Marvel Oneshots

1b. "Florence Nightingale, Part 2" - Bucky Barnes

Warnings: Depictions of blood, guns, violence, and captivity.

2218 words

⧗ⴵ⧗

"No," I replied, not giving the redhead in front of me a chance to finish her sentence.

"We could use your help. The situation is-"

"What? The situation is something you can't handle? That you need outside help?" I interrupted her again. "I'm sorry Nat, but I can't help you."

"Can't, or won't?" She asked.

"Fine, you're right. I won't help you. Could I? Sure, I could, but I'm not going to, Romanoff. I was serious when I said I was out of the game." I turned away from her and back to the book in my lap before I heard her voice again, pulling my attention away.

"Y/N, Nick's dead." Those words hit me. Hard. Director Fury was the reason that I was allowed to even be here instead of in a cell, or dead. "Fine. Let's make a bet, the same one as always. I lose, and I'll leave you alone. You lose, and you help." I looked up at the woman, holding eye contact for a long time. Natalia and I had a long-standing tradition; whenever we butted heads, we would settle the score with some competition. The event changed with each new disagreement, but whoever won would get the final say. 

I set down my book with a dramatic sigh and stood, leading her down to my basement. I navigated through the various storage boxes littering the space before I stopped at a hidden trap door, pulled it open, and dropped down into the concrete tunnel below, too annoyed to use the ladder. She landed behind me, crouched into a 'superhero' landing.

"Show-off," I muttered and continued down the short hallway to the gun range I had. I kept it so far underground so no one would hear the shots, and so far I hadn't had any complaints.

"I heard that." She said, and grabbed two handguns from the wall, tossing one to me.

"Don't throw a loaded gun." I scolded. She rolled her eyes.

"As you've told me since we were kids." She shook her head at the memory, or, rather, memories, with how many times I had to remind the still stubborn woman.

"Well, you never listened, did you?" I spoke bitterly, and her slight frown did not go unnoticed. "You get one shot."

"You were always the better shot. How about best of three?" My friend suggested in a coy mood. Normally, her comments would have made me smile, but she didn't understand the stakes I had on this bet.

I turned towards her and spoke, in a voice teeming with sharp edges, "One shot. My range, my rules."

Now, Natalia wasn't an idiot. She could sense my tense mood, even before I threw it in her face. I could practically feel her eyes crawling over my face, trying to pick apart my motives. Unfortunately for her, my sharpshooter abilities were not the only thing I was better than her at. Eventually, her posture deflated and she nodded. "Okay, one shot, and I'll win."

I scoffed, appreciating her bravado. "I wouldn't be so confident there. In your words, I'm better than you," I responded, not even looking as I aimed and pulled the trigger, hitting the target square in the head. A perfect shot.

Like I had been trained in anything but perfection. 

Natalia whistled, but she still seemed confident. "Well, I guess we'll see." She lifted the gun to eye level, focusing on the target before her as another shot rang out. I turned towards the target, annoyed at what I saw. There was no additional shot mark, and I knew Nat too well to think she had missed. She had matched my shot exactly, the harlot.