In the Dead of the Night || Winter Soldier

Nine: Enchanting

I survey the Russian assassin analytically, but it doesn't take long for me to come to a conclusion. "Wouldn't last in a fight against you of course, but I'm like a toothpick in comparison to that Incredible Hulk. You know what happens when you throw a toothpick at the Incredible Hulk? He snaps it! Not before picking his teeth with it though, because that's what toothpicks are used for. But, you'd be good. You're set. Like I said, he wouldn't last in a fight against you."

"You lasted in a fight against me," Bucky softly points out, hands in his own black leather jacket pockets – we went shopping before this, in case you were wondering. Have you ever got to treat a Russian World War II super soldier assassin like your own personal doll to dress before? Well, I have. Can tick that one off my bucket list.

"That was different," I contend, the small scar atop the left side of my upper lip buzzing at the reminder. "Plus, I only lasted because you let me live. Thanks for that, by the way. Really made my day. Still a good guy even though you were whammied by HYDRA."

"I'm not a good guy," he plainly drones. He didn't even need to think about, the response was automatic. An acceptance.

"Sure you are!" I grin dorkily, slipping my left arm around and under his right to link us together. "You saved me! And left HYDRA, once they epically failed with that whole 'Let's try and kill a few million people' thing and you had your own mind again. Also, you make a mean cottage pie. Bad guys wouldn't even try to make a good cottage pie for their friends if given the chance. You're good dude."

Startled by the linked arms for a few moments, he eventually lifts his gaze back up to meet mine again and stare. The cogs are back at work in his brain, attempting to process my words yet again. When he does, another warm-ish smile ghosts his lips. "You always see the best in people."

"Not everyone can be a super secret genetically engineering spy from an espionage agency ready to leap out of the shadows and be all knifey shivdark on you," I point out, drawing him in closer in a manner that, no, is not cuddling. Just... holding him closer. "Flippin' cold," I mumble, resting my cheek against his black leather clad shoulder. Once again, not cuddling.

An unexpected twinge of what-do-I-do-I'll-just-stay-still twists in my chest when I feel Bucky pull me even closer, until the light breath of his nose dusts the top of my head and high ponytail. I must admit, he is warmer this close up. "Did you want my jacket?"

Oh, no, that's okay Bucky. Just be a gentleman, break my heart with your gentlemanliness, and sweep up the pieces of my existence that are shattered by your cuteness.

"Oh no, it's fine. I don't want you cold," I politely refuse, twisting my head so my chin now rests on the side of his shoulder – too damn short – and I'm peering up at him through my glasses.

His brows knot further. "I don't m—"

"Score!"

A very 'non-terrifying in every way' squeak escapes my lips at Naomi's abrupt exclamation, my head snapping so fast in her direction that I'm surprised I don't have whiplash. Only for a couple seconds do I watch and register her rifling through some poor student's locker, and then realise that the rumbling against my body is a result from Bucky's low, quiet and yet hearty laughter.

Staring back up at him unimpressed, I huff as my nose crinkles. "Not funny!"

"Definitely funny."

"Really wasn't! I could've died from a heart attack!"

"Of course you could've."

My glare aims to be menacing, but apparently only adds to his amusement. "I don't think I like your tone young man."