Frozen in Time

by: Shadow Chaser

Author's Notes:

This is a side story to my Trickster Universe. You do not have to read the other stories to get this one, but some of the events that have happened in those stories make more sense in this one. This is also considered a post-Winter Soldier fic and will be heavily Bucky and Steve-centric. The other Avengers (including Hawkeye) will show up later.

Timeframe:

Set one year after the events of Captain America: The Winter Soldier. Two years since The Trickster: Coterie.

Disclaimer:

All Marvel characters do not belong to me, they belong to Marvel Entertainment and Marvel Comics.

Story:

Chapter 1

He knew that they were looking for him, searching far and wide with facial recognition and patterns gathered for the last seventy or so years. Every person had a pattern, a footprint if you will, a way of doing things that defined them. His was no different and he knew that – his trusty Soviet-era styled sniper rifle that he used to take out most of his targets. His sub-machine gun and his knives for hand-to-hand combat when the need arose. That was his pattern, his marker. His silvery-arm was the surest sign, a giant red star marked on his upper arm – a giant target that many had tried to hit. Some succeeded, but the material it was made out of – vibranium-kevlar polymer if the brief memories, images, were correct – almost indestructible save for the application of electricity fields.

The best course of action his training taught him was to lay low with the populace. There were brief flashes of images filled with people in uniforms, fatigues, in lab coats, some speaking Russian, others speaking German, French, Chinese, Urdu, and other languages he knew the translations to, but could not place.

The best place was New York City, the city where no one would even be bothered to look because of so many incoming and outgoing persons. It was the easiest city closest to Washington D.C. that he theoretically could have gotten transportation to the soils of other countries. Los Angeles was out of the question as the city grid was too wide, too spread out. Chicago had been under consideration, but his only option was to either fly out – which he could not do since his handlers had always given him his passports and he did not know how to acquire one from their black market contacts – or head into Canada. Toronto and Montreal had been options from there, but the easiest recourse and action was to head to New York.

That had been eleven months ago. One year since he had rescued the man in the spangled outfit who had saved him; called him "Bucky" and showed mercy when he knew that he would not have done the same if their positions had been reversed in the falling remnants of the Insight Helicarrier.

Why he had remained in New York for eleven months since his arrival was a mystery to him, after all, he could have gone elsewhere. His own searches were limited, especially with his spotty memory. He knew that the procedure that had wiped his memories each time had been done somewhere in Washington D.C., but that was not an option. A hazy memory of a face, a name that slipped out of the liquid grasp of his memories, but a face nonetheless he somehow knew could help him regain some of his memories, was just there. But he did not know how, or who, or where to start his search.

It had only been two months ago that he had a lucid dream of the man that had been wearing the spangled outfit, but this time in civilian clothing. He had been sketching something, drawing with fine-tuned strokes of a charcoal pencil, a beautiful rendition of Central Park. That was when he knew he needed to find the spangled man again, that this man could help him draw out the face and for him to use it to find his target – to regain his memories.

But approaching the spangled man was another story. He had taken to watching his coming and goings, having found out with some judicial searches of internet cafes – paid for by money pick-pocketed from tourists – that the spangled man's name was Captain America. It was the silliest name, and he vaguely remembered giving the man a leveled look, but it was in a wooded area that smelled of mortars, soot, and ozone burnt things. Somewhere that was not New York City nor the United States for that matter, a part of him was sure of it.

The media reported that the Captain resided in Avengers Tower, having taken pictures of him coming in and out in his uniform and occasionally in civilian clothing as Steve Rogers. But they could never really get a clear look at him since he left by the tower's helipad and secret tunnels on his motorcycle. He had taken to watching the tower at random times, making sure that the Captain was there and sure enough, had seen him enter and exit via the aforementioned areas. The name Steve Rogers had produced a new set of brief memories that were so jumbled and intense enough that it had left him shaking and unexpectedly crying. He had not understood why he was crying, only that he knew they were not sorrowful tears, but joyful ones. It also gave him headaches, but the headaches were nothing new – something he was aware of every time he contemplated the slippery images in his mind.

He knew him, knew Steve Rogers, that much he was sure of, considering how prominent his memories were of the man, even if it was just brief flashes.

But he also knew Steve Rogers as his target. Remembered fighting him on the Helicarrier, an enemy, someone he had to kill because it was ordered. He flexed his fingers a little as he suppressed the killer urge to hunt him down and felt the bloom of a headache, right behind his eyes. He had leeway with his targets, especially if there were bodyguards or others trying to hurt him, but his targets were always seared into his mind. His handlers told him it was beneficial in a way that with his mind empty of memories, he would be able to devote his whole being to hunting down his target.

And it was true.

He shook his head a little and lowered the small camera he had nearly crushed in his metallic hand. It was time.

He had been staring up past the iconic roof of Grand Central Station to where the newly rebuilt Stark Tower – or rather now called Avengers Tower – was for the last fifteen minutes or so. He had been occasionally taking photographs, acting like a tourist, but he knew that the police would begin to get suspicious of his presence if not already. The busy ebb and flow of pedestrian traffic at least allowed him some time to gather himself as he pocketed the camera and stepped into the wash of pedestrians.

He made his way across, adjusting his worn baseball cap that had been given by a street hawker months ago. He joined the line of tourists outside of Avengers Tower who were waiting for tickets to see the Stark Industries Museum inside as well as the special exhibit on the Avengers. He did not have to wait long and soon got in, picking up his complimentary earbuds and listening device for the interactive part of the tour. It was similar to the technology provided by the Smithsonian's Captain America exhibit in D.C., but this one seemed to have more Stark Tech incorporated into it. He noted children and adults gasping as their devices started projecting a holographic image of a miniature Howard Stark talking to them.

He resolutely did not look down as Stark also started to talk to his device, the earbuds hanging around his neck instead, covered by the neckline of his hoodie jacket. He thought he remembered seeing the same man, a much younger Howard Stark laughing, dressed in three-piece suit, surrounded by women after the failure launch of a car that hovered in the air. He blinked, feeling the headache move further back along his skull and shook his head to clear the image from his mind.

Instead, he pretended to be staring at some of the exhibits as he discreetly looked around, spotting cameras, exits, and what was definitely places that were off limits to civilians and tourists.

After about twenty minutes of walking up and down a few exhibits, he moved towards one of the guards, grabbing his earbuds like he had been pulling them off his ear. "Bathrooms," he asked, keeping his voice polite and curious. It sounded like dragging a metal chair across a polished floor in his opinion, but he had not had the need to talk to anyone for the past year.

"Outside the ticket booth, but if you're looking for one on this floor, it's next to the exhibit on the prototype Arc Reactor and to your left," the guard sounded like he had pointed many tourists towards the bathroom today.

It would have been polite to thank the guard, but the words rang foreign in his mind before he headed towards the direction the guard pointed out. He kept an eye on the cameras as he walked and entered to find that there were no cameras near the stalls or urinals, per privacy laws. One was located in a shadowy corner, but he noted that its path did not track towards the general area. He took a quick inventory of the restroom before making his move.

There were only five other men in the restroom along with two children whom were washing their hands. He drew out a small coin-like object, a gift the infamous Black Widow had left on his arm when he had been targeting her, and activated it before flicking it casually with his thumb. The results were immediate as the lights flickered briefly before plunging into darkness.

Surprised yells as well as cries echoed in the restroom as he used his enhanced speed and strength to open the grating into the air ducts, climb into it, and closed it as seconds later the lights returned. He held his breath and stilled himself as he heard some of the guards come in to see what the commotion was about, but soon left after muttering about the arc reactor under the tower having a power surge. There was only enough charge left on the electrical disc after a majority of it had been used to disable his arm, but he was glad that it worked.

He turned, his fine-tuned senses masking his movement in near-silence and started to crawl. Shimmying and lifting himself up through the various entryways, fans, and turns, he let his instincts take over as he slowly made his way up. Though he had never studied the layout of the Avengers Tower, he knew he was headed in the right direction. He did not know where the instinct came from, but supposed it was like the same instinct that drove him to place a bullet where he knew his target would be hundreds of meters away.

After several minutes, he reached a grating and after making sure no one was nearby, dropped down into a women's restroom. By his reckoning, he was several floors up and more than likely in the more administrator sections of the tower. Stark Industries' main headquarters was near Malibu, California, but they had always maintained a second headquarters along with their former rival company Hammer Industries. With Justin Hammer in jail, the company had folded soon after and S.I.'s CEO, Pepper Potts had brought the land to convert it into a new factory branch for S.I.'s new green technology division. That was where the arc reactor powering the building had been built from.

He had read rumors that the tower itself was powered by a very advance artificial intelligence, that could instantly detect and subdue intruders. There had to be an identification algorithm written in there, perhaps connected to Interpol, SHIELD, or any of the vast intelligence networks world wide if it was able to detect and subdue intruders. The risk was great for him since he knew he was a wanted man – not wanted by the agencies, but by his employers. Before coming up with his plan, he had internally debated the merits and decided that it was a risk he was willing to take. Not because of the potential of having his employers find him, but rather because of what he read about Tony Stark.

The man did not like playing by the rules, preferring to make his own. And if he was such a man, who was it to say that the artificial intelligence guarding the tower had similar programming?

He stepped out of the women's restroom and stared up at the nearest security camera, face impassive. He took his baseball cap off and removed his jacket. Five seconds later he received his wish as alarms blared.

It was only then that the Winter Soldier allowed himself a little smile.

"Sir, there's something you should see," JARVIS's voice overrode the music that was blaring in Tony's workroom as he finished tinkering with the body of the Mark Z-III Iron Man suit.

"You know I don't like being interrupted when Daddy's having alone time with his toys," he ran an eye over what he did before a crooked smile worked its way up his face. It was perfect – until he figured out what else he could do to further tweak the suit.

"Sir, I insist," the A.I. said, a hint of worry in his tone before Tony rolled his eyes and sighed, waving the music off with an absent hand.

"All right, what is it?" he shook his head as JARVIS brought up a video feed and Tony nearly felt his heart stop at the image.

"What, the hell...?" he blinked several times and rubbed his eyes for good measure at the sight of the Winter Soldier standing casually in the hallway of one of the lower levels of the tower.

"There is a one-hundred percent match to the Winter Soldier, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, sir," JARVIS said, "I have alerted security to lockdown the building and evacuate the building. NYPD has been informed that the Tower has gone into lockdown-"

"Did you tell them?"

"No, sir," the A.I. said, "per your orders from Captain Rogers. He has also been notified as has former Agent Hill. Both are on their way down to the floor-"

"Why the hell is he just standing there?" Tony wondered out loud as spread his fingers out, widening the video feed, "he's...not moving..."

"I do not know sir," JARVIS replied, "shall I notify Colonel Rhodes and Falcon?"

"No to Rhodey, yes to Wilson. He's been out there keeping an ear to the ground in D.C. Geez..." Tony frowned as he considered his options and pushed away from the table, "JARVIS, suit, and also let NYPD, Fire, and whatever, that it's just a slight malfunction with one of the labs."

"Yes sir. Sir, Dr. Banner is also-"

"Tell Bruce to stay put where he is in the labs. I don't want him going all green in case Winter Soldier decides to wipe us," Tony ordered as he stepped onto the platform and the Z-Mk. II began to assemble around him, "actually, tell him to be on alert in case the Winter Soldier decides to wipe us."

"I'm sure he would use his discretion," JARVIS replied dryly directly into his HUD as the suit finished powering up and Tony headed outside. He stepped off of the platform, dropping several stories as JARVIS displayed a holographic imaging of the floor plans and the locations of Steve and Hill, the former of the two making his way far faster down the stairs than Hill who was in another stairwell coming down from S.I.'s branch offices.

"Anything happening?" Tony activated his suit's hovering mode as he noted the stream of civilians and pedestrians coming out of the building. NYPD had shown up and was erecting a barrier around Grand Central Station to ensure that no unauthorized personnel would be able to break through. Above, he noted that the news choppers were already hovering, though kept in place by police choppers.

If there was one thing that Tony found ironic was that the NYPD had actually heeded his request – one year ago, before SHIELD had been dissolved under the wake of the HYDRA scandal, they would not have given him the time of day. Now, with a majority of SHIELD's secrets out there in the public, he had been treated with far more respect and a kind of authority that made the government take heed of his actions.

He had seen the secrets released, memos on past missions, target lists – finding himself, Pepper, Rhodey, all of his friends on the target list had been very disconcerting – a report on his parents' accident that was no 'accident'. But reading them, that was something he had found difficult. It was not that the secrets were there, especially the ones that proved he was right about Phase Two and all sorts of other weaponry, but rather because there was something inherently wrong about reading the secrets of his friends, some of whom lived in the Avengers Tower with him.

He had seen at least a petabyte of files on Bruce alone, most of it dealing with his research and transformation into the Hulk, and it was he who had invited Bruce to live in anonymity at the tower in the first place – soon after trapping Thanos in the Tesseract prison three years ago. So far, none of SHIELD's files indicated that they knew Bruce was living here, but they did speculate that he occasionally visited.

There was another petabyte and some more on Captain America himself – filled with a lot of psychology analysis and tests, especially Dr. Erskine's notes on him. Attached to those notes were notes made by his father Howard, the Tesseract cube, limitations of technology – all sorts of things that Tony would have once loved to read about, but now felt oddly betrayed by them. He wondered if it was his lifetime of corporate secrets, of keeping secrets himself, of the beginnings of the Iron Man suit, trying to bring Rhodey in and keep it hush-hush before he decided to hell with it and announce that he was a superhero.

He had seen the news regarding SHIELD, had seen the reports that Nick Fury had been assassinated by the fabled Winter Soldier. Had almost put on the suit to help Rogers, but everything had happened so fast that by the time he had flown there, the Triskelion was destroyed, Rogers was in the hospital, Natasha was gone after testifying in front of Congress, and SHIELD was officially dissolved. The only saving grace was that Senator Stern had been outed as a HYDRA supporter and Tony was able to see him led away in-person before Rhodey had absconded him to warn him that the government was paranoid and jumping at shadows at anyone who may be HYDRA.

Tony had gotten the implied warning to be on his best behavior, but since when had he followed orders like that? He had done the opposite and marched straight into the emergency Congressional panel and told them what he really thought of what was happening, nearly lynching good men and women like Natasha, Hill, Fury, Coulson, even Steve for all that had happened. Congress had pushed back – their constituents did not like it and public support favored him.

He then offered a place for Steve and his friend Sam Wilson as their base of operations for their search for the Winter Soldier, Steve's formerly-thought-dead-best-friend Bucky Barnes. Wilson had thanked him for his tech and Tony had been confused until he mentioned his unit, the 58th United States Air Force rescue paratroopers who used the wing-flight system tech he remembered tinkering and approving the plans for a few years ago.

Nearly one year out and Tony wondered why now of all times was the Winter Soldier showing up at the tower. "Any change?"

"No sir," JARVIS replied, "sir, Rogers has arrived on the floor."

"Got audio?"

"Negative, I'm patching in the security footage-"

"Evacuation?"

"Ninty-five percent of personnel are out," his A.I. replied.

"All right, let's head in and make sure he's not here to kill Steve," Tony had a contingency plan that involved tossing the Winter Soldier high up into the air and away from the populace should anything happen. If a fight broke out, he did not want the structural integrity of his building compromised by two super soldiers hitting each other with the force and power of at least half of the Hulk.

JARVIS plotted the optimal path of entry which would only shatter one window, for now, and have the debris fall in the gardens plaza instead of on people still evacuating, and flew towards it.

Steve felt his heart pounding as he stepped carefully out of the emergency stairwell, shield strapped to his back. JARVIS had already helpfully provided the distance, steps needed for effective neutralization, even points in the hall where he could ricochet his shield to be most effective, to where Bucky apparently still stood. He silently appreciated the information, especially since the A.I. had taken in his combat style and preferences and provided what he needed. But at the same time, he could not tamp down on the apprehension that had filled him.

What was Bucky doing here? Why now of all times? Where had he been for the last year or so, and how long had he known he was here? It was clear from what JARVIS had said as he and Agent Hill raced towards the floor Bucky was on, that the A.I. had extrapolated Bucky's appearance as not a coincidence. His not-so-dead friend had planned this, had known and studied the tower's layout; had known where the weakest points were (through the touristy part of the first two floors), and for all intents and purposes, had not moved a single inch since walking out of the restroom. JARVIS had also extrapolated that Bucky had used the vents as his entry and exit point, but also knew what floors to minimize exposure.

This floor was mostly administrative offices for various departments in S.I., but it was also heavily shielded from RFID, satellites, and any type of electronic or wire tapping. To Steve that meant that Bucky did not want to be found, but had been willing to be found by them, by the Avengers. Maria Hill's office was several more floors up, just one floor below the start of the labs and Stark's penthouse, but it was also similarly shielded. Tony was not taking any chances with HYDRA or SHIELD after what had happened the year before.

Steve kept his shield strapped to his back as he navigated the halls to where Bucky was. He knew that if it was anyone else who had been the Winter Soldier, he would have already drawn it and held it defensively, but this was Bucky. This was his best friend, almost akin to his twin brother. Though they had been born in different years, it was only ten months that technically separated their ages, Bucky the younger one.

He turned the corner and froze, a surge of emotions raging inside of him as he saw that it was really Bucky standing in the middle of the hallway. He had put his jacket back on, but the baseball cap had been discarded to the side. Still, the silver gleam of his cybernetic metallic left hand was visible as it flexed and curled into a fist. Steve did not know what the gesture meant, having no memories of Bucky actually doing something like that, but he wondered if perhaps it was a phantom memory of an arm that had been replaced.

Flat eyes stared at him, and Steve could not even fathom what was behind that emotionless gaze. Bucky's eyes used to be expressive, lighting up with humor, seriousness, even the cold professionalism to which he shot people with his sniper rifle. Here...this was the same eyes that he had seen when he had first fought him in the streets of D.C. This was not the rage-filled eyes, the broken hurt that had tried to pound him into oblivion as the Helicarrier crashed around them.

He noted that the corners of Bucky's eyes were crinkled, just the barest hint, but visible through his enhanced senses. The crinkling was not of a smile nor of anything else except to denote pain. Otherwise, Bucky stood before him as emotionless as one of Tony's Iron Man suits.

"...Bucky?" he tried out cautiously as he approached slowly, spreading his hands out to show that he was not going to draw any weapons. As much as he wanted to run and hug his best friend, he knew that any fast movement would probably send Bucky into a frenzied action.

"You...were my mission," Bucky's voice rasped like it had not been spoken for ages and Steve briefly wondered if he had spoken at all since he had screamed those words into his face before he fell into the Potomac.

He stayed silent, knowing no words said now would be beneficial and instead would be empty air. The distant crash of glass followed by the faint familiar sound o repulsors made him turn back a little even though every single one of his super soldier senses screamed for him to turn right back around and make sure Bucky did not ambush or attack him. He ignored those senses, trusting Bucky to not stab him or shoot him, and touched his ear where he had put in the earpiece to talk to Maria and to Tony, "Stark, stay where you are!"

"Like hell-"

"I got this-"

"Cap, that's the Winter Soldier-"

"It's Bucky, Stark, not the Winter Soldier-"

"And how are you so sure, it is...Bucky?" Steve turned around, blinking in surprise at Bucky's words.

"Buck-"

"That man in the Air and Space Museum..." Bucky's voice was still raspy and quiet, but it sounded strange, almost as if it was in some kind of agony, "that man-"

"Is you," Steve cut in, seeing the crinkles furrow with further pain, "that man was you and you are still that man. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the Howling Commandos."

"I..."

Steve's eyes widened as Bucky suddenly fell to his knees, his right hand grasping at the long strands of hair, eyes squeezed shut in what was clearly pain etched across his face. His metallic hand punched a hole into the ground and whatever he was about to say dissolved into a hiss.

"Bucky!" he surged forward only to stop as those dead eyes bore into him, an unspoken command not to come any closer. "...Bucky-"

Bucky's lips peeled open in a grimace as he clearly fought with something internal and let loose a shaky gasp, "You...were...my mission..."

Steve did not know why he said those words again, but shook his head even though it was clear that his friend could not see him as he dug his fingers deeper into his head, "No, you're Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the Howling Commandos. United States Army Strategic Scientific Reserve. You're my friend, I know you."

Bucky punched the floor again with his arm, cracking through plaster and electronics that were wired underneath.

"I'm with you to the very end-"

That was when his best friend suddenly howled, a terrible soul-ripping sound that made him step back. Horror filled him as he watched Bucky suddenly collapse to the floor, thrashing as if someone was electrocuting him. "Bucky?! Bu-"

The sound suddenly cut off as Bucky heaved gasping breaths on the floor, staring up at almost nothing before turning his head. Steve felt tears pricking in the corner of his eyes as he saw the emotion the sorrow, the hurt, the pain in them. "Help me..." his best friend whispered and all Steve could do was nod as Bucky's eyes rolled into the back of his head as he passed out.

"Always."

Author's Notes:

Just to be certain – I don't write romance, I don't write pairings. I do write a really nice epic bromance from time to time and that's how I see Steve and Bucky. Also, I believe that Bucky has a lot of his mental faculties (ala Jason Bourne), but just doesn't exactly have the memories to go with it. Also, I'm taking a leaf out of Timothy Zahn's Star Wars: Heir to the Empire Trilogy playbook regarding Bucky and the targets he is assigned to kill. See you next chapter!