"There's no way I'm working with that creep." the Avengers operative said. Mika didn't know his name, and she didn't care to. All she knew was that she didn't like him. He was an asshole.
"He's not a creep. He's been through shit, just like the rest of us." Steve said sternly, crossing his arms over his chest. Next to him, Bucky ducked his head, running his metal thumb over his palm in an effort to distract himself, calm himself. The operative shook his head.
"He's a fuckin' commie brainwashed creep, and there's no way in hell I'm trusting him to-"
Thump.
Mika hadn't meant to punch him. In fact, she hadn't meant to move at all. She only intended to yell at the guy until she was blue in the face and he was half his original size in embarrassment. And yet, here she stood, eyeing him and his now bloody nose, and she felt nothing but triumph. That is, until the pain set in.
"Holy fuck." she yelled, holding her hand to her chest. The guy was saying something, but she couldn't hear it over the pain. Someone was leading her away, but her hand hurt too much to look away from it.
"That was stupid. I told you to always aim for soft spots." Bucky said softly once they were alone in the hallway. His sarcastic tone helped distract her a bit, and when she finally looked up, he was giving her a grin. He held his hand out for hers, and she gingerly placed it in his palm. "Wiggle your fingers. I need to make sure it's not broken."
"It hurts, but it's tolerable." she said, trying to appear tough and nonchalant. On the inside, she was completely convinced that her hand was shattered. She moved her fingers carefully, his touch soft and gentle. He was still grinning. "Someone had to defend you. That guy was awful."
"So instead of letting the two super soldiers handle it, you chose to take matters into your own hands?" he asked, his smile becoming even more mischievous. She side eyed him, but he was too proud of his joke to care.
"You two were too slow." she retorted, moving her injured hand up to his face. He covered it with his own, leaning into her touch. "He was insulting the man I love. I couldn't let that slide."
His face took on the vaguely wondered expression that it often did when she vocalized her love for him, and he leaned forward to press a kiss to her lips. When he pulled away, he moved her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.
"I love you, Little Bird." he said, looking at her seriously. Then, the grin was back. "But next time, go for the throat. It's much more incapacitating."