' ' Perfect Enough To Break ' '

Tension and Nightmares

Sova

I can feel his eyes on me as Bucky stands there, unmoving, face carefully blank, like he's trying to pretend none of this affects him. But there's something in his eyes—a flicker of curiosity mixed with hesitation—that tells me otherwise. He crosses his arms, leaning casually against the wall, but the tension in the air is anything but casual.

Behind the one-way mirror, I know others are watching—Steve, Bruce, Natasha, Tony, Sam. Their silence is heavy, the kind that makes the walls feel smaller, the air thicker. I don't need to look at them to know they're all on edge, wondering how this will go down.

Steve shifts his weight, arms folded across his chest, and lets out a quiet sigh. "Buck's got this," he says, trying to sound confident.

Natasha's the first to notice the underlying tension in the room, her eyes narrowing as she glances toward the mirror. "Yeah, but can he handle it?"

I glance at the mirror for a moment, a small smirk tugging at my lips as I turn my attention back to Bucky. 

"You didn't like following rules either, if I remember correctly..." I say, my voice nonchalant, as if we're reminiscing about old times. I tilt my head slightly, watching his expression. "...What changed, Soldier?"

His eyes narrow at my smirk, and for a brief moment, I see the ghost of our past—the missions where we broke the rules and still came out on top, no matter the cost. He steps forward, pushing off the wall with a quiet intensity that almost feels like a warning.

"I'm not the same as I used to be," he mutters, stopping just inches from my chair. The space between us crackles with tension, but I'm not backing down. His gaze flicks to the mirror, challenging me without words, and it's almost as if he's daring me to call him out.

From behind the mirror, Tony leans in a bit closer, observing with a hint of amusement. "This just got interesting..." he mutters.

I can feel Bucky's frustration rising, but I don't give him an inch. "Is that what you tell yourself?" I tilt my head, a small smile playing at the corners of my lips. I know exactly what I'm doing. And I know how well it gets under his skin.

He clenches his jaw at that, visibly fighting to hold back whatever impulse is clawing at him. My subtle smirk only fuels his irritation. I see it in his eyes—the battle inside him between wanting to break me and wanting to keep control. And I'm not making it easy for him.

"I don't need to tell myself anything," he snaps, taking another step closer. His presence looms over me, a threat in every inch of his body. But there's something else there too—something restrained. I know him too well. 

Natasha's voice cracks through the silence from behind the mirror. "He's holding back."

I laugh at Bucky's comment, the sound harsh in the quiet room. My eyes meet Bucky's, and I lick my lips slowly, enjoying the discomfort I'm causing him. "Whatever helps you with your nightmares," I say, a touch of venom in my words. His past is still a sore spot for him, and I know exactly where to strike.

Bucky's face hardens at the mention of his nightmares, his expression darkening. For a moment, I think he's going to snap. The air in the room tightens, and I can almost feel the weight of the restraint in his body as he fights to keep it together. His hands ball into fists, his gaze dark and dangerous.

"Shut your mouth," he growls, his voice low, a barely contained threat.

From behind the mirror, Sam speaks up, "She's getting under his skin."

"Or what?" I challenge, my voice dripping with defiance. I lean forward, testing the restraints, but it doesn't matter. I want to see how far I can push him.

Bucky's posture tenses even further, his breath steady but coming just a little too quickly. "Don't push it."

I scoff, letting my eyes wander over him. "We've been here how long, and you've gotten how many answers from me?" I mock, exaggeratedly moving my head. "Zero?"

Bucky's frustration is evident now. He runs a hand through his short hair, something between a groan and a laugh escaping him. I know he's not one for games like this, but that's what makes it so much more fun. He scoffs at me, his eyes burning with anger, but also... something else.

He moves closer, towering over me now, his presence overwhelming. "Not exactly easy to get information out of you," he mutters, his voice almost reluctant. "You've always been stubborn, even when we... worked together."

My lip curls into a smirk again. "It's my nature."

He sees that smirk and something in his eyes flickers. It's frustration, yes, but there's something else too—something like admiration, buried deep beneath the irritation. He doesn't like it, doesn't like how I still get under his skin, but he can't help it. He remembers the old me, the one who never backed down.

"Your nature, or your training?" he asks, sarcasm thick in his voice as he circles me like a predator eyeing its prey. His eyes are dark, almost angry. But I see it, that flicker of something more—a part of him that can't seem to fully let go of the past.