Frankly, I'd be surprised if [Barnes] didn't have any ill will toward the US government, at least after this trial.
- Testimony of Cpt. Steven Rogers, United States of America v. James Buchanan Barnes.
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Why the hell is this thing so tight?
- James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes on Steve's Captain America helmet, 1945
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"Buck...what's, uh, what's going on? What're you doing here? It's the middle of the night."
He continues doing...whatever he's doing in silence.
"Bucky. Talk to me. Please," Steve urges.
Bucky mutters something that sounds like, "It has to happen," and stands up, considers a brick-sized object in the corner he was just kneeling at, and moves a few yards down the wall before kneeling again, reaching into the satchel he has slung over his shoulder.
Steve walks over to the corner where Bucky was. The thing blends well into the wall, but when he gets on his hands and knees and takes a good look at it, Steve can make out wires hidden in the brick. Getting even closer, he can smell the vague, acrid scent of chemicals. They smell familiar, and Steve all of a sudden feels his heart start to sink right down to the pit of his stomach. "What the fuck," he whispers to himself, less of a question and more of a reflex. He looks over at Bucky and asks, his voice going almost entirely flat, "Bucky, what are these?"
"I think you know," Bucky says just as flatly, not looking up from his work.
"I...you know, I really wish I didn't...but I want you to say it," Steve says with a heaving sigh. "I want you to...please, just tell me what you're doing."
There's a silence, and Bucky fiddles with another brick, seeing where to best fit it to the wall. Then, rapidfire and almost rehearsed, he says "They're IEDs. Remote detonation. I'm…" Bucky trails off and finally looks Steve in the eye. "Steve," he says with something that Steve thinks is pleading in his voice.
Steve runs a hand through his hair and rises to his feet again. "Why? I...I worked so hard to find you after, after Insight and Pierce and-" He stops himself short when he notices Bucky wince at the name. He wants to say sorry, but Bucky never liked sorries. So he continues. "And...you know, SHIELD, they- they helped me, as best they could. Fury, and- and Natasha, and hell, even Clint Barton, they…" Bucky's eyes look glassy, and Steve can't seem to find words anymore.
"Nicholas Fury, Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton," Bucky intones, nodding. His jaw twitches for a second as Steve guesses he's trying to find words himself. Bucky looks up at him, his eyes now focused, almost razor sharp. "Fury, Natasha, and Clint helped you, Steve," he says quietly. "SHIELD didn't."
"So you're going to do…" Steve wants to say the word, call it like it is, but watching Bucky move on to the far corner now, his muscles so tense and knotted, he can't seem to do it. "You're going to do this to them because of it?" Steve sees Bucky's head turn slightly, as if to respond, but then it turns back to the corner as his hands go through the motions. Steve takes a deep breath and tries again. "Buck, you know I just want to understand. That's all I've been trying to do since I got you back, since the trial. So just, help me."
Bucky's head turns back in Steve's direction again, although he's still working, planting the brick. "It's not that," he says. "It's just...they're all the same. America. Russia. Germany. SHIELD. Hydra. SHIELD was Hydra, you know. Insight was SHIELD."
An airy, almost nervous chuckle escapes Steve's lips and he puts his hands on his hips, unsure of exactly what to say. "Yeah, I...I know. But they're not now. They're trying. Fury, Maria Hill, they're trying to make things better."
"But it happened," Bucky says. There's silence for a few seconds, as if Bucky is unsure about what to say, but then he continues, suddenly and looking Steve right in the eyes. "SHIELD knew about me. About what they were doing to…" Bucky doesn't finish that sentence, but starts another one instead. "Not everybody—not Fury, not Barton—but enough people. You know that, Steve."
"And bombing their HQ is the answer?" Steve asks, and this time it's actually more of a question than an accusation. "I mean, what will this accomplish, Buck? You want to kill people? Destroy the whole building?"
Bucky's eyes seem to search his for a few seconds and then he says, matter-of-factly, "It'll kill people, yeah—the right people. Leadership meeting room for SHIELD. Fury and Barton and Hill are away, but the people who matter, they'll be here. It won't destroy the building, though. Banner told me this particular combination could seriously damage...probably a floor above and below."
Steve inhales sharply. "Banner? Bruce Banner...he gave you these?"
Bucky nods.
"When?"
He doesn't respond.
"When, Bucky?"
His jaw looks tight,, before finally responding, just as tightly, "Couple nights a week. Past few weeks."
Steve is suddenly aware of a lump in his throat as he nearly laughs—or maybe cries, he can't tells. "So that's where you were then, all those nights?"
Bucky looks away from Steve's general direction and sighs. Probably the closest thing Steve will get to a yes.
Steve has to take several seconds to breathe, swallow, get that painful lump in his throat unstuck. He says at last, "You...you know that I, I love you Buck. And...and it- it hurt, seeing you just get up out of our bed and go out in the middle of the night, no explanations or... 'Need some air,' that's all you'd say. And I wanted...I wanted to give you that space. It still happens to me now, some nights. That...that choking feeling and suddenly you can't breathe and… But you were doing this? Buck, this is...I'm Captain America, Buck, and you're gonna kill people...innocent people...this..."
"I know," Bucky says abruptly, rising to his feet and looking around at the walls, the corners, checking his work. And then he looks at Steve again, and Steve knows he's sorry. Then Bucky continues, halting, drifting, but saying more at once than Steve ever remembers him saying—maybe even more than before the War. "I know. You didn't...I should've told you. I… But Steve...I just want it to stop. The...the killing, but...everything else. Seventy years, Steve, of this-" he says, brandishing his bionic arm. Steve notices that Bucky has painted the star black, and he wonders why he hadn't noticed it before. "I just got handed from one government to the next, then back again. To kill." Bucky says, his voice breaking a bit. "And then that, that trial...and now, this, this Registration Act that SHIELD is pushing for in, in Congress?" Steve thinks he sees Bucky's eyes getting watery, and then Bucky chokes out, "They want to make us all Winter Soldiers, Steve. Banner, he...he knows that...he lives that...so he helped me. We...we have to get out of this. I just want to be with you, and… I want all this to stop, Steve. I have to do this, I have to shake them up. If I don't, they'll find us. I want it to stop. I just want it to stop."
Steve can't find any words, so he pulls Bucky into an embrace and Bucky lets him. Steve feels Bucky taking ragged breaths over his shoulder, and after a good minute or so, he lets Bucky go, looks at him intently, takes a few breaths himself. Looking at Bucky's face, Steve is reminded of before the War, when toothy smiles and wry grins were almost all that would be painted on his face, instead of the contorted, painful expression Steve is looking at now. That was back when Steve realized that he was in love with Bucky, back before the War, before the Army gave him that serum and made him Captain America, back when all they needed was the chilly night air in Brooklyn and the fuzzy voices over the radio. Steve shudders. He knows those nights are buried under red hot bullet casings and muzzle flashes, under stars, swastikas, red, white, and blue flags.
Anxiety swells in Steve's chest as he remembers the people he's saved—the people he should save now, if he stops Bucky. But then he starts to remember how tight his helmet would feel at times, constricting his face and making it hard for him to catch his breath. He remembers how Bucky showed off his arm just a minute ago—like a weapon. He wonders how painful that must be, even though Bucky has told him time and again it doesn't hurt. Looking into Bucky's eyes again, Steve puts his face in his hands, running them up through his hair. He realizes with sudden clarity that he isn't wearing the helmet, and Bucky's star is black now.
Breathing out, Steve says, "Okay. Yeah...you're right. We have to get out of all this."
Bucky sighs with something like relief, but if he's happy, Steve can't tell. Bucky looks around once again, double-checking to make sure everything is set. "They're pretty well camouflaged. I'll...do it tomorrow morning, and then we leave. Go anywhere."
Steve nods and holds out his hand. Bucky takes it. And as they turn to go, Steve swears he can feel a cold Brooklyn breeze on the nape of his neck.