Chapter 16: Customs

Bucky would die before he admitted that Mika may or may not have torn a tendon in his rotator cuff.

He didn't lie to her, not exactly. He said he was fine, and he was. The tear would heal, just like his body had always healed before. He was just glad that the musculoskeletal system's redundancy allowed him to lift his arm with proper biomechanics when Mika, quite frankly, called him on his bullshit. It had been a long time since he'd tried so hard to keep his face completely neutral. He knew she didn't mean to inflict this injury, and he also knew that she would be completely devastated if she found out. She wouldn't understand that he had been through so many things that were so much worse that he really couldn't care less.

Plus, he could admit to himself that he wanted to continue their sessions. They gave him something to focus on, something to plan and execute. He rather liked teaching her; it made her world a little safer and it gave him the sense of accomplishment and atonement that helped him sleep a little longer and a little deeper at night. And if she found out about this, he had no doubt that she would suspend their training times. No, he could deal with a little bit of pain in his shoulder to maintain this arrangement.

I trust you.

Now that they were sitting quietly, her words from earlier began running around his head. When was the last time someone had trusted him? Someone who didn't have control over his mind?

"So today, we're gonna go over an easy flow to help you sleep better." she said, pulling him from his thoughts. She was sitting with her legs crossed, her arms resting gently on her knees. She had her eyes closed and was taking slow, steady breaths like she'd taught him the week prior. She opened one eye, and he suddenly felt like he got caught doing something he wasn't supposed to. "Bucky," she said, a warning in her tone. He dutifully snapped his eyes shut, his metal arm clicking as he rotated it and rested against his knee, matching her posture.

I trust you.

It was fairly obvious, really. Here she was, sitting open and exposed, eyes closed, without a care in the world. Even with his distinct advantages in strength and fighting experience, she did not consider him a threat. He didn't know if that made her very strong, or very stupid. He tried to clear the thoughts from his head - she took his lessons very seriously, and he needed to grant her the same respect.

"Take in a deep breath, full and purposeful. Hold it, gather any lingering negative thoughts. Then let it out slowly, and with it the negativity." she murmured. He almost wanted to laugh; with as many negative thoughts as he had burned into his brain, he'd be sitting here breathing until the end of time. But, he figured he needed to start somewhere, and drew air in until his ribs felt like they were going to crack. He tried to take one small negative thought (my neighbor might poison me) and picture it in the air in his lungs. He let the breath out slowly, imagining the thought going out with it. A little spot, floating away from his head and into the world. He took another deep breath, letting it out and pushing the spot further away. Each breath he took, he blew the spot further and further away, until he couldn't picture it in his mind's eye anymore. It was only one negative thought, but it was a step in the right direction.

I trust you.

"Good. Now, bring your hands to heart's center." she spoke in the same soft tone as before. It was so different from the boisterous way she usually talked; this was a different side of her, and he couldn't help but wonder how many people got to see it. She pressed her hands together in front of her chest, and he copied the motion. The scent of her shampoo still lingered ever so slightly from their exercise before, the flowers intermittently coloring his senses. He could still feel the ghosts of her fingers on his hand and wrist, feel the distinct pressure as she grasped it. It wasn't the first time they'd touched, but it felt different - maybe because she'd been holding onto his hand, as opposed to the other way around. Or maybe because the lesson had been made on the fly, and yet she still seemed comfortable with everything. Or maybe because the lesson had been made on the fly, yet somehow he was still comfortable with everything.

Shit, he forgot to breathe.

He brought his focus back, listening to what Mika was saying. She had him move through a few different poses, these ones more relaxing and gentle than the ones they did last week. He didn't mind that so much, considering the minor shoulder injury that he could currently feel knitting itself back together. Extra pain was just a nuisance to him at this point, but there was no need to aggravate it. He would never be pain free thanks to his left arm and the constant attack on it from his immune system, but at least he could limit other inputs.

He noticed her holding in a giggle as he awkwardly tried to move into a pose she called "half-pigeon." His jeans were not conducive to the stretching, and pinched him in places he'd rather not be pinched. The other positions he was easily able to move into, but this one proved to be a challenge.

"I think your pants are hindering you." she said, moving back into a sitting position. "You should wear some sweatpants next time."

"Don't own any." Bucky said, copying her movements again. She dropped her calm and neutral facade, fixing him with her vaguely annoyed look that she expressed when he denied knowledge or ownership of something she deemed commonplace.

"And why not? They are practical, as well as comfortable. Right up your alley." she said, falling back on her hands and laying her legs straight out in front of her. He envied her easy and casual position. In his mind, he tried to tell himself to copy it, just like when they were doing yoga. But it was such a tactically insufficient position that the most he could manage was allowing his spine to slouch slightly, his elbows resting on his thighs. He gave a shrug in answer to her question.

"Just didn't think of it." he replied. It was true; when he'd found himself in this country, he'd been limited to the clothes on his back, all of which had been taken from a hanging clothes line somewhere in the Hungarian hill country. When he started getting money, he purchased plain, durable clothing from a nondescript store close to the warehouse district. At the time, he'd been thinking about things that were easy to clean and would protect him from minor scratches or abrasions during work. She was right, he had been thinking of practicality. Comfort had not crossed his mind.

"Do you own anything besides jeans and tshirts? Be honest." she asked, fixing him with a serious look. He didn't understand why he would lie to her about such a trivial thing.

"Underwear. Socks." he said, one corner of his mouth lifting in a grin. He knew that she wasn't being literal in her question, but he couldn't pass up the opportunity to use some vague sarcasm. It was becoming easier nowadays, making jokes like this. They came quicker when he was with the men at work, but they were also forming faster with Mika. She rolled her eyes, finally getting up from her comfortable position on the floor.

"Alright, smart aleck. Well one day, you and I are gonna go shopping. You need something besides jeans and tshirts and underwear and socks." she spat, as if this would be a punishment.

"I disagree. These work fine for everything." he quipped, getting up and following her back to where their things were piles. She started pulling on all her extra layers of clothing, and he wondered how she managed not to suffocate under all that fabric. She did seem to be cold quite often, he reasoned. After all, there was an entire basket in her apartment devoted to blankets, and she seemed to have a warm drink in her hand whenever possible. Did she have a thyroid condition, affecting her metabolism? He knew better than to ask. She let out a frustrated noise that was muffled by her scarf. She pulled the fabric away just enough to chastise him.

"Well clearly your jeans didn't work for yoga today. And what if you need to dress fancy someday, huh? Or have an important event? Or, heaven forbid, a date?" she pointed out, picking up her bag. He pulled on his coat and backpack, following her back out onto the street.

"I don't foresee anything of that nature happening." he answered truthfully. "Except for the yoga."

"Fine, then we'll start with proper workout gear. I can convince you of everything else later." she said quickly, ducking back into her scarf so as to limit her face's exposure to the cold. He gave a breathy half-laugh, his heart thumping dangerously hard behind his sternum. She always spoke of plans they could make or time they could spend so casually, as if it weren't a huge step every time they were together. And to her, he supposed, it wasn't. Mika saw what little was left of him after seventy years under Hydra's thumb, and was helping him build it back up bit by bit. He wondered if she knew that, or if she was under the impression she was just making a new friend. Not for the first time, he wished he knew what was going on in her head. He was used to reading people, sure, but it was short term. Focused. He was trained to analyze behaviors, track patterns, find weaknesses and exploit them. And Mika had many weaknesses, that was for sure.

I trust you.

The words kept ringing through his head. Did she realize the effect her words had on him? At times he thought so - there were definite moments when she seemed to respond to his inner monologue. But then there were times like this, where she said something in such a matter-of-fact manner that he didn't think she took note of what she was saying at all. Once again, he was reminded how friendship worked.

She walked very quickly back to their apartment building, but it wasn't a speed that his long legs couldn't keep up with. She had her arms crossed tightly across her chest, her head down in an effort to avoid the sharp morning wind that was cutting through the streets. It was barely below freezing, he thought. Why the hurry? Her keys were out a block before they reached the door, just so she was ready to scan it as soon as she could. He was barely fast enough to pull open the door for her, allowing her entrance into the warmth of the building. He let out a chuckle as she let out an annoyed huff, stomping her feet in order to get feeling into them before beginning their ascent up the stairs.

"Coffee?" she asked as they reached the top, turning and giving him a hopeful look. His training pulled at him, begging him to run, to retreat, to avoid extra human contact.

"Sure." he said lightly. She smiled, unlocking her door and beckoning him inside. He carefully stepped in, shutting the door quietly behind him. She tossed her bag and her shoes as she always did, then added another pile of clothing next to them as she stripped her extra layers. When she was left in her tshirt and leggings, she gestured for him to have a seat and set to making their coffee. It was extra warm in her apartment today; she must have turned on the heater. It didn't feel bad, just...different. He suddenly remembered that he didn't used to have a heater - he had a radiator, one that often stopped working when everyone in the building tried to also use theirs. Someone else he knew didn't even have a radiator, instead using the oven for warmth. He couldn't remember who it was, though.

"So what do you do when it's hot out? Do you melt away?" she asked, placing the floral mug in front of him. Though he didn't want to assume anything, he was beginning to feel like it was his mug. He pushed the thought away before it could take root. Thinking of things as his - his home, his friend, his mug - would lead to dangerous attachment. He ignored the fact that he'd already had many of these thoughts before, many times. Maybe, if he pretended not to notice it, then the anxiety from his training wouldn't pull at him so hard.

"I don't mind the heat, as long as I'm properly equipped." he said, giving her the truth while sparing the details. "I just prefer the cold."

"Well you are certainly tougher than me." she said, pulling out a loaf of bread and cutting a few slices from it. The slices went in the toaster, then she grabbed her mug and hopped up to sit on the island counter adjacent to him. She equated his tolerance of extreme temperatures with toughness? Freezing weather had been the least of his concerns for the past few decades. He idly wondered if he was used to the cold because he was frozen and thawed so many times. He gave her a shrug.

"You could get used to it." he replied. Sure, she didn't have as much body mass as he did, but it was definitely feasible that she could learn to withstand the elements.

"You're right, I could. Now, whether or not I would," she drew out the word for dramatic effect, giving him a pointed look. "that is an entirely different story."

He moved his eyebrows in a vague oh well gesture, silently agreeing that it would, in fact, take her unwavering participation. He decided to change the subject, thinking back to their time earlier. "Your friend, last night. Did they hurt you?"

She seemed confused by his question, tilting her head to the side and taking a sip of her drink before answering. "No, no he didn't hurt me. He was just being annoying. Again." she said, her lip lifting in an almost-snarl, though she was too good natured for it to be threatening.

"If he's annoying, why do you spend time with him?" he asked. While he had no concept of quality time, he found most people eventually came to the conclusion that it was not worth it to waste time doing things they didn't enjoy. It was her turn to shrug.

"It's not usually by choice. He's good friends with one of my good friends, so we usually end up at the same places. When we first met I thought he was good looking and nice and a little crass, but manageable. Now he just drives me up a wall most of the time. Just something about him makes me uncomfortable." she said, looking down at her cup instead of at him. She was a little hesitant as she spoke, which wasn't like her. It was almost as if she hadn't spoken these thoughts aloud before. She shook her head, as if clearing them from her mind. "But it's not a big deal."

"Always trust your instincts." he said seriously. She may not always make the most tactically sound decisions, but she had good intuition. She could read people very well, probably better than she even realized. And if there was one thing he couldn't teach, it was instinct. She gave a dry laugh.

"My instincts are very rarely correct." she said as the toaster dinged. She was wrong, of course. But she sounded like she was thinking of a specific incident, and he couldn't very well present a contradicting statement without knowing all the information.

"I don't believe that." he said instead. That sounded like a proper response in this situation. It was close enough to the truth.

"Agree to disagree." she said, taking the toast from its home and putting it on a plate. The plate went between their two spots, and she paused to grab various condiments before returning to her seat on the island. He wondered if she ever sat on the chair. "Breakfast?"

"Thank you." he said. His mind told him that he didn't need the extra nutrition, that the protein bar he'd eaten this morning would more than suffice. But what if, he thought, he just ate it? Because he wanted to? He took one slice of toast and eyed the glass jars in front of him. He recognized the butter, the jam, and even the peanut butter, but there was a mysterious deep brown spread that he didn't recognize. It didn't quite smell like chocolate, but he couldn't quite discern the scent. "What's this?" he asked, pointing to it.

"Mm! Nutella." Mika said, covering her mouth with her hand to hide the fact that she'd already taken a large bite of toast and jam. Bucky furrowed his brows, wondering for the hundredth time if he'd missed something in translation.

"What's in it?" he asked. He knew he could (probably) trust Mika not to poison him (intentionally), but he couldn't count on her for food choices. Her formidable sweet tooth usually biased her towards things that were not his preference. She held up a finger, signalling for him to wait as she finished her bite and swallowed.

"Hazelnuts and chocolate. You can try it if you want, but I don't think you'll like it." she said honestly, taking another bite of her toast. He nodded, reaching instead for the plain butter and smearing it on the piece of bread he had. Even if he had his protein bar earlier in the day, this simple toast and butter was somehow much more satisfying. The bread, though, set it apart. He didn't think he'd had bread like this before.

"This is really good." he decided to voice his opinions out loud, holding up the toast. He knew there was a follow up question he was supposed to ask, but it wasn't coming to him. Mika smiled.

"Thanks, I made it myself." she said, taking another bite of her own. That surprised him.

"I thought you said you couldn't cook?" he asked. He distinctly remembered her stating that cooking was not something she was good at. But now that he thought about it, he'd sampled multiple things that she'd made, and while most of them were too sweet, they were far from inedible.

"Oh, no I can't cook. Cooking is an art, and I am zero percent artistic. Baking though? Baking is a science. And I can handle science." she replied. Her argument made sense, he thought, taking another bite of the toast. But this level of quality was definitely impressive. He considered asking her if he could have some to take home, or if she could show him how to make it, but the questions stuck in his throat. He didn't want to burden her with favors. "When's your next night off work?" she asked lightly, delicately wiping some jam from the corner of her mouth and interrupting his train of thought. He knew she was simply making conversation, but it still made his nerves pick up slightly. He had to remind himself that it was okay if Mika knew bits and pieces of his schedule, that she (probably) wouldn't use the information to harm him.

"Monday." he answered, taking a long drink of his coffee. The guys would be extra grumpy tonight, having to work the whole weekend. He didn't like working the weekend either, but that was really because their shift usually ended around the time that most people were going home from the bars. The extra foot traffic from inebriated groups made the walk back to his apartment building a little more difficult.

"Come watch another movie! Unless you've already got plans. Or if you don't want to. It is your night off, after all." she rambled slightly before pressing her lips together, moving to dress another piece of toast. This time, she covered it with the nutella. He finished his coffee as he considered her question. As per usual, the alarms were going off in his head, his gut telling him to run away and avoid. It kind of pissed him off that they still rang as instantaneously as they always had. Though they were getting easier and easier to ignore.

"Sounds good. I'll bring the pizza this time." he stated. He remembered the design of the pizza shop from last week, its name emblazoned on the box.

"You don't have to, it's no bother." Mika said, finishing off her second piece of toast. She dusted the crumbs from her fingers onto the side of the plate. There was still one piece of toast there, but he didn't want to take it. Somehow it felt rude.

"What toppings would you like?" he asked, ignoring her response. She had purchased the pizza last time, it was only natural that he would supply it this time. This, he vaguely understood, was what friends did. She pursed her lips, seemingly trying to figure out if she could fight him on this. She couldn't, of course.

"Well, it depends. Where are you getting it from?" she finally asked, crossing her legs. She pushed the plate with the last toast his way, gesturing for him to take it. Again, his mind told him he didn't need it. Excess nutrition was never allowed before. With a hesitant hand, he picked it up. He seriously considered going for the jam; it seemed to be made of raspberries, which had the potential to cut through the sweetness of the sugar used to make it. He should try it, he reasoned. But when it came down to it, he reached for the butter again, putting a thin layer over the bread.

"I was planning to get it from the same place." he said. He couldn't remember the exact name of it, but he remembered the sign. It was the same as the outside of the store, a couple kilometers southwest of the apartments. He tucked in to his toast, waiting for her answer to his question. She sat up a little straighter, holding her mug in one hand and gesturing emphatically with the other.

"Then I definitely recommend the margherita pizza. Very simple, with tomatoes and mozzarella and basil, but it's simply perfect. That's my favorite one. But honestly, you can't go wrong with anything there, I've never had a pizza I haven't liked." she said, taking a sip of her drink. "So you just get what your heart desires."

He gave one brief huff of a laugh, getting up and putting his mug in the sink. "Got it. Six o'clock?" he asked, reinforcing their plans before he could have time to back out of them.

"Let's make it seven, if that's alright? I'll probably have to work until six." she requested, watching him over the rim of her cup as he moved to the door. His stomach twisted slightly at the change in plans, but he willed himself to keep his voice even. It was a one hour difference, it wouldn't matter in the grand scheme of things.

"Seven o'clock then. Thank you for breakfast." he said, giving her a small smile. Between the homemade bread and the coffee, he felt a warmth that he hadn't experienced in a long time. But maybe that was just the heater kicking on.

"Any time. See you Monday." she said, giving him a bright smile in return. He stepped out of her apartment and into the hallway, spotting her sliding off the counter as the door closed behind him. He stood in the hall for a few moments until he heard her lock the door behind him. He took a deep breath, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets before going down the stairs. It was time to get groceries.

When Monday rolled around, Bucky realized he wasn't quite sure how long it would take to get pizza. So, like any good assassin turned normal person trying to answer a question, he decided to do some research.

There was a chain coffee shop across from the pizzeria with outdoor seating and a relatively introverted clientele. He often saw the same few people sitting there, with their laptops and books and headphones, stuck in their own little world as they worked on whatever they were working on. Due to the plunge in temperature, no one was outside today. That would make it easier for him. He purchased a large cup of coffee (though they didn't call it large) and set up with his newspaper and his journal, making sure his posture came off casual and uninterested. Then, he started his notes.

Red coat, black boots: 1639 -

He wrote this in his journal, taking note of a woman walking into the pizza shop. He placed his pen in the spine of the journal and closed it, pretending to go back to the crossword in front of him. He knew very few of the answers, considering his limitations in pop culture knowledge and Romanian traditions. But that didn't matter. The woman in the red coat left the pizza place twenty-eight minutes later, carrying two large boxes with her. He clocked her exit time in the journal, closing it again. He filled in one answer on the crossword that he actually knew.

Two teenagers with skateboards came next, though Bucky barely had time to note their entrance in the journal before they strolled back out, a single slice in hand. He put a single line through the annotation and returned to waiting. That was the thing about reconnaissance - there was a lot of waiting involved. The next person was a middle aged man in a business suit and heavy black coat; he was in and out of the shop in twenty-two minutes, with only one box in his hands.

"Refill?" came a female voice. A young woman in a green apron stood in front of him, a coffee carafe in her hands. Bucky noted another man walking into the pizza place and estimated the time, turning his eyes to the woman in front of him and giving her a small smile. It felt less forced than a few months ago.

"Yes, please." he said softly, pushing his cup towards her. She gave him a bright smile, pouring coffee until the cup was filled to the brim. "Thank you."

"Horah." she said, confusing him greatly. The tag on her apron said Nan, which he assumed was her name. He didn't understand what horah had to do with anything.

"I'm sorry?" he asked. Was that a code word? Was she signalling to someone? His eyes darted around, trying to keep track of anything that moved while also keeping an eye on the supposed waitress in from of him. He expected attackers to come out of every corner. He assumed that he had been found.

"Four-down." she said, pointing at his crossword puzzle. "'A circle dance' is a horah."

He took a deep breath, trying to regulate the sympathetic response that his adrenaline had enacted. Not a codeword, then. "Oh. Thank you." he said, giving her another smile. This one didn't feel as natural as the first, likely due to his heightened state. She gave him another grin, tossing her reddish ponytail over her shoulder before turning and going back inside. He furrowed his brows for a moment, trying to make sense of the interaction before carefully penning the word into the boxes. Everything was suddenly very loud, his vision sharper than it was a few minutes ago. He took a drink of his coffee, willing his hand to be steady and focusing on the taste of it. This was the worst emergency response he'd had in a while, and he had to focus hard on the feeling of his hand on the mug, the air moving in his lungs. If he could control his breathing, he could control his heart rate. And if he could control his heart rate, he could control everything else. It took him at least ten minutes, but he was able to return to a homeostatic state. He didn't even have to punch anything or run or rip his sheets (which reminded him, he needed to buy new ones, again). As the shiny haze cleared from his mind, he felt tired, but proud of himself.

It was a quarter past six when he decided to venture across the street to the pizza place. It was busier than he'd anticipated, which made him a little nervous. The patrons moved around him easily, as if the narrow building with too many chairs and dangerously hot ovens wasn't a logistical nightmare. He followed a young man with a small child inside, observing their movements in an effort to learn the customs. Their first act was to step up to the counter, greeting the cashier with a smile and polite words. He stood a few feet behind them, waiting his turn in line. The young man placed his order and gave the cashier a credit card, also giving him his name for the order. That made sense, Bucky realized, even if the idea made him nervous. A name attached to the order would prevent mixups.

He tried to look at the various options on the menu, but found the magnitude of them a bit overwhelming. Mika had said that any choice was a good one, but he didn't feel comfortable making an educated decision with so many variables. He decided to stick to the one she'd mentioned before, practicing the verbiage as he waited for his turn.

"Hi there, what can I get you?" the cashier asked. He gave his polite smile, taking one last glance at the menu before turning back to him.

"One large margherita pizza, please." he said, raising the volume of his voice slightly so that he could be heard over the busy restaurant. The cashier smiled and nodded, telling him his total. He handed over a few bills, and when the kid asked for a name for the order, he told him, "Bucky."

It took twenty-one minutes for his pizza to be ready, another man in the back of the restaurant calling his name loudly when it was ready. He tried to hide the involuntary flinch at it, hoping it wasn't noticeable. He gave the other man a polite smile too, accepting the warm box from him with a quiet "thank you."

He walked home as quickly as possible, not because the cold bothered him, but because he was afraid that the pizza would be too cold upon his arrival at the apartments. The box still felt relatively warm once he entered the heated entryway, so he hoped he'd been fast enough. He began the ascent to the top floor, hearing a door open and close above him as he neared it. He checked his watch and found he was a few minutes early; Mika must have just gotten home from work. He reached the top floor and stood between their two doors, kind of at a loss of what to do. Should he go to his apartment, and wait the eleven minutes until seven o'clock? Or should he simply go straight to Mika's, and hope she was okay with him arriving before their scheduled time? He could hear her pacing around the apartment, her voice carrying through the thin walls. He couldn't hear another voice answering her - either she was on the phone, or talking with herself. There was a lull of silence, and he assumed the conversation, whoever it was with, was finished. With determination, he went and knocked on her door, figuring that at worst she would simply ask him to come back in a few minutes.

"Mum, hold on a second." he heard her close to the door. Apparently, her conversation was not finished. He felt heat rise on the back of his neck, though he didn't understand what it meant. She opened the door, giving him one of her customary bright smiles and gesturing for him to come in. She was dressed smartly in what must be her work clothes, and was holding her cell phone to her chest to block the sound. "Hey! Sorry, I'll be just a moment."

"I can come back." he said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of his apartment. She waved him off, once again motioning for him to come inside. He entered her apartment, sliding the pizza on to her kitchen counter as she picked up her phone again.

"Mum listen, I have to go. No, I - no, don't say that, I didn't mean to interrupt you. I just have to - okay, go on." she rolled her eyes, turning back to Bucky and mouthing an apology before indicating that she'd be just a minute. He held up a hand in a noncommittal gesture, hoping that it came across the way he wanted it to. She mouthed her thanks, unbuttoning her work shirt with the hand that wasn't holding the phone to her ear and walking towards her bedroom. Bucky dropped his eyes to the floor, not wanting to disrespect her or her modesty (despite the fact that she did not seemed concerned by it). A quick glance as she entered her room revealed that she was wearing another shirt underneath the button down, likely the reason for her comfort. He stood with his hands in his pockets, listening as she rummaged through drawers and made ambiguous responses to her mother's conversation. She sounded like she was stressed, but pretending not to be. He glanced around the kitchen, spotting the kettle on the stove. He wondered if tea would help. He filled the kettle and set it on to boil, going to the spot in the pantry where he'd seen her grab tea before. He was just pouring it into a mug to steep when she came back out of her room.

"Sorry, my mother was apparently having a day." she said, pulling her dark hair into a messy pile on the top of her head. He handed her the mug, pouring one for himself as well. "Oh, is this for me? Thank you."

"You're welcome. It's not quite ready yet." he said, only just then realizing that maybe he should have asked permission before rifling through her kitchen, even if it was to make tea for her. Then again, he'd done it before - she'd just been unconscious. And mildly concussed.

"Still. You are a saint." she said, mixing her sugar into her tea while it was still hot. She grabbed two plates from her cabinet, handing one to him. "So, what toppings did we go with?"

"Followed your advice." he said, opening the box. This one did look different than the one they had last week, though it was slightly more appetizing, if he was honest. He paused for a moment, wondering when his body decided that some things were more appetizing than others.

"An excellent choice." she said in an approving tone. She wasn't as delicate this time, piling three large slices on her plate and taking them over to her couch.

"How was work today?" Bucky asked, figuring this was a safe topic of conversation. He put two slices on his plate, taking his tea and joining her on the sofa. He sat as close to the corner as possible, just as last time, not wanting to encroach on Mika's personal space. She let out a groan, rolling her eyes again.

"A right fucking mess." she said, shaking her head. "It's gonna be a rough month."

"I'm sorry." he replied. He didn't know if this was the proper response, but it was the best one he could come up with. She shook her head.

"It'll be fine." she said, as if trying to convince him and herself. "Especially now that I have pizza and friendship to brighten my day." She gave him a wide grin before folding her pizza slice and taking a big bite.

"Glad it could make your day better." he said softly, only acknowledging the part of her sentence referencing the food. She pointed at him with her pizza.

"Pizza and movies with friends always makes things better." she said, curling up with her plate and using the remote to scroll through listings on the television. He made a mental note to write that down later.

"Duly noted. What are we watching today?" he asked as she expertly scrolled through the lists in front of her.

"Well, I figured we could go ahead and watch Frozen, get it out of the way." she said, though she didn't exactly sound sad about the choice. "I will preface it by saying that it is a movie for children, primarily marketed towards little girls, so we're not exactly the target demographic. But it is full of pop culture references, so here we are."

"Could be worse." he decided, giving a dry chuckle. After all he'd been through, there were so many worse things that he could do to pass the time than watch a children's movie.

Frozen wasn't so bad, he decided. Sure, it wouldn't be high on the list of things to rewatch, but it was entertaining enough for an evening. He was honestly astounded by the animation, the characters looking very three dimensional and colorful. The few animated films he'd seen when he was younger were flat and awkward and honestly a little creepy. Was this commonplace for animated films nowadays? His friend didn't seem shocked by it at all. But the characters were distinct, and vibrant, and honestly beautiful. Even if the movie itself wasn't exactly what he'd pick, it was still impressive. It was also amusing to watch Mika's expressions during the film, for the opposite reason as The Princess Bride. Since she didn't care for this movie as much, she made comical grimaces at the more dramatic parts and rolled her eyes at the epic songs. She'd stated before that she didn't care for the movie, and she hadn't been lying. Yet she watched it with him anyways. He experienced an odd feeling when he thought of this, though he couldn't put a name on it.

After the movie, he bid her goodnight, knowing she had to get up early in the morning for work. And he had work to do tonight, opening the new bag of oranges and letting the fruits roll across the kitchen counter. He tried to relax as he picked up the first one, consciously willing his left hand to keep the pressure light and even. His fingers locked slightly as he went to peel it, and he hesitated for a moment, trying to get them to let go.

Let it go, let it go! The song came back through his head without warning. It was a ridiculous song, really. But he hummed along, this distraction enough to get his fingers to relax and do what he wanted them to do. He gave a brief huff of a laugh at the thought, wondering what the intelligence community would think of they saw him now.

He was the most feared assassin in the past fifty years. And he was in his kitchen, peeling oranges and singing Disney songs.

Hey friends! I seriously cannot express enough how thankful I am for all the love for this story. I am so incredibly appreciative for all the follow and reviews, y'all seriously are the best ever. It makes it so fun to write this lil mess of mine! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, please let me know what you think!

-XM