Harmless (Bucky Barnes)

(xii)

"Mr. Barnes," you announce when he opens the door to let himself in.

He raises his hand in a small wave, strolling across the floor to where you were standing.

"You are-" You check the watch on your wrist, "-ten minutes late."

"Tragic," he replies dryly.

"Imagine if I didn't wait for you and started my plan anyway. Total world annihilation." You're standing on the platform, lugging a heavy table on wheels and an old timey TV with you.

"The world hasn't ended yet, I'd say it's fine." He makes his way to the base of the stairs, waiting for you to reach the top before he helps.

"How was therapy?" you question, one hand on the TV to support it.

"Like always." He shrugs, lifting the whole set-up and placing it on the ground. "She told me I need to chill out."

"I'd say she's right."

"Yeah, well-" He uses his metal arm to help you pull the table along. "I think she has her hands full with the other nine hundred problems I have."

Once you guide it to the centre of the room, he lets go of it and takes a step back.

"Boom."

"This TV is older than | am." He knocks the top of it, a hollow metal sound resounding through.

"That's impossible," you drawl obnoxiously. "You're, like, a billion years old."

"I'm a gazillion, so watch your mouth," he warns in mock seriousness. "What are you doing with this?"

"One second." You hold up a finger, sorting out your priorities. "Your hair's getting long again."

He raises an eyebrow. "That's what happens when it grows over time."

"You look like a prince." His hair fell to his ear by now and you figured the haircut did him well because the volume in his tresses was lively.

Bucky pulls at it slightly, eying a lock. "That a bad thing?"

"No." He looked nice. "I like it."

"Okay." He pushes back a smile, nodding slightly.

Really nice.

"I think I will hit on you obnoxiously today."

He exhales, pressing his lips together in a straight line. "When do you not?"

"Anyway," you begin again, keeping a hand on the TV. "I saw your reaction to Netflix's best movie last time-"

His face falls. "We're not watching the sequel."

"Hush." You raise a finger in warning. "There's no point in watching The Kissing Booth 2-"

"We finally agree on something," he deadpans. "Who woulda thought?"

"-when you can live it." You raise the remote in triumph. "Behold, the Television Transporter... inator."

"That's the name?" He looks unimpressed, rightfully so. You had given him names like The Air Morphomatic Inator before. This was nothing.

"I'm workshopping it," you urge him to move on. "I built it in a hurry for us."

"Is this thing even safe?" He taps at the glass.

"We're gonna find out," you mumble before raising your voice again. "You ever looked at a Hallmark movie and think, 'gosh, I wish I was in that small, vaguely terrifying town!'"