Radioactive | Bucky Barnes

THOR 2: CHAPTER TWO

Rhiley had been sent to a guest room—one that honestly outshone any room she'd ever stayed in at Tony's place. Any of them, actually.

The Asgardians had even been thoughtful enough to leave clothes for her after a quick wash-up. The only problem? Those clothes consisted of a dress. A very sparkly, very red dress.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd worn a dress. Maybe the fireman's ball, back when she still worked for Tony—before he knew who she really was.

It wasn't that she hated dresses. She loved them, once upon a time. But this one... it didn't feel right. Not right now.

Rhiley turned in front of the full-length mirror, cupping her boobs and adjusting the bodice with a grimace. The dress shimmered like molten fire—deep red, almost alive—and she didn't need a PhD to guess who was behind the wardrobe choice.

Odin, she thought grimly. That old fox did this on purpose.

Red was her color, always had been. The color of flames, of battle, of every memory she couldn't outrun. And right now, it made her feel like she was burning from the inside out.

She was still adjusting the heavy fabric when a sharp knock echoed at the door. Rhiley stumbled over the long hem, barely catching herself against the mirror.

"Fu—" she hissed under her breath, regaining her balance. She shoved her hair back from her face, smoothed the dress as best she could, and went to answer it.

She expected Thor. Instead, standing at the threshold was the woman warrior she'd met back in New Mexico.

"Sif," Rhiley said, relieved she remembered the name.

"Lady Rhiley," Sif greeted formally, standing tall, every inch the composed warrior.

Rhiley groaned quietly and stepped aside to let her in. "No, please don't. I can't get Thor to stop calling me that. I really don't need a second Asgardian jumping on the bandwagon."

Sif smiled faintly, like it were a private joke. "Perhaps Warrior Rhiley suits you better."

"Rhiley will do just fine," she said, grinning.

As Sif stepped inside, Rhiley leaned against the wall, arms loosely crossed. "Let me guess—Odin sent you to babysit me? He's not exactly my biggest fan."

"No," Sif answered bluntly, and Rhiley immediately liked her more for it. "There are whispers in the palace. Stories about how the Phoenix dared to speak to the King of Asgard."

Rhiley snorted. "If it had been the real Phoenix speaking to the King, he'd be ash by now."

There was a pulse of heat in her veins as she said it, a reminder she chose to ignore.

"Did Thor send you, then?" she asked, cocking her head.

Sif shook her head. "I volunteered. I thought you might appreciate someone showing you around."

Rhiley blinked, a little surprised. "Oh," she said, smiling. "Okay."

"Only if that's acceptable," Sif added, almost cautiously.

"Only if you help me out of this dress," Rhiley said without thinking—and immediately winced. "I mean—help me find something a little more... me."

Sif's smile widened slightly. "I believe that can be arranged."

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Rhiley stood in front of the tall mirror, adjusting the thick leather belt cinched around her waist. The Asgardian warrior gear fit surprisingly well—sleek black and deep bronze, with engraved plates layered over her shoulders and chest. It was a far cry from the shimmering gown she'd nearly tripped in earlier.

"Well," she muttered, twisting to check the back, "either I just joined a very stylish biker gang, or I'm about to raid a village."

Sif leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, a smirk playing on her lips. "You wear it well. Better than most of the Einherjar, honestly."

Rhiley raised a brow. "That a compliment or a diss to your fellow warriors?"

"Both," Sif said easily. "They know what they did." From the doorway, Sif let out a soft chuckle. " You look like you belong on the battlefield... or perhaps at the head of it."

Rhiley turned, arching a brow. "Are you flirting with me, or are all Asgardian compliments this intense?"

Sif stepped into the room, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. "A little of both."

Rhiley blinked, surprised—but not unpleasantly so. "Well then. Remind me to wear leather more often."

"I'm sure I won't have to," Sif said smoothly. She handed Rhiley a pair of boots with sturdy soles and engraved clasps. "Try these. They should help you keep your footing next time Thor drags you through a Bifrost portal."

"Oh, thank gods. That dress was plotting against me," Rhiley said, taking the boots and slipping them on. "I swear, it was trying to take me out."

Sif crossed her arms, watching her with mild amusement. "You wore it well, though. Even in defeat."

Rhiley snorted. "Defeat would've been falling down the stairs and flashing half the royal court."

Sif tilted her head slightly. "Some might've called that a victory."

Rhiley glanced up sharply—and there it was: a flicker in Sif's eyes, something teasing just beneath her calm, battle-hardened demeanor.

Clearing her throat, Rhiley stood and adjusted her gauntlets. "Alright. This definitely feels more me. Less 'lost princess,' more 'please try me.'"

Rhiley's smile faded into something quieter. "You remember New Mexico, don't you?"

Sif nodded. "I do. You weren't officially with the team, but you stood beside Jane. And when the Destroyer came, you didn't run. You stepped in front of it."

Rhiley gave a dry laugh. "Well, someone had to. That thing was roasting everything in a five-block radius."

Sif laughed—a warm, unexpected sound. "I remember thinking: this woman is either incredibly brave... or completely mad."

Rhiley shrugged. "Both are true."

"I admired it," Sif said, her tone softening. "Still do."

Rhiley looked at her then, a little surprised by the sincerity in Sif's gaze. "You're making it hard to tell if you want to spar with me... or take me to dinner."

Sif stepped closer, just enough for the air to shift between them. "Why not both?"

Rhiley held her stare for a beat, then smirked and offered her arm. "Lead the way, warrior."

Sif linked their arms without hesitation. "Come. Let's show you around... before I challenge you to a match."

"Oh, you're so gonna lose."

Sif gave her a look—half daring, half amused. "I like your confidence."

"And I like yours," Rhiley shot back as they stepped out into the corridor. "Just don't cry when I win."

"No promises," Sif murmured, that hint of a smile returning as they disappeared down the hall.