Catch Me

Day 2

"Well that was interesting," Clint comments, referencing the bird documentary the two of you just watched.

You smile and nod, lacking the heart to tell him that you fell asleep twenty minutes into the film and woke up right when the credits started rolling. In your defense, there is only so much information your brain can retain about hawks, the mating season, and their diet.

"So what should we do now?"

"Eat," you respond immediately. "Definitely eat."

The darkness of the room can't hide the way Clint lights up at your suggestion. "I like the way you think Y/N." He stands up from the recliner and offers to help you do the same. After almost two hours on the couch, you're stiff and thankful for his assistance.

"I'm going to grab something from my room but I'll meet you in the kitchen. How does chicken parm sound?"

"That depends. Are you cooking?"

Clint stares at you as if you've just asked him whether or not the sky is blue. "Yes. You do know I can do so much more than just archery, right?"

You and the offended archer part ways at the elevator. As he goes, he mumbles something along the lines of 'I'm so under appreciated' and it takes all of your strength not to laugh. You have spent enough time with Clint to know that he says stuff like that at least once a week. Living in a tower full of super people and not being super can do some damage to a person's ego.

Your thoughts are still on Clint as you walk into the kitchen. That is why you are blissfully unaware of the mysterious presence in the corner of the room that is slowly making its way toward you. Not sensing a thing, you sit at the kitchen island, rest your chin in the palm of your hand, and lazily tap your fingers against the countertop.

All semblances of calmness fly out the window when an unexpected cloud of flour falls over you. You hop out of your seat, mouth agape when you see the white powder that clings to your clothes and lies in a small pile on the floor. You blink furiously in an attempt to keep it out of your eyes.

"Looking good Y/N," a voice you know and despise now more than ever taunts.

Standing in front of you with an empty bag of flour in his hand is Bucky. Pride radiates off of him like a bad smell, making you clench your hands into fists. "What the hell Bucky?"

"Karma's a bitch," he retorts.

Your pure, unadulterated fury leaves you speechless and Bucky has enough sense to get scared. He backs away slowly and drops the flour bag, as if doing so will somehow erase his guilt. "Can't we consider ourselves even now? You know, after what you did yesterday."

Yesterday. His desire for revenge stems from you ruining the conversation he was having with Tess. You are fully prepared to scoff at how petty he's acting, when you realize that you already have the perfect way to get back at him. The deal you made with Bucky covers you for a full week. Suddenly the fact that you're covered in flour doesn't seem all that bad anymore, especially considering Bucky's all-black attire. It may have helped him sneak up on you earlier, but that choice is about to backfire on him, badly.

"You know what Bucky? You're right."

The brunette's eyebrows shoot up. "I am?"

"Yup, but not about being even." You move closer to him and self-preservation instincts prompt him to put some distance between the two of you. "Where are you going?"

"Far away from here. You look like you want to eat me."

"I don't want to eat you." You wait a few beats to savor everything about this moment: the way that Bucky is taking slow, calculated steps away from you plus the nervousness on his face. You know his super soldier mind is trying to concoct an escape route, but this is one mission he is going to fail miserably. "I just want you to catch me."

Bucky's jaw falls open and you can tell how much he regrets his decision to bathe you in flour.

"Well what are you waiting for? Come over here."

Bucky's pace rivals that of a turtle as he inches towards you. Once he is standing right in front of you, the expression on his face making it obvious that he hates everything about this situation, you step into the open space between his arms. "Ready?" He nods robotically. "Perfect."

You bend your knees and jump as high as you can. Bucky's metal arm rests under your knees and his flesh one hooks around your back. From this position, you have a better view of the flour that is covering you. The majority of it ended up on your upper body but some of it did manage to get on your legs and slippers.

"My slippers didn't deserve this," you say forlornly, shaking out your feet and watching as the white powder either falls to the floor or lands on Bucky's sweatpants. He grimaces.

Upon seeing his reaction, you start to laugh. The only problem is that your lips are coated in flour, causing you to accidentally inhale some of it and choke. Forgetting that your hands are equally bathed in flour, you try to cover your mouth only to end up swallowing back another gulp of the powder. A coughing fit ensues as you desperately attempt to clear your airways.

"Shit," Bucky remarks when he sees how red your face is. "When I poured that flour on you, I swear I didn't do it with the intention of killing you."

Without warning, Bucky adjusts his hold on you so that your face is resting right in the crook of his neck. From that position, he has free rein to pat your back until finallybreathing isn't such a hassle anymore. Your head hurts from coughing for so long and you let your eyes droop closed in order to recover from the painful experience.

"I survived an assassination attempt." Your voice is hoarse and talking is uncomfortable, but you continue anyways. "My mom would be so proud."

"I wasn't trying to kill you," Bucky whines while adjusting his stance. As he does this, his hand skims the exposed skin of your lower back and it's only then that you remember that he is still carrying you.

The small reminder of your current situation troubles you for one reason in particular – how is it that something as foreign as being held by Bucky is something you've grown used to in the span of two days?

"What's going on here?"

Your heart skips a beat at the sound of Clint's voice. When you open your eyes, you see the archer looking between you and Bucky. You can only imagine what this might look like to him. Here you are, drenched in flour, cradled against Bucky's chest with your head resting on his shoulder.

You attempt to wriggle away from Bucky. He gets the hint and sets you down on the floor. "Nothing. Just Bucky being an asshole and dousing me in flour."

"Doesn't she look great?"

"Not as great as you're going to look cleaning this up," you shoot back. When you glance in Bucky's direction, you're proud to see the random patches of flour that stain his clothing.

"I'm going to take a shower," you announce, running a hand through your hair. You feel the flour packed in there and groan. "Make my chicken parm extra cheesy, please?"

You exit the room after making your request, leaving behind a baffled Clint and a dejected Bucky walking to the broom closet.