Soul Stealer ~ (A Bucky Barnes Love Story)

The Natural

"Is all this really necessary? I've seen pilots all over the tower and no one is ever wearing this getup."

Clint glanced at me briefly. "None of those pilots are Captain America's daughter." Good point. Keeping the news of Steve's family tree expanding by one was a losing battle. "Now put your visor down and don't talk."

Obediently I used the tab on the top of the helmet to lower the blacked-out eye protection. The flight suit I was wearing had 700 pockets, 50 zippers, and 25 Velcro straps for god knows what. Why a pilot needed 300 pens fastened to various parts of their body was one of life's great mysteries.

The day after the dinner with Steve, and my subsequent freak out, I'd visited Clint in medical. He was knee deep in an argument with Nat about when he could leave. Thanks to Tony's invention, which involved something called nanite technology, his healing time was drastically reduced.

Nat was reluctant to trust the healing to robots, or whatever they were, and insisted he stay a few days longer for observation. Clint disagreed, vehemently. The archer understood a fair amount of Russian, but even if he was completely clueless his friend's very vocal objection spelled it out quite eloquently.

Before I could back pedal out of the room, and harm's way, the redhead had uncharacteristically hauled me in for a fierce hug, whispering in her native language that she owed me. I wasn't clear on why since I hadn't done anything for her, but she waved off my inquiry and the discussion was over. She owed me, period, whatever the hell that meant.

Clint made a similarly dramatic vow which I'd staunchly argued was unnecessary. When I walked into the trauma room I had no idea what would happen, and I certainly didn't do it so he would owe me a life debt. His reply to that was a sly smirk, followed by, "all the more reason why I owe you."

The two of them were the most confusing people I'd ever met, and I'd been imprisoned by HYDRA.

I may be unclear on the magnitude of the two spy's oath, but the change in their demeanor was no mystery. No longer was I considered an outsider where the two of them were concerned. At every opportunity they invited me to lunch, insisted on training together, or suggested we "veg out" which meant sitting in front of a TV all day. Nat had even introduced me to online shopping which Bucky had already pointed out was going to be a problem.

The most intriguing lesson I'd learned was on something called Tinder. Apparently, it could remedy my "V card" problem in an afternoon, but Sam had shut that idea down before it really had a chance to take shape.

His shocked reaction to the mere notion put researching Tinder to the top of my to do list.

It was Clint's simple declaration, I owe you, that led to our current subterfuge. It was no secret I was fascinated by flying. It was also no secret James "Stick in the Mud" Barnes refused to let me anywhere near a plane, or more accurately, anything with an engine.

You crash one car and suddenly a guy gets gun shy.

So much for his "the world's most fearless assassin" title.

Clint was practically giddy with excitement when I confessed my problem. Turned out Clint was quite the pilot and didn't give a damn I couldn't drive for shit.

The first order of business in my endeavor to take flight was to nail down the basics. I'd spent the last few weeks sneaking into the simulator on the 18th floor to practice under the careful supervision of the archer.

The first time I slid into the cockpit I'd felt a sense of giddy anticipation. It felt...right. Clint slowly reviewed each panel, button, and sequence, over and over until it was drilled into my brain. I was a sponge, soaking up every scarp of information he fed me, able to recall every detail at a moment's notice. When I was in the cockpit it was like a switch was flipped, like my mind simply "got it".