A lighter scene between Bucky and Natasha in the Avenger's Tower.

Suggestions for prompts are welcome and appreciated in the comments.

"Hey, soldier. Any chance you'd like to help a girl out?" Nat asked, her confident stride at odds with her question.

"Well, I can't turn down a request when it's asked so nicely, now can I?" James snorted.

Natasha smiled to herself - it was moments like these when she caught a glimpse of the charming soldier James must have been once upon a time.

"Perfect. It has come to my attention that my knife throwing skills could be improved upon," she grimaced. "And you're the best on the team when knives are involved."

Bucky smiled at the suggestion that he was a part of the team, and wondered if it was ever possible for someone to deny Nat anything.

He had been living in the tower for about two months now, and he was becoming increasingly comfortable with its various occupants. True, he saw very little of Rhodey, Bruce, and Thor, but between Nat, Steve, Sam, and Tony he wasn't too lonely and was even jumping less and less at the disembodied voice that everyone else casually referred to as JARVIS.

"How about I trade you," he countered. "We'll go practice if you fill me in on obscure pop culture as we work." After almost a year spent playing catch-up, Bucky felt pretty confident in his knowledge of general history, but pop culture was another thing entirely. Every time he learned something new, ten other unknown topics seemed to take its place.

"Deal," she said, holding out her hand.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, but reached out to shake regardless.

To his surprise, Nat didn't immediately let go, pulling him swiftly to his feet instead.

"After me," she smiled, spinning on her heel and heading for the elevator.

"It might be best if I just watch you for a minute," he said as they entered the range.

"Why's that?" Natasha glanced his way as she unlocked the weapons cabinet and examined her options.

"I haven't practiced since I woke up," he said with distaste; hesitating in his attempt to choose the right words. "I don't know to what extent I can keep my composure, and I wouldn't want to risk anything." It was hard to look at Natasha as he said this, and hoped that his avoidance of eye contact went unnoticed.

It didn't.

"You have to try again sometime, James," Nat said quietly. "It would be great to have you join us for missions every now and then."

"We'll see," he replied, clearly not in the mood for this conversation. "For now, let me see what I'm working with," he motioned to Natasha, his tone growing lighter.

Natasha assumed a solid stance as James turned the range on and stepped back to observe. Targets began to dance before them as she drew in a quick inhale, releasing the first blade as she released her breath. It landed just off center on the first target, and the next two were almost as close to their respective bullseyes.

"Your form is above average," he approved. "It's obvious that you don't often use knives in combat though - you take too long preparing yourself between throws. A knife fighter should be able to grab his blades without missing a beat. You're the fastest person I've seen with pistols, try to draw from that speed."

"Again," she declares, the shift in her attitude evident. It was almost alarming to James how quickly her mood could change from sarcastic, joking Nat to calculated and deadly Black Widow. He didn't recall ever seeing this change as it happened, and it was fascinating to watch; he imagined that it must be moralizing to those that fought alongside her.

Shifting into a cool, instructing mode himself, he began to let the analyzing part of his mind take over.

"Let your fingers leave the blade half a second later," he said as she prepared again. "Keep your gaze up after the release."

Neither reacted to the bullseye.

"Don't look down, reach for the next blade."

"Good, that was smooth."

She smirked as another knife embedded itself in the dead center of a target.

"You gave yourself away that time. React quickly, don't give any indication beforehand. That heavy breath you take before releasing is good for steadying yourself, but bad because it warns your opponent."

Her hand shot out quickly, taking even James by surprise.

"Try switching hands," he nodded.

The two of them continued this way for over an hour, losing track of time, and enjoying the energy in the room.

"I want to see you throw," Natasha said seriously as she walked to retrieve her last round of knives. Four bullseyes, her most in a single round yet.

"One round," James replied after a moment of thought. He was worried about how excited he felt at the prospect of training again.

Reaching out to receive the blades, he stood in front of the range where Natasha had been just a minute before. Something about assuming this position was comforting - it felt like the most natural, unquestionable think in the world. In combat, it was almost too easy for him to block out the world around him, for him to lose sight of anything except the mission.

Eliminate targets. Complete the mission.

The blades left his hand one after the other, each hitting the center of their intended target. His blood rushed, pounding in his ears, and he forced himself to take some steadying breaths.

"Again," he said tensely. "Talk to me."

He was suddenly determined to condition himself to this new kind of training - to become comfortable with harmless practice - and he forced his steps to slow as he stalked toward the targets.

"Tell me about life in Bucharest, James," Natasha said without missing a beat, understanding the importance of his request.

"It was nice. Quiet." He prepared to throw again. "I enjoyed learning the language and I think that it helped me figure some things out. I would have been okay if Steve hadn't shown up. Maybe not as happy, but okay."

The conversation continued as he threw round after round, and Natasha found herself amazed at his ability to not compromise accuracy despite this multitasking.

"Does that mean that you're happy in the tower?"

"Yeah, I think so. Happier then I've been since fighting with Steve and the Commandos at least."

Another knife buried itself in the small white circle across the room.

Pleased that had been able to regain control of himself, he gathered his last round of knives and returned them to the cabinet. Rolling his shoulders, both flesh and metal, he shook out the last of the energy still vibrating through his body and sighed.

They were both satisfied with the results of the training, and the charged atmosphere left the room almost as quickly as it had entered. James felt more tired than he expected to from the relatively easy physical activity, and suspected that the mental toll had something to do with this.

"You still owe me some pop culture education you know, Natalia," James said as he turned off the range and followed the spy towards the elevator. His footsteps echoed just slightly behind her silent ones, and he wondered again about her training.

"Mm, I don't even know where to begin old man," she laughed.

"How about something called Harry Potter? Apparently it's a popular film series - would you like to watch the first one tonight?"

"A popular film series?"

"There's no way you're watching those before you've read the books. How about Indiana Jone s instead?"

"Sure, whatever you say, Natalia."