Captain America and Bucky Barnes Imagines

25. BUCKY: A Good Bit of Fun

Words: 1.7 K

Warnings: language

"You'll never be able to make it from here."

Your focus is rudely broken by the voice of a man you've come to know as Bucky Barnes. Your eyes close as you curse his name and turn his way.

There he stands, tall and brooding, and staring at you with that stoic bearded face. "Not with that bow anyway. You'll need something..."

"Remember that time I asked you for your opinion?" your impatient bark interrupts Bucky. He doesn't have a response for you: instead pursing his lips tightly together. "No? Well, neither do I. So how about you close that pretty little face of yours before I deck it." You roll your eyes and turn on your heel back towards the target at the end of the grassy plain. You and a few of the others have come out here today to the outskirts of T'Challa's compound for some shooting practice. You, being quite the confident archer, have decided to push your luck and set up the farthest target with the flimsiest bow. Even Hawkeye wouldn't expect to make the shot from here.

Using your eye first to estimate, you lift your bow. The moment the string is drawn you let it fly. Never hold an aim: it takes too much muscle.

Your arrow flies. It whizzes over tall grasses that sway with the calculated breeze. And before Bucky can say anything else, he's seeing your arrow lodge straight into the third-eye of the human-shaped target.

Nat and Clint are staring at you. Clint's impressed as he loads his own bow. Nat knows what you're capable of. She looks proud.

You push some hair from your face. Stalking by Bucky, you shove your bow to his chest. He gracelessly grabs it from your grasp. "Here, pretty boy. Let's see if you can do as good as the new girl does." You smirk before giving him your back. You expect him to follow you. Of course, he does.

You hear his fast footsteps against the dry soil. "I don't question you because you're a girl, if that's what you think."

"Oh really? So the questioning is because I'm new—young, maybe. What about your dislike for me? Your distrust? Does that stem from my gender?" You talk at him over your shoulder as you saunter away. This spandex outfit is terribly uncomfortable, and you plan to go back to your quarters to change out of it.

"No, no!" Bucky gripes.

Sighing, you turn back to face him. You pause in the doorway of the compound. "Shame, really. Because that'd make me feel so much better about distrusting you for all your little man bits." You gesture to him with a flat hand. "Oh don't look so aggravated, soldier. I've never trusted men. It's not personal." You spin around. "Well; perhaps it's slightly personal."

You leave for your room. Bucky Barnes stands still in the doorway staring after you: watching your swaying hips and flouncing hair with a bit of sadness mingling in with the aggravation in his chest.

...

"I don't know what I did to make her hate me so much," Bucky laments that same night to his best friend.

Steve shrugs as he bites into his grilled cheese sandwich. "She said so herself: she hates men."

Bucky narrows his blue eyes at his comrade. "She likes you though."

Steve considers this notion for a brief moment. "Well, I guess she does." He hums. "Strange." He takes another bite of food without much worry on his face.

Bucky flops into the seat across from Steve. His face finds his hands where he groans long and loud. "I don't know what the hell I did, Steve, or what the hell I'm supposed to do."