It had been nearly a week of rain and the flooding throughout the city was becoming a major pain to chef and owner Bucky Barnes. Thanks to the abysmal weather he hadn't seen a customer in nearly two days. His scuffed black work shoes padded softly across the smooth black and white checkered tile as he exited the kitchen and followed the sound of chatter into the front dining room.

"I say just call it and close up for the night boss. We haven't had a customer all day." Sam's voice pulled him from his thoughts as Bucky rounded the corner.

"You say something?"

"Yeah close up. We're just burning payroll and brain cells standing around. Half the scheduled stuff got called off anyway. Send these chuckleheads home and Tasha, you and I will have enjoy my latest concoction at the bar."

Bucky knew his front of house manager was right. His flesh hand ran through his greasy hair that was long overdue for a cut and a good washing.

"Yeah alright, you lot punch out and get out of here. Call in and let me know when you get home thought." The few faces looking at him nodded at the orders and quickly scattered to gather their things.

Bucky may have only been a few years older than most of his staff but he always looked out for them like they were siblings or nieces and nephews. He might have been their boss but their safety still meant a lot to him. Once the last staff member was out into the driving rain Bucky locked up and went to join Sam and Natasha, his sous chef, at the shining bar top.

Natasha was plopped comfortably down on a dark leather bar stool, her black chef coat unbuttoned showing a peek of the red tank top that lie underneath. She was chattering away about some new dish she'd been working on but Bucky was too exhausted to listen.

"You alright Bucky?" The female voice pulled him from his head this time.

"Yeah just a lot on my mind. It sounds good…" I think he replied rubbing his eyes. For the most part he trusted Natasha to run the joint all on her own if he wasn't around. As his hands pulled away he was greeted by a bright yellow drink in a martini glass.

"Give it a try, let me know what you think." Sam didn't usually try out new drinks on the folks at work but he had figured why not considering the weather.

"What's in it?" Natasha had, thankfully, asked the question that had been stuck on Bucky's lips. Sam rattled through a list of ingredients that the chef wasn't entirely listening to, something about lemon and candied ginger, and booze. Without much more prompting Bucky took a sip and set the glass back down.

"Its actually not half bad," he answered after a minute. "Clean, sweet, with just a hint of spice from the ginger. What are you calling it?" he asked.

"The Wasp. It's something my buddy Scott's girl came up with. Well she came up with the flavor list, I did the rest." A smile pulled at Bucky's tired face.

"You did good Sam. We should try it out on the happy hour menu and see how the guests like it… once this rain clears up of course."

"Cause that's totally gonna happen soon." Natasha's usual snark caused both men to laugh.

"Maybe we should use the new dining room tables to make an art," Sam offered as he finished washing the last few bar dishes.

"Well you two paddle on home and I'll see you both tomorrow." Bucky yawned loudly and stretched his lean body to its full measure, his fingertips just brushing the bottom of the light fixture. His two friends gathered their things and headed out the door into the softening rain as he locked up behind them.

Yawning once again Bucky headed for the stairs that lead to his cozy flat that was tucked away on the upper floor of his building. The young chef was eternally grateful for the small living quarters as paying rent for living space was pointless. He barely ever left the restaurant except on food runs.

The apartment upstairs was small but warm. Aromas and heat from the main kitchen below wafted up through the worn wooden floorboards and permeated the grey walls. A loud yawn wormed its way from his throat as the young man rubbed his eyes.

Shopping list for tomorrow, payroll, then off to bed… maybe a shower first…

The thoughts bounced around in his mind as he wandered down the hall to his small office. The scent of cinnamon, ginger, and all spice wafted past him as the small fan began to spin.

Halfway through his shopping list for the next day's specials menu movement cause Bucky's gaze. He glanced over and watched the CCTV monitor on the corner of the desk. The grainy black and white picture of his back ally flicked through three different views. Reaching over Bucky selected the angle pointed directly on his dumpster and trashcans.

A creature of some sort was rooting through his trash. An exhausted groan escaped Bucky's soft lips as he zoomed in a little.

Of course this happens tonight while it's pouring.

As he watched the young chef tried to comprehend what was rooting through his trash. It was too large to be a cat or a raccoon and unless something had escaped from the zoo it seemed it could only be a stray dog. He grabbed his father's worn handgun from the desk drawer and wandered downstairs in a white t-shirt and grey sweatpants.

"Little shit's gonna be missing a tail when I'm done with him," he muttered as he unlocked the door to the back alley. Outside rain poured down on the shadows. Light skittered out into the darkness from the bright kitchen, framing Bucky like a halo.

"Hey! Hey, who's out there?" he shouted. "Get out of my trash. Go on get out!" His threats echoed off the slick brick walls. The movement behind the nearest trashcan paused for a brief moment before continuing. "Hey did you hear me? Get lost!" Bucky stepped out onto the first step trying hard to keep out of the driving rain.

"Yeah, yeah I heard you!" A voice rang out of the shadows as the figure in the over turned straighten up. Bucky had never expected it to be a person. Not just a person, but a kid, a scrawny boy who couldn't have been one hundred pounds soaking wet and boy was he. "What are you yelling for anyway? It's in your trash, why does it matter if I root through it a little?" Bucky sighed and slid the gun into the waist band of his pants.

"You got a name kid?"

The question clearly caught the young man off guard. "Well of course I have a name." The chef chuckled softly and stepped back up onto the top step out of the rain.

"Tell me what it is and maybe I'll feed you something that wasn't in the trash." The lanky teen slowly stepped closer to the stairs.

"I just have to tell you my name and you'll give me a meal?" Bucky nodded.

"Yeah just trying to help out another person. So what do you say?" He stepped out of the doorway giving the kid room to enter the building. He lighted up the few stone steps and entered the bright, clean kitchen.

"It's Timothy, Timothy Dugan."

Bucky eyed the kid for a second from top to bottom. He knew Tim Dugan. Tim Dugan was his delivery boy from one of the local shops the young chef frequented. Dugan was stocky, built like a wall really with broad shoulders and the start of a good mustache already. He tore his eyes away from this kid as he shut the door firmly behind him.

This was no Tim Dugan, so just who exactly was this kid standing in the middle of his kitchen leaving an ever growing puddle.