Once upon a time, decades ago and before the war, hearing this plan might’ve made him blanch. Are you fucking kidding me or Have you lost your mind— except that, well, Natasha Romanoff was always in clear, complete control of her senses and she’d survived no end of batshit insane missions like he had. As time went on, he kept remembering more harebrained schemes that he’d survived with Steve and the Howling Commandos, and jumping feetfirst into the fire and always coming out of it by the skin of their teeth, so—

What was one more?

Bucky took the grappling gun with his left hand. He aimed better with the right, but he just needed to hit a building, which was a pretty big target. The more important part was not losing his grip, and that vibranium hand could hang onto the grapple and easily carry both their weights as they flew up.

“Just say when,” he called back. Not questioning the plan — not asking more clarifying questions, because he’d already pieced together as much as he needed to — just accepting the parameters and saying yes, and.

So he kept driving, and waited for that exact moment when Natasha slapped her hand against his shoulder twice; a clear signal, and he shot for the rooftops, the grappling device kicking in his hand and both of them already shifting their weight, moving upwards, getting ready to leap off the bike and to leave it behind.