needed from the grocery store.

"So," Steve said, interrupting her train of thought, "you and Bucky, eh?"

Natasha's eyes snapped up from her phone to look at Steve. "What?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "You and Bucky. You talk a lot."

"We live together."

"That's not a real excuse," he argued with a smirk. "I lived with Buck for years and he didn't text me half as often. What do you guys talk about anyway?"

While Natasha had never asked James if Steve knew what he did, she knew the answer was no. As such, there was no real way to explain to Steve that much of their conversation consisted of her scolding him for ruining the carpets with his weaponry and him telling her about his next target.

"Work," she answered simply. Steve raised an eyebrow. "You know how crazy my schedule can be and his is just as bad. We try to keep each other in the loop."

Steve didn't look like he believed her, but he didn't bother her about it any more. Instead, he resorted to grinning smugly whenever she reached for her phone around him.

* * * * *

In her head, Natasha knew that James still worked as a hitman, but it slowly became harder and harder to remind herself of that.

As the months passed and she and James spent more time living together and less time shooting each other, she started to see him more as James, the idiot who washed his new jeans with the rest of his clothes, rather than the Winter Soldier, the man who liked to shoot at her and her clients.

When Thanksgiving rolled around and they both ended up missing their family celebrations due to work, they had their own Thanksgiving meal sponsored by Pizza Hut on the floor of their living room. When Christmas came and Natasha was nursing a broken collar bone, they made cookies together until well past midnight.

On New Years, they both found themselves in Washington DC again and while they did end up shooting at each other, they made up for it with a trip to Denny's where James covered the check (after all, he had ruined her favorite shirt in the shoot-out).

By February, Steve had decided they were dating.

"We're not," Natasha insisted, scanning the crowd as they worked. Stark had hired them both this time and she was glad for the company even if said company liked to stick his nose in her business.

Steve gave her a pointed look. "He lets you call him James and you do his laundry."

"He put new jeans in with the rest of his clothes, Steve," she reminded him. "What was I supposed to do? Let him ruin all his clothing?"

"I'm just saying," Steve said with a grin. "If I called you Natalia, you'd take my head off."

Before she could argue, her phone buzzed in her pocket and James's name flashed across the screen. Steve noticed.

"You gonna answer that?" he asked when she hesitated.

"I'm working," she argued. It hadn't necessarily stopped her before, but it seemed too ironic for him to call while Steve was teasing her about him.

"I've got it covered," Steve assured her. "You have five minutes."

With a roll of her eyes, Natasha slipped away and answered the phone.

"What?"

"God, not even a 'hello'?" James teased.

"I'm working," she reminded him, well aware of the fact that he knew that. "You have five minutes before Steve interrupts."

"Are you busy this weekend?"

"No."

"Good, I need a cover and I was wondering if―"

"James," Natasha interrupted. Lowering her voice, she said, "I'm not really the person you should talk to about a cover."

"I know, but it's last minute and you're the only one I can think of," he replied.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "You really know how to make a girl feel special."

"Not like that, Natalia."

She tried not to sigh too loudly, but she already knew she would likely agree. "What do you need?"

"A date," he said. Natasha blinked in surprise. "You'll be happy to know I'm just gathering intel. No assassinations are scheduled to take place."

That was a relief, considering she was the person who typically stopped assassinations.

"All I need is a date to a dinner party," James told her. "I'll even buy you a new dress."

"Fine," she agreed. She'd been looking for an excuse to get a new dress anyway. "But when Steve asks what you called about, I'm telling him it's a date."

"What else would it be, Natalia?"

What else would it be, indeed?