[Inspired by the POV by the.stark.internship]

The club pulsed with bass and sweat and a whole lot of regret waiting to happen.

You sat at the corner table, all honeyed smiles and false promises, leaning in just close enough to your target to make him feel like he had a chance—and just far enough to ensure he didn’t. (©TRS0525CAI)

The bastard was slow to take the bait, immune to charm or just too high on self-importance to notice the sedatives swirling in his overpriced cocktail. You’d almost started to doubt the dosage calculations—until his head dipped slightly, and he slumped forward against the edge of the table.

Right on cue.

Bucky was on you in seconds, melting out of the shadows in a dark jacket and darker mood. He slid into the booth beside you, his gloved hand already supporting the man’s dead weight with practiced ease.

“Next time,” Bucky muttered, low and dry as ever, “show a little leg.”

You blinked at him.

He stood up with a grunt, slinging one of the guy’s arms over his shoulder like a drunk buddy on New Year’s. Then he walked off toward the exit without so much as a glance back.

You scoffed, grabbed the guy’s other side, and caught up fast.

“Barnes,” you hissed through clenched teeth as the S.H.I.E.L.D. van’s headlights lit up the back alley. “The only time you’re gonna see a little leg from me is right before I kick your ass.”

Bucky gave you a sideways look. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh really?” you bit back, sarcasm at full throttle as the van doors swung open. “Because it sounded like the guy who’s spent the last thirty minutes glaring at me from the shadows didn’t think I was doing enough.”

Bucky helped heft the target into the back of the van, letting the guy collapse onto the bench seat with a groan. Then he turned to you, jaw clenched, eyes stormy.

“I was just worried that the target—”

“That he’d get away?” you snapped. “Don’t you trust me to do my job?”

“You know I do.” His voice softened—gravel, but worn down at the edges. “With my life. But he was dangerous. You couldn’t afford to take any chances.”

You took a step closer, chest still heaving from the adrenaline.

“Why?” you demanded. “Why couldn’t I take chances? Why are you allowed to dive headfirst into a fight but I’m supposed to flirt and flash a smile and hope to hell my math is good on the sedative dosage?”

Bucky looked like he wanted to say something. Anything. But nothing came.

And that was louder than if he had.

You tilted your head, throat tight. “Why, Bucky?”

His gaze dropped to the pavement. “Because if something happened to you… I’d burn this whole damn city down.”

You blinked. The air shifted.

For a moment, neither of you said a word.

Then: “Well,” you muttered, voice not quite as sharp, “maybe next time lead with that instead of requesting a leg show, Sergeant.”

Bucky exhaled a short laugh. “Noted.”

You climbed into the van without another word, heart still pounding.

You weren’t sure if it was the adrenaline, the danger… or the way he’d looked at you when he said that.