The anger that rose up within him surprised even Bucky himself. Only because he was still kind of trying to process the fact that he had been deeply in love with the woman standing in front of him. Natasha had the gift of time between when they'd been together in the Red Room and now to sort of move on, maybe heal from it -- though it seemed like she still felt the weight of their love affair, whatever that translated to. For Bucky, these memories were more fresh. The feelings were more fresh, and maybe that was why he had such an angry, knee-jerk reaction to finding out what she'd done.
Natasha had said she didn't make it when they'd spoken over the network. That alone was enough to be very upsetting, but the fact that it wasn't because she'd been fighting and lost but rather she chose self-sacrifice for the greater good -- yeah, that didn't fly with him. It shouldn't have flown with her. She should've been angry about it, devastated about it. But she was trying to rationalize it. There was no way this was ever going to make sense to him. Ever.
"No, see, you don't get to do that," Bucky said, shaking his head. "Steve was an idiot. There were probably no less than a dozen ways I could've got him out of there but unfortunately I missed the flight." Because he'd been lying presumed dead at the bottom of a mountain. "And don't use Barton as an excuse. Whatever happened, whatever he went through, doesn't make it okay for you to die. Stop acting like you don't matter. Stop making it sound like you just let Barton have the last piece of chocolate cake. Fuck, this is your life, Natalia." He balled his fist; god, he wanted to hit a tree. He wanted to punch his fist through the trunk. They always needed more firewood, didn't they?
"You don't even have a guarantee that what they planned was going to work. Stop being dismissive about your life. This isn't just a trade off. It's you."