AN: Hi, guys! Back again! I decided that my Steve/Natasha date night fail needed a companion. So, here I am with Date Night Dash, otherwise known as "Darcy and Bucky can't have nice things, such as a romantic night out (complete with apartment keys) because he's a reformed brainwashed assassin." And Darcy has worn the wrong shoes.
This plot runs concurrent with The BackUp, so AT THE SAME TIME. It probably, therefore, would be helpful if you went back and read that one first. You probably could get away with doing it backwards, and reading this one first, but seeing as how I wrote that one first, it just feels better the other way around in my head.
As you'll find out, this is established Bucky/Darcy and humor will ensue, complete with a little bit of darkness, because-Hello, WINTER SOLDIER-but if Darcy's involved there will always be a few laughs. And she really managed to wear the wrong shoes. Like The BackUp, this is a bit of a wild goose chase, but will probably be longer than The BackUp, so since I tend to be long-winded (case in point) stick with me. Since our little Darcy is involved, there will also be a few cameos, such as Thor, showing up, and Jane is here too, in a much larger capacity, but for some reason, under the Avengers category, alas, there is no Jane to select. Hope you enjoy the adorable fun times with these two. And let's all countdown until we get more Winter Soldier in Civil War! Is it May yet? No? Damn.
Standard disclaimer: I don't own anything Marvel. If I did, I'd be able to conjure up my own wonderful, wounded Bucky Barnes to fix and cuddle with at night. Since I can't, here we are, all in the same place. Imagine that.
Anyway, here we go!
Date Night Dash: Chapter One
Hiccups
A knock at Darcy's door made her curse—out loud, one leg into the dress she'd spent ten minutes choosing, one planted firmly on the floor of her bedroom. Distracted as she looked up, she stumbled straight into the dresser, bashing the wall. She cursed again, reaching up to straighten her glasses. Somehow she always fooled herself into thinking that she'd miraculously be dressed by the time he made it from her front door buzzer to her actual apartment.
There was silence in the hallway. Then, "You alright in there, doll?"
Unable to maintain her scowl, she smirked, finally sliding her leg in, and sighed. "It's all good. You know me and my talent for bashing into things!" she called.
A husky chuckle sent a shiver down her spine as she came into the front room and approached the door, pushing her arms through the capped sleeves. She pulled it open, already gathering her hair behind her neck and turning around. "Would you do me up, Buck?"
Bucky's metal fingers were cool through the thin material of her royal blue dress, and she shivered as the flesh fingers of his right did up the zipper. "Good color on you, Darce," he said, his voice low, his breath warm on her shoulder and neck. "There." His mouth stole a kiss from the bare skin left exposed by the wide collar, and he lingered there a moment.
"Mm," she hummed, letting her hair down and turning to face her date. "And have I mentioned that you rock that leather jacket?" She went into her bedroom and to her jewelry box on her dresser, perused the contents for a moment, and selected a necklace.
A grin split his face, and his blue eyes crinkled. "Once or twice." He stepped into her tiny apartment. It wasn't a long walk from the Tower, and he'd spent enough time doing it when he and Steve had been kids, but it was cold in New York in January, and her little space was cozy, the radiator clicking away in the corner. "I always said you were a dame with good taste."
She crossed the room again in the act of clasping her necklace shut, and leaned into him, her hand warm on his hard chest. "You don't need to tell me how awesome I am, I already know," she quipped, but her eyes were more serious than usual as she noticed the black baseball cap on his head. "Jamie…sweetie, no one's looking for you anymore. You know that, right?"
It still amazed him, how she could go from his goofy, silly Darcy, to serious in the space of a few seconds.
She was also the only person he'd ever met to use his first name—in any capacity. Well, either than his mother when she was angry with him.
He shrugged. "Yeah. I know. Kinda attached to it now, I guess."
He felt less noticeable in it, like he blended into the crowd. Just like anyone else.
She kissed him, long and slow, before pulling back to look up at him with dark eyes. "Well, my fella looks pretty sexy in it, so I guess it's a lucky thing." She crossed the room, and pulled something else out of her jewelry box. "Just give me a sec, and I'll be ready to go!"
"I'm early, Darce," he said as he followed her, leaning in the doorway. "Take your time."
"How'd it go with Dr. Rosen?"
He shut down a little, frowning. "She doesn't like that the nightmares are still hanging around."
She retrieved a tube of lipstick from her vanity, nodding. "What'd she say?"
He shrugged. "Nothing, really. Just that something like this is…unprecedented and it's gonna take time." He rolled his eyes. "Same old speech."
She smoothed on the deep red shade, snatched a tissue from her nightstand, and blotted it, shaking her head. "Buck, it's not like there's a timetable for this. Look how you were when you first got to the Tower. Totally paranoid and all angry and hostile. Tony wouldn't even let you leave the lab." She put a tiny stud into her left ear before moving to her right, but switched tactics with a smirk. "How long did it take for you to make a move?"
He shrugged, bashful, his ears reddening.
She giggled at him, her nose crinkling endearingly. "Too long! You and you're, 'I don't wanna hurt you, doll', even though I kept telling you the ship sailed sophomore year, dude!"
He sighed. "Well, I guess I'm just old-fashioned with dames."
She giggled again. "If you hadn't asked me out finally, I was gonna do it myself."
With a deep breath, he looked around, surveying the small space. "Don't you want a bigger place, Darce?"
She shrugged as she slid past him, grabbing up her pea coat, left tossed on the loveseat. "Sure, duh, but Jane's grant doesn't pay much, so…"
He frowned. "Why doesn't Stark take you on, then? You're finished with your degree And you keep babysitting him. He outta be paying you."
She snorted. "Tell that to the man-child. Ready to go?"
He took her coat and helped her into it.
"I could get used to this gentleman act."
"'Act'?" he repeated, sounding faux wounded. "Me?"
She snorted indelicately. "Oh, please. I've heard Steve's stories from back in the day. You were a charmer, Barnes, don't think you fool me."
But he snared her in his embrace and felt her shudder against his arm. "I got no idea what you mean, doll." He kissed a deliberate trail up her throat, and she giggled at the scruff she insisted he not fully shave off.
The truth was he had been a bit of a dog—at least from what he could remember; a lot of the stuff around the end of the war—and that train job—was particularly fuzzy. The job HYDRA had done on his brain had obliterated all that…bravado, it seemed.
A half a year ago, he'd been loath to get this close to her, too terrified of hurting her, of losing control, of something in his mind snapping and breaking her.
Even now, he was half scared whenever she climbed into his bed, that he'd wake in some fever dream and only come to when she'd been pulverized by his mechanical fist.
He flinched, stepping back, distracting himself with pulling on his leather glove, covering his metal hand.
That didn't fool her either, but she ignored it, looping her arm through his elbow. "Let's go, fella."
He looked down at her black pumps and arched a brow. "You sure you wanna wear those? We're walking to our reservation."
She shrugged, but batted her eyelashes. "Well, how else can I entice you to carry me around later?"
There went that husky laugh again. "Oh, you don't need those to do that, sweetheart."
She flushed, but shoved at his shoulder. "Shut uuup, Barnes!"
They walked for a few blocks in companionable silence, passing people and other couples on the wide sidewalks, groups milling around, getting ready for the ball to drop. They avoided Times Square like the Plague, but just as Darcy was wondering where he was taking her, he tugged her into a small, but prim steak joint, holding the door for her with a hand at the small of her back.
"Never been here," she said, looking around.
"Wanda suggested it, said it was good." He swallowed, suddenly nervous, and patted the box in the pocket of his black slacks.
There were dark curtains everywhere, and small, intimate tables for two strewn about the room. The small kitchen was bustling at the back, but the atmosphere was relaxed and sweet. Everything was laid out on black and plaid, proper and neat, but not stuffy or overly eccentric.
"It's quaint!" she said, nodding at him.
He smiled, reaching out to straighten her glasses.
She flinched. "You'd rather I wore my contacts, eh?"
But he shook his head. "Nah. I like 'em."
She gave him a coy look.
He turned to the host. "Seven o'clock reservation for Barnes."
Darcy turned to stare at him, her mouth open in a happy shape of surprise. But he didn't notice as he wrapped his hand around hers and followed the host to their table. It wasn't until he'd helped her out of her coat and pushed in her chair behind her and sat down that he saw her expression.
He froze. "Why you looking at me like I grown a second head?"
She smiled. "You used your last name with the reservations?" Her voice turned up, like he'd given her a gift, even though he'd already explained that he was running late for Christmas and that her gift was still coming.
Truthfully, he'd felt awful about that. Back home, it hadn't been such a material holiday and he'd been taken by surprise, still tricking the ins and outs of everyday life here. Also, he'd already been toying with the idea in his head and had needed just a little extra time to make sure she'd be receptive to it.
And the doctor had wanted just one more session with him to make sure he was one-hundred percent; or, at least a percent enough to give her what he wanted to give her.
And that safety…it was the most important thing in his mind. His own safety, regaining his memories and his life—Hell, his own sanity! It all paled in comparison to her.
Even his old self—the cock-sure charmer, the maybe a little bit womanizer, the Sergeant of the 107th…had never felt like this before.
It was odd, and confusing, this jumble inside him, this uncharacteristic shyness, the uncertainty, the maddening worry, the determination and bitterness and anger. The agony of not being sure if he'd reverted to the way he was with some improvements or had turned clean into someone else. He wasn't sure which was better, which one he'd prefer.
Sometimes he jumped at his own reflection.
But Darcy.
Darcy made him feel like himself, safe and sure and sane.
He hadn't said it yet, but it was bubbling in his chest and he didn't know how long he could hold it in anymore. Steve would tell him to just let it out and that he'd feel better afterwards. Steve had always been that way, open and honest. But Bucky figured…maybe he'd spent so long protecting his friend that he'd gotten too good at doing it to himself.
"You usually use my name if we go out. Or some fake one. But you used Barnes!"
He shrugged, flipping open the menu, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. "Yeah, well. It's my last name. Figured I'd been too long being someone else."
She smiled so wide, he feared she'd break her face, but by then the waiter had arrived to take their drink order.
He requested their sweetest wine and Darcy beamed brighter; he knew she hated the dry stuff.
She reached across the table and grabbed his hand. "Is this my present?! All this progress?! Is this my gift?!"
She'd been so fine with him not having anything on Christmas that he'd been flabbergasted, but she'd been trying to guess what he'd gotten her ever since, side-eyeing him and making odd comments here and there.
He knew, of course, that what they had was still tentative and new, but he knew where it was going for him. He just had to wade through all the other stuff first. He wondered if maybe he'd known it that first day, when she'd come down to the lab and not flinched away from him. That day, she'd asked Stark how the repairs on his arm were going and if he was in control of himself. And she'd sat there watching him with curiosity, and when Stark had left her with a stern warning, she'd ignored it completely and begun talking to him like he was just anyone else.
Not like an assassin.
Not like a monster.
Not like a freak of nature.
Like an ordinary man.
"Jamie!" she called, waving her hand in front of his face.
He flinched.
She squeezed his hand. "You okay over there? You looked like you disappeared into your head again, dude. You've been doing that a lot tonight."
Damn, she'd noticed.
"Everything alright? You need me to call JARVIS? He can send a car."
There she went again, easy and calm, accepting of what he was still pulling himself out of by the fingertips, but concerned and supportive all the same.
"You're incredible. You know that?"
She blinked, not having expected this response. "I already know I'm awesome. But that's not what I asked."
He laughed at the reply. "I'm fine. Just thinking."
She narrowed her eyes, studying his face. "Good, fun times thinking or bad, icky times thinking?"
The grin split his face. Damn it to Hell if he'd found his soul mate an entire lifetime later. "Good thinking." She saw right through him—the super assassin. "Don't worry; you won't need the safe word."
She snorted, rolling her eyes. "I've never needed the safe word, you dork. Besides, I still don't think I'd actually be able to pronounce it. You do know how much of a mouthful saying anything in Russian actually is?"
"Pa-spEE HA- ra-sho."
"Pa-what?!"
"Just repeat after me, Darcy. We'll do it in two parts so it doesn't actually knock me out."
"Will this even still work? You're better now."
"Nothing is ever really forgotten, Darce. Just repeat after me. It's simple."
"Why?! So I can make you sleep like some kinda dog? HYDRA bastards. What's it mean anyway?"
"Sleep well."
"Figures."
He'd coached her for an hour one afternoon, insistent that she know how to overpower him if he ever snapped, flashing back or waking up in a reverted mindset, and he had talked her through the phrase in Russian that would knock him out cold, allowing her to get away.
He shook his head. "I'm fine. Don't worry."
She rolled them again. "Hard not to when you look like you just swallowed a slug."
She'd said that that afternoon, too, after Tony had left, telling her, in no uncertain terms, to stay on the opposite side of the glass.
But she'd shrugged after he'd left, and gone right through the door of the observation room, plunking down next to him at the lab table and setting her chin in her hand. "Nah, you're all good now. Steve said you had your mind back. I trust him. He's Captain America: he never lies."
He'd just blinked at her.
But she'd encouraged.
"C'mon, dude, don't you wanna talk to somebody other than Stark? All he does is talk, doesn't even let you get a word in. Even Thor's easier to get a rise out of on broody days. S'up, Winter Soldier? Wow, are you cut. Nice. What is it with all you dudes? Thor, Steve, you—you all go to the same gym? Well, can you talk or what? You look like you swallowed a slug or something."
She'd especially been curious what someone who had known Steve before had to say about all his antics, hoping for something to use to blackmail him into helping her do some defensive training. In the end, he'd done all that.
That was much later.
Four months, two dozen dates, numerous impromptu lunches, movie nights and board game gaffes later. After the tension had escalated and she said she was more than positive that he'd never hurt her, and that he just needed someone who hadn't known him before and wouldn't have any expectations. She was there, even when everyone else remained leery of him. She was always there, waiting in the lab with a cup of coffee and a before he'd been cleared to join the team.
She told him about the mess in London with Thor's Dark Elves, and how desperate she was to learn defensive techniques, so she could avoid 'looking like a total girl' the next time some alien swooped in and everyone else, 'went to kick ass'.
He'd reluctantly agreed, still worried about hurting her, even after countless kisses and evenings spent making out that had only left him frustrated by hazy memories of other girls, war nurses, all capped off with his bionic arm—capable of hurting her so quickly, if he lost a moment's concentration.
But she'd insisted he'd be fine.
The waiter returned with their wine, took their order and was gone again.
"So what's on the agenda tonight?" she needled.
He smirked. "Dinner. Thought we'd walk around, look at the last of the Christmas lights. We'll probably be able to enjoy the fireworks from the Tower."
She sighed. "I'm so jealous of that stupid penthouse Tony practically gave you. So not fair. Big enough for half a dozen people at least. And I'm the babysitter—since he needs one—and the jerkface keeps me in that little hole-in-the-wall."
He shrugged. "Part of the team, you get a loft, I guess."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "You're lucky you're hot, dude."
He chuckled. "I get by."
She nodded wryly. "Yeah, you're just lucky my bedroom's big enough for the two of us or you wouldn't be getting anything, Barnes."
He laughed, the idea no longer making him shudder.
Their first night together had happened in a rush of heat. It had been so long since he'd had a girl—at least, that he could remember—that he hadn't thought about her safety as much as he should've, hadn't thought about how dangerous he might be in a distracted mindset. He'd wanted to die afterwards. He'd lain there, watching her sleep all cuddled into his side, for an hour, before one glance at his metal arm had made him flinch. He'd yanked on his jeans and ditched, out, onto the balcony of his suite, staring out into the endless activity of the Manhattan night, brooding over all the things he'd been forced to do, all the people he'd killed, all the awful things he'd done.
She'd finally come out to pull him back to bed, looking too tempting all wrapped in his bed sheet, and they'd talked, long, into the sunrise.
She'd told him all about a past boyfriend who hadn't made his temper a secret, and her flight from him and her reluctance to get seriously involved ever since.
She'd told him that she inexplicably trusted him, had since the moment she'd seen him in that lab, and had wanted to earn his trust in return. She'd said she could tell, just by looking at him, that his hard, metal outer shell hid a kind and gentle man, and that his eyes told her everything. She'd said, over and over, that all he needed was a little patient repair, just like anyone else.
And her trust in him had cleared some of the darkness from around the edges of his vision, and he found it easier to let go when they were pressed close at night, easier to trust himself and his own control.
Easier to accept that all the cobwebs had been cleared from his warped mind and that he had himself back. That none of the harsh conditioning he'd suffered remained.
A sharp pain in his right palm had him lurching back in his seat.
Darcy was fixing him with a sharp look, her nails digging into his hand. "You were doing it again, dude."
He flushed, shaking his hand loose as she released it. "Sorry."
Her gaze softened. "If this is too much, we can go back to the Tower. I'd be fine just ordering in some pizza and watching a movie or something. I'm determined to catch up on Game of Thrones before Steve and Nat so I can lord the spoilers over their heads." She smiled impishly. "You know I would be okay with that. I'm a cheap date." She winked.
He sighed. "Darcy—"
"You look tired. The nightmares have you up again last night?"
He shook his head. "I'm fi—"
But she cut him off with a smirk. "Barnes, you're nearly as bad at lying as your buddy, Captain Patriotic-Pants—which is saying something, considering you spent decades neck deep in super-secret espionage."
He flushed, looking away.
"If you were up, you should'a called me. That's what girlfriends are for."
He shook his head again. No point denying it, the fact that he'd jerked awake at two am, covered in sweat, Russian commands still growling at the edge of his hearing. "You said you were out late with Jane. I didn't want to wake you."
She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. I was napping while she ran around like a chicken with her head cut off, getting sciency readings. Don't even know why she wanted me there." She shrugged. "I think she feels more like a real girl if I'm there to back her up."
He smirked.
"Or maybe she just wants my trusty taser around in case she decides to hit more Norse gods with her van. You never know."
Their food came and, mercifully, she let it drop. He really didn't want to rehash the dreams again; they were just the same old awful things on repeat, an endless cycle of angry disembodied Russian voices, Zola's nasty, soft voice, the whirring and whining of the electroshock machinery they'd used to bleach his brain so that they could reshape his conditioning.
The worst one was still Pierce's face, that day, the first day that memories of Steve had truly begun seeping through. It all bled together.
Who the Hell's Bucky?
He's been out of cryosleep too long…
So?
Your work has been a gift to mankind.
He's unstable…
Wipe him!
You shaped the century…
Hello, Sergeant Barnes.
Start over.
He flinched, glancing up at Darcy, but she was happily eating, unscrewing the cap on the A1 bottle and dolloping steak sauce onto her plate.
She deserved better.
Most of the time, he couldn't figure out what the hell she saw in him.
Maybe she was one of those girls that were the opposite of the usual—they weren't attracted to bright, shiny objects; they liked broken things.
She didn't bring it up again; he couldn't decide if that was good or bad. She smiled at him as he picked up the check and she seemed content as they went to pay at the front, making sure to hang onto his metal arm, hard. "That was awesome. We should tell Wanda," she chattered, but he was only half listening.
He tried to focus, but as much as he hated it, he couldn't bring himself to. He'd been trying hard all night not to look around, not to respond to the telltale prickling at the back of his neck.
Dr. Rosen had been adamant about ignoring that impulse.
But this…this was different. He'd felt sure, this time, that it was more than just an errant impulse, a stray blip left over from his conditioning.
Something felt off. And after years and years of that conditioning, even if he was using that condition and that sixth sense for someone else's means…he knew when the feeling was a smokescreen and when it was real.
"I haven't had a good steak in forever. Probably a good thing. You'd be dating a pudgy girl."
"You're beautiful," he murmured.
"Hah!" she laughed. "There's that Brooklyn charm."
He grinned down at her as he handed his card to the host. "Yeah, I've been hidin' it away. Only pull that out when I'm desperate."
She slid a hand up his chest, toying with the buttons on his sweater. "Yeah, next time you try that trick, you should pull that World War 2 uniform outta the mothballs and put it on- you might get stunning results. Just don't forget the hat." She laughed. "You don't need to be desperate, Buck. I'm easy." She winked. "Well, maybe just for you."
He frowned, trying to ignore the host, who was giving them an odd look. "A dame shouldn't say stuff like that about herself. You're perfect."
She blushed.
"Just need you to sign here, sir."
He slid the receipt across the counter, studying the total so he could add the tip—
Alley.
West side.
Or the girl goes.
The breath halted in his throat as he stared down at the scrawled note, right there, in black ink. He had just enough wits to do a quick survey of the host.
His pulse was erratic, jumping against his throat, his breathing uneven. His pupils were blown and he was short of breath. Fear. Middle man.
He signed a tip and passed it back, smiling tightly at the man in reassurance, and settling a hand on the small of Darcy's back, leading her stiffly through the crowd and out the door. He held it for her. "I need you to go back to the Tower," he said, lowly.
She jerked to a stop on the pavement. "What?"
He pulled his Starkphone out of his back pocket. "I said that I need you to go back to the Tower."
She blinked. "Bucky, this isn'—"
"I ain't playin' around, babe. I need you to go back to the Tower without me. I'm serious."
She leaned in close. "Jamie, sweetie, there's no one here to attack us. You remember what Dr. Rosen said?"
She was so damn patient and sweet.
He shook his head. "Darce, I'm well past paranoia. This ain't a drill. Someone was watching you in the restaurant. I need you to leave. I'm calling Steve."
She squeaked, her eyes widening as she took in his words, and she fumbled with her purse for a moment, digging around for something. "Me? They were watching me? Why me? I'm a glorified Stark handler!"
He grabbed her by her shoulders and got down in her face, trying to soften his gaze. "Focus, Darce. Can you do that for me?"
She took a deep breath, looking into his eyes until she was level. He looked like the Winter Soldier again, capable of viciousness. She'd seen the footage—not that she'd ever tell him that. He probably already knew it anyway.
He didn't let her go as he dialed, and his metal arm was tight around her, a vice grip as he waited for the call to connect.
She could hear the dial tone, his heart pounding at her back.
Hey, it's Steve. If you're someone, leave a message; if you're anyone else, no comment.
Darcy would've laughed, if she weren't so scared.
"Shit," Bucky murmured, hanging up and looking around, studying the buildings around them, eyes keen and sharp, ever the sniper. "You got your taser?"
She dug around some more, finally pulled it out and nodded.
"You gonna be able to use that thing?" he asked, eyeing her steadily, reading her.
She stared at him flatly. "You remember I tased a Norse god, right?"
He nodded. "You remember your training? You remember the quickest way to take down an opponent?"
She nodded.
"You got your phone?"
She nodded.
"Okay. Here's what we're gonna do. I need to go take care of this. So I need you to go back to the Tower, okay? Straight back, no playin' around. Call Jane. I want you to stay on the line with her all the way back, okay? Don't talk, listen for anything suspicious, just leave the line open, okay?"
"What about you?" she finally croaked.
His eyes softened. "I been doin' this for decades, doll. I'll be fine."
But she shook her head. "The Hell I'm gonna leave you out here!"
He smirked. "Don't trust me?"
She scoffed. "I've faced down Dark Elves from space, Bucky! I'm not leaving you out here so those assholes can drag you back!"
Something stung in his chest. "Darce, as swell as that is to hear, it's not an option."
She opened her mouth to argue. "Hell, no!" she snapped back, nearly a whine, but he cut her off. "If you think I'm just gonna run away while some asshole roughs up my man—"
He grabbed her and hauled her in, close, her warmth seeping into his body. "I can't have you in the way, doll. They'll mow down anyone in their way if it means they get their asset back. I did their bidding for years and I know how they operate. Do you understand me?"
"Buc—"
"Don't make me endure watching them kill you. I can't. I…" There it was again, the urge, the awful, wonderful, powerful, urge to spill it all, all his feelings.
And the Winter Soldier wasn't supposed to feel anything.
He kissed her, and he made it count, just in case this got ugly.
She mewled into his mouth.
"I love you."
There. He'd said it. Now he couldn't take it back. Steve would be proud.
Her blue eyes widened behind her glasses.
But he didn't have time to wait for vindication. "Now go." He gave her a firm push away, and she reluctant stumbled, heading down the block, turning her back as she pulled out her phone and dialed Jane, her taser gripped in her left hand.
He watched her for a moment.
She turned, once, to glare back at him, and he could see how pale she was, her eyes wide and probably more fearful than she'd ever admit.
Taking a deep breath, he ducked into the opposite alleyway to pull off his coat, fold it as best he could, and leave it tucked on the ground for retrieval later. Then he pulled off his sweater, and left it there as well, so that he just stood in his white t-shirt. The cold didn't bother him much anymore, as uncomfortable as it could be and he needed to be free to move, needed his only weapon free of confinement or snagging clothing. Sighing, he tossed his baseball cap on top and returned to the pavement, looking around as subtly as he could, pulling a hand through his shaggy hair. He'd need absolutely clear vision in all directions.
There was one man situated on the roof of the building kitty-corner with a pair of binoculars and what looked like a sniper set-up.
"Real subtle, boys," he muttered, flexing his left hand, and the leather of his glove creaked. "Awfully confident, aren't ya?" The metal of the false appendage clanked and the electronics squealed as he forced his fist to loosen again.
"Here goes nothin'." He turned into the alley.
At first, he thought it was empty; for a split second, deep, thick dread stayed his feet and there was an urge to run back to Darcy in fear it'd all been a different sort of trap.
But then a man in a bespoke suit materialized from the shadowed corner, smiling genially. "Ah, Mr. Barnes. We weren't sure you'd show."
Russian.
Fuck.
He had gray hair and a silver goatee.
Bucky was silent. It was pointless to ask how they'd found him. It had been no secret he'd been with Stark and the gang for the past year. It was pointless to make any premature threats or make any sudden movements. He'd have to see this through if he was ever going to be free of the Winter Soldier.
He met the man's falsely friendly gaze with one he'd worn countless times, perhaps with more muscle memory than anything else. He was careful not to step too close to the center of the alley, lest he be boxed in. He'd need room to make a quick escape.
"Yet…here you are." The man smiled, spreading his arms as though in welcome.
Bucky scowled. "Here I am."
