Bucky was having a bad day. A really bad day. And for a man who was usually grumpy the moment he woke up, that was kind a statement to make. He gritted his teeth as he walked towards your door, his hand clenched to a fist at his side. He knocked on your door, barely having the patience to wait until you called him in.

You were sitting at your desk, facing away from him. He didn’t know if you were writing something or drawing, and he didn’t care. He needed your help now and he didn’t have time for any discussions. “Doll.” He said, taking a deep breath as he tried to stay calm.

You were so focused on your work that you barely noticed him. “Hm?”

He closed his eyes for a moment to pull himself together, then he looked at you again. “I need your help. Right now. And I don’t have the time nor the energy to discuss that with you. You have to come with me.” He said in a voice that didn’t leave any room for arguments.

His words irritated you. How dared he to speak to you like that? You turned around on your chair, opening your mouth to snap at him, when you saw that his metal arm was missing. It was a rare sight, Bucky barely took his prosthesis off. You closed your mouth again and raised your eyebrow, a questioning expression on your face. Now you were curious.

He took another sigh, trying to prepare himself for your reaction. “Rocket stole my arm.”