Life as Steve Rogers involved sweating. He accepted, ignored, and often reveled in, the whole body experience of radical physical exertion that pulled the hot wetness from every pore of his being. Cleansing, freeing, satisfying; the consuming sweat-evoking experience now had nothing to do with work or the heat of a South American city. It was all about Bucky. The full-press wash of sweat that covered his body under the uniform came as the unintended response to the post-come whisper filling his ear in the dark abandoned apartment.
"Let me take care of you, Stevie."
The faint pleading tone a whispered heat of uncertainty; a counterpoint to sure and searching hands that tugged aside his clothes, pulled at his flesh, claiming him; it never failed to tear down his sense of decorum, shred his will, and muddle his considerable focus. Bucky ruled all of Steve.
"I got you, let me do this."
Slacking muscles found support against the wall as Bucky flipped their stance. Mission tight abs weakened under the cold-warm dichotomy of Bucky's hands as they dug deep into his flesh. Steve let his head fall back, opening himself to the hungry mouth that slipped down his body, pulled blood to his skin and hinted of more with a grazing touch of his tongue at the head of his cock. The tease pulled his hips forward, asking; his fumbling hands buried deep into long thick hair nestled close against his thigh. The willing loll of Bucky's head as he pulled him between his legs nearly ended Steve's waning resolve not to let this keep going. A shred of responsibility made its last gasp plea. "Stop. We can't do this." Rasped words that didn't match his body's willingness, they fell ignored in the darkness.
"No, you're close, please let me." A begging response muffled by his skin and Bucky's reach to take him in.
"Get up, come on. We're done." Fingers twisted a tighter grip in hair, his tugged intention to pull him to his feet. A sliver of light streamed across their bodies enough for Steve to see Bucky, lips parted, wide-eyed want, face turned up expectant; wild and innocent, tamed and world-weary, all of what Steve ever wanted kneeling in front of him, a frightening mix of paranoia and trust, waiting for his word, no matter the consequences.
The jarring echo of "Kiev" made his choice clear. "Okay, we're done. Stop."
"You say stop but look at you. You don't want to stop." Bucky's half laughed, partly whined complaint didn't stop Steve from dragging him to his feet.
"Nope. Up. Done. I shouldn't have done this. What the hell am I thinking?" He tugged pants up, jacket shut, fending off continued attempts of skin-on-skin contact, he ended the struggle with Bucky's arms pinned behind his back pressed to the wall. Full weight laid across his chest, a ploy to hold him in place, a stolen few seconds longer before putting distance between themselves.
Bucky's muttered, "What did I do wrong?" Kept him from letting go.
"What? Nothing. You didn't do anything wrong."
"I did. You stopped. Something's wrong."
Steve pulled back; he studied Bucky's face in the shadowed light, "The safe word, not-safe word, whatever it is, Kiev, you had to say it. I hurt you."
"So, that's what it's for; you do what you want, I say Kiev if I feel bad. That's what I did. Done." Even the dim light didn't keep Steve from seeing his confusion.
"No. That's not how it works. I don't get to do what I want. You, I, we need to figure this out another time." Steve dragged his thumb along the day-old stubble on Bucky's cheek, avoiding his chasing mouth. "God, what am I going to do with you?"
"Fuck me, Stevie. That's what you're gonna do." Hips pushed forward into his own, a taunt he didn't want to ignore but would.
"Not now. Not on a mission. Later, I promise, maybe. We need to go." Steve stepped back, his hands slipped slowly from Bucky's body, "I'm letting go. We're both going to pull ourselves together and get back with Sam and Natasha before they call Stark for back-up. We will not lay a hand on one another for the rest of this god-forsaken mission. Agreed?"
A twisting move to avoid an outstretched hand, he pointed at Bucky, "Agreed. Say it."
Bucky's muttered "Agreed," Accompanied the backpack dragged along the floor as he followed Steve down the stairs, past the propped up sheet metal door and out into the yellow-glow light of the evening streets of Cartegena. The three-way chatter resumed on the comms, a distracting discussion of unruly targets, lost lunches, a drunken arms dealer and the best take-out for supper if they ever got home. It all fell to the back of his awareness as the Voice came roaring up within his brain.
"You screwed up again. Loser. That stunt on the roof, changing locations. Independent thinking isn't allowed, Soldat. You know this. Sex on a mission? You don't get to decide when that happens. You sorely lack discipline. Mother will be extremely disappointed."
"I love your nail polish, what color is that?" Natasha held Beebee's pinkie finger up to the row of incandescent bulbs that cast not-flattering shadows in the bikini shop's three-by-three dressing room. "Mine always chips, guess it's my line of work." She shrugged.
"Black Widow by Sassy Pants," The proudly cooed response as they stood together admiring the dark, sparkled nails.
"Oh." Natasha offered a raised eyebrow, "Well, that's a coincidence."
Beebee whispered, "Not really."
Natasha flirted with the urge to stun her and be one step closer to getting out of Cartegena, but the answer piqued her interest. "Why would you say that?"
"I know who you are. Really." A wide smile covered her face, "You're my hero - heroine. I can't believe you're here! Right in front of me. I hoped we'd meet, hoped our work would make us cross paths but this, this is real! OMG!" The hushed confession electric with her enthusiasm, she tightened her grip between their fingers and added an anxious bounce on her toes.
"Interesting. Okay, I'll bite, go on."
"The Battle of New York my first time seeing you, magnificent. Capital M. A woman for the ages. Capital W." A fanning motion underscored her excitement. "Warrior, holding your own, spy, fighter, femme fatale, you do it all." Beebee's voice rose with every word, a crescendo of joy and abject adoration, "I so wanted to be just like you, I even dyed my hair red." A shake of her short cropped cut. "That didn't work out; it turned orange." A waved gesture towards her head, "Hence the drab brown right now, but once my discretionary money is better, I'll get it done professionally this time, never again with the color at home method." A wag of their joined hands, she sang, "I took self-defense classes, pictured myself as you, dressed in all black, I sewed a little red spider on my shoulder, cute. Tossing the instructor around, damn what a rush. Except I wrenched my back, had to stop. Did you know that physical therapy is really much more than stretching, who knew? I'll get back there." Another dancing bounce, "Oh, oh, I took classes with nunchucks, so much like your batons," A short break to full palm fondle the baton hanging at Natasha's hip, she added a guttural growl before clarifying, "I was getting pretty good until my carpal tunnel acted up. More PT, a brace, ice, it helps. No nunchucks for me, my typing speed dropped from a hundred words a minute to forty." A leaned in secret shared, "The boss was not happy..."
The adoring rant marched on as Natasha nodded, smiled, shrugged and tucked the retrieved comm-link in her ear. "Sam, are you there? I think we're good..." Her call for backup cut short by the disturbing retching noises coming from the over-stimulated Beebee.
"Um, is everything okay?"
"Yes, no, I am just so very squeeeee about this moment."
Natasha's only warning that Beebee's lunch was heading for her chest was the faint green hew that scurried across her face; it only lasted three seconds, not long enough to avoid the regurgitated shrimp scampi.
"You're a liability Barnes, a damn liability. You're putting us all at risk." Sam brought his toes to within an eighth of an inch of Bucky's boots, square-shouldered full-frontal pissed. The festive nightlife swarmed around them on the cobblestone street too preoccupied or drunk to notice the escalation of their sparring. Steve and Natasha stood looming over a zip-tie restrained Beebee sitting on the curb, not necessarily the clear loser in the bikini shop encounter.
Bucky offered his standard response to Sam's cutting assessment, "Fuck you, Wilson."
"Nice. Same answer every time. You're so eloquent."
"Mother would treat this eloquence with her stun prod."
"Thanks. I try." Bucky's answer doubled as a retort to Wilson and the Voice. A quick tremor and side-long glance the only tell that Bucky spoke to both of them.
Sam demanded, "What the hell was that stunt on the roof about?"
"You stuck out just as much as I did, Birdman, you looked more like a vulture than a Falcon."
"That was witty, once, not when repeated."
"Funny guy, I wasn't waving a rifle at a bunch of tourists." Sam didn't back down.
"I wasn't waving a rifle; I don't wave my rifle. You're crazy."
"I'm crazy." Sam laughed, "Actually that would be you I believe, you're the one on meds, the one with the voices, not me."
The shame driven anger grabbed his attention, he fought down the urge to snap an answer or Wilson's neck.
"Birdman knows the truth. He sees you. He sees how fucked up you are. Loser."
"I'm not. No, he doesn't. You're wrong."
"What? You're not crazy? Not taking meds? Who's he? Me? Rogers? See this is what I mean. You're not even coherent half the time."
Sam's waved gesture towards him drew an uncharacteristic flinch, the rush of anxiety drove his steps back and demanded its due. He began to pace. A muttered, gritted "I hate you," as he brushed past Wilson's shoulder.
Steve sent a worried glance towards him as the pacing began.
"Right back at 'cha Barnes." Sam stood his ground, arms folded, he watched Bucky's measured pace move down the street and back again, he pointed at Bucky's feet as he passed, "Oops you missed a step. That was eight, not nine. Do over."
A near stumble at the critique, Bucky pushed forward, counting nine up and nine back, the constant internal regulation of his anxiety. A muttered, "Fuck you," tripped up his steps, "Shit," brought him back to his starting point.
Sam kept going, "While you were blowing the lid off our covert operation and sipping Pina Coladas with Steve, Natasha had a slow dance gone wrong with Beebee; Maymay's drunk selling alien weapons in the plaza and those annoying sirens? That would be La Policia searching for the crazed sniper spotted on the roof. You know, the one that works with us. The international and probably intergalactic fugitive." He waved his hand towards Bucky's back as the measured steps carried him past, "Oh, wait, that's you. We do not even want to know what the two of you did once the comms went off."
Natasha suggested, "Speak for yourself."
"Okay, Sam, let's not go there, please," Steve called as he and Nat continued their interrogation.
"He's lying. They know what you did. He heard you. They were listening to you get your rocks off. Pathetic moans of let me do this, Stevie, let me take care of you, Stevie."
Bucky shook his head, the hand that ran through his hair caught a fist-full and tugged, a desperate attempt to distract the Voice, he hoped Wilson didn't notice, an absent mutter, "Who the hell are Beebee and Maymay?"
"Our targets, Barnes, the two targets we've followed all over Cartegena for the past who knows how long."
"You know their names? No names, better that way. Better to not know."
"I'll tell you what's better. It would be better if you followed Steve's lead. If you participated as a team member, so our covert operation didn't have to descend into 'Let's all look for Barnes' like you're some damn lost puppy."
"You're a fucking distraction."
Bucky's pacing quickened, head down, hair in his face, thoughts racing one after another. Hearing Wilson's words like a low rumbled murmur overpowered by the growing conviction of the Voice, agreeing with Wilson's assessment. He thought his muttered response was internal, "You're right, both of you are right, I'm a loser. Stupid, careless, undisciplined, loser."
"Barnes, what the hell are you doing?" Sam stepped in his path, "Are you talking to me? That voice? Barnes!"
Steve jerked around at the sound of Sam's raised voice. A split second image burned into his mind's eye, Bucky's metal hand fisted into Sam's uniform, lifting him chest to chest, toes barely touching the ground. The tremor coursing through Bucky evident even in the dim light of the street. A cold hard rush of anxiety tightened his chest as he recognized the angry, disconnected stare, a nearly forgotten look since he'd stabilized on the medications, Steve crossed with caution to slide his hand over Bucky's wrist. "Buck, it's me, come on, let's take a step back." Flesh fingers entwined with metal, he dug between the digits and material, to drag away his grip. His chin brushed on Bucky's shoulder, his tone and words a fluid balance of cajoling whispered coaxing meant to keep Sam safe, protect Bucky while safe-guarding their intimacy as he talked him down inches from Sam's face. "It's over, let him go, you don't want to do this. For me, let go for me."
Bucky staggered back, his hand wrapped in Steve's grip, he let himself be led to a darkened spot on the sidewalk, panting through the blinding flash of anger and pain, he struggled to recall the last few seconds.
"Are you with me?" Steve's hand rested on his chest, quieting his pounding heartbeat. Bucky didn't answer.
"That Voice is back isn't it?"
He rolled his head against the wall, "Back? It's never gone. It's always there. Loud, quiet, helpful, cutting, never gone."
Steve moved closer, "We need to get through this, all in one piece, not fighting with one another. You've fought the Voice before, time to do it again."
"Not just me, not just the Voice," He pointed at Wilson, "He's a jerk. Worse than a jerk."
"I heard that Barnes. Takes one to know one." Sam called over the crowd that meandered between them.
Natasha pulled at Sam's arm and pointed an accusatory finger at both of them, "I admit I have no knowledge of public schools but I still know a schoolyard fight when I see one and this has got to stop. We're a long way from done. That cruise ship sets sail at dawn, and we still haven't found the weapons. You can duke this out in the gym when we get home. I am hot, tired, sweaty, there is puke down my bra, and I am at the end of my considerable patience. Zip it and move on."
"I vote no." Sam underscored his emphatic stance with a decisive crossing of his arms.
Steve sighed, "I hate to say this but, I'm with Sam."
Bucky waved a dismissive hand at the two of them but kept his "Fuck you," internal.
"Oh, something new. Self-control. Afraid of the Widow aren't you?"
Natasha weighed in, "I think it's a good plan. I vote yes." She took note of Bucky's shocked look in her direction. She shrugged. "Split decision."
Steve offered, "I'll do it. I can get her to come with me."
Nat countered, "No she knows who you are, she won't go with you without a scene."
Sam weighed in again, "This is crazy, Barnes had me off my feet less than fifteen minutes ago, and now you want him to rub elbows with innocent tourists, seduce an arms dealer in public and do it without any general mayhem? You do recall the fight in D.C. right?"
Steve stood face-to-face with Sam, "Enough, we are a team. Let's act like one."
"You and Barnes are a team; we are the sidekicks. You're defending him."
"I will defend every one of you. And maybe you missed it, I'm agreeing with you about the plan."
Beebee's voice cut through their argument, "Well you four may play superheroes on the news, but I am seriously underwhelmed right now. Matter of fact, my whole world is crashing down around me, not only is my early retirement sinking in Cartegena, my heroine belongs to a team of wonky crybabies. Personally, I got out of a bad marriage because of bickering like this." Her acerbic curbside comments brought them to a halt. "Look, what do I know, I'm just a secretary, well not just, I'm a damn good secretary, but Maymay's got a thing for the Winter Soldier, trust me, she'll follow him anywhere. If she sees any of you, she'll make a scene like you've never experienced, if she sees me with you she'll make a scene; if she sees me by myself she'll wonder why I'm not working the hotel buyers and she'll make a scene. Your only hope of corralling her is that gorgeous hunk of man-flesh looking all kinds of together over there holding up that wall."
Beebee's nod directed all of them to follow her gaze towards Bucky who indeed leaned against the wall, one knee bent, his foot propped behind him, arms crossed, head tilted in one of his best puppy dog reminiscent "I'm not too sure what's going on right now, why is everyone staring at me" poses.
"Kneel down, Barnes." Romanova pointed in front of her. "We need to neaten you up a bit. Kneel down. I can't reach your hair."
Bucky stared down at her, a mix of concern, paranoia, intrigue, and exhaustion; he relented when Steve slipped his hand across the back of his neck and whispered, "A man-bun, never heard of it, but can't wait to see this."
Tenuous shuffled feet led to a drop to his knees; he eyed her move behind him with a good deal of suspicion only quieted by the tight grip he had on Steve's hand.
"No garrote. You haven't pissed me off to that level in a long time. I've downgraded my revenge to gaslighting you at home."
Bucky's suspicious glare over his shoulder was matched by the subdued look of horror that crossed Steve's face.
"Sorry, sorry, just a joke, a stupid, stupid, unfeeling joke. No offense. Now get your head over here and stop being so sensitive. You should trust me by now."
Natasha furrowed her brow as she pulled and tugged at his hair, deftly shaping it into a not-too-neat ball at the back of his head, she pulled a few wisps of hair out in the front, spit on a finger and patted down a wayward strand and smiled, "Maymay's gonna love you."
Bucky wrinkled his nose at the spit hair gel and frowned about the Maymay comment.
Steve pulled him to his feet, spun him a half turn and nodded his approval. "I like it."
Bucky muttered, "Liar," as he stripped off the leather jacket, dropped his guns in the backpack and took a long deep breath before stepping out into the ebb and flow of laughing, talking, dancing sea of humanity.
Steve asked, "What are we doing?" A metaphorical question more than a practical one.
Sam jumped in, "We're watching Barnes apply his true calling as a psychopathic stalker."
"I am keeping score." Natasha reminded.
Steve pulled his uniform jacket down and tied it around his waist. A concession to the close quarters and need to blend in for the sake of tailing Bucky. His slow meandering steps shadowed Bucky's wandering through the crowded square as his deceptive saunter brought him closer to the twirling, singing, spectacle that was target number two. His mirrored movements far enough away to not raise Maymay's concern should she see him but still within his reach if Bucky fell apart.
Steve's worried eye followed his every casual graze of material on the vendor carts, each curious glance towards the shoppers milling within inches of his reach. An ache crept up into his chest watching Bucky's barely hidden look of wonder as he took in the bright colored items, his hand lingering a few seconds longer on rough-hewn cottons, running soft silks through his fingers time and again only to drop the item when the vendor spoke to him. Steve's chest hurt with Bucky's gentle gaze lingered long on the couples, bodies pressed tight, swaying in time to the music, arms entangled, heads close. A close to uncontrolled urge to go to him, pull him into an engulfing embrace, burying his face in his neck and let the music move them together right out there on the plaza, in public, mission or no mission, dancing skills or none. His heart ached for Bucky.
"Everything okay?" Steve had to ask.
A thumbs up raked across Bucky's cheek. A clear signaled answer. An unspoken relief with the blue leather jacket shed, and his hair pulled off his neck in the lingering evening heat. A discreet hand slid along the small of his back, a ritualistic check for the two knives hidden beneath his T-shirt. One quick glance down to his boot, an accounting of the third knife barely peaking above his ankle. The metal arm uncovered, as natural to him as anyone else's flesh arm; no one seemed to take notice.
"I hurt you." Steve's quiet observation crept into Bucky's hearing.
The tilted head response signaled the words found their target; he didn't answer.
"You had to say it. Kiev. I made you say it."
A quick side-long glance towards Steve's position, his gaze flickered briefly away from Maymay's unique approach to weapons sales.
"That's not the first time, is it? You've thought it before, haven't you? Makes sense, you just don't say it."
A stranger would see the head shake as an annoyed encounter with an insect; Steve read it as a denial.
"Why wouldn't you say something?"
The metal shoulder rose and fell, a shrug that didn't answer one way or the other. Bucky moved along the line of bright colored carts, a self-imposed barrier between himself and the human sea of party-goers swirling in the middle of the plaza.
Bucky's quiet whisper, "Shut up. I told you. I'm fine."
"Hardly. You had to use the safe word."
"So. That's why we have the words. Right? You do your thing If I can't handle it. I say the word."
"That is not the plan. This is a two-way street here."
"Look, I like what we do; I want you to..."
"Stop!" Sam cut his sentence short, "Those of us with a remaining work ethic do not want to hear this conversation. Please have mercy."
"Cranky aren't we?" Bucky muttered and continued his voluntary mission to be the bait in their attempt to bring in the wayward administrative assistant, part-time arms dealer, Maymay.
Criss-crossed strings of lights danced in the night breeze, their bouncing glow a counterpoint to the festive music wafting across the tables and open center of the plaza. Laughter, chatter, the clinking of plates and glasses punctuated the strumming sounds of guitars and quick joyful cadence of singers. Bucky circled like the predator he was taught to be, a benign shadow figure creeping closer and closer to his unsuspecting prey.
The robust woman in the long flowing tangerine and white skirt, and off-the-shoulder tank top spun a dizzying circle, staggering ever wider as she let the booze, the night and the negotiations take her. Her contagious enthusiastic laugh spread across the clandestine arms dealers and tourists alike. Maymay was on a roll.
Bucky studied her technique. A quick mental note, each whirling spin brought her to four distinct tables. His mind stumbled over the fourth one. A quick head shake, his eyes darted left then right, he paused.
"You okay?" Steve's worried question filled his hearing.
"Four."
"Four? Right, four. Not three. Got it. Plus one, like we talked about."
Natasha chimed in, "One is good, three is divisible by one. Plus one is acceptable."
"What the hell are you all talking about?" Sam had yet to accept the three fetish workarounds.
Bucky clenched his jaw, "I'm good." He made his way to his chosen interception point.
"I love Cartegena! No really, I do. I love, love, love this place!" Maymay's enthusiastic endorsement of her current location rang across the plaza to the amusement of tourist, locals and most of the arms dealers. She spun, swirled and danced from table number two to number three. "Hello, my dears. How are you? I have forty-seven thousand reasons to be here. Will you make it forty-eight?"
A slight head nod from a man in a pressed white linen suit sent her cackling, spinning self on towards table number four. She grabbed a drink from a passing waiter, spun another full turn while sucking on a straw and headed for her next bidder.
Bucky's step hesitated. Table number four, caught in his mind. A cold sweat dripped down his back; a numbness clouded his thoughts. He pushed his foot forward, struggling to keep moving. The internal fight to overcome the anxiety-driven number obsession fell by the wayside when he heard a gasp. Maymay's alcohol-fueled spinning tripped over a stone and sent her considerable form hurtling towards a small child in a stroller. She screamed at the inevitable collision, her dangling, wrenching moves to avoid it only made it worse. The whole event slowed down, parents yelling, Maymay's scream, the cries of a terrified child all playing out like a stop-motion macabre train wreck until Bucky's metal hand connected with her arm.
The force of her fall dragged him forward to follow her trajectory; he dug his foot into the pavement, the resistance swung her in a wide-arching circle around him. Finally landing face-first into his chest, driving the air from his lungs, her arms wrapped tightly around his body, her sobbing wetness spread across his T-shirt.
Bucky stood frozen in place wearing the large weeping woman.
"Oh my god, you saved me. You saved that child. Thank you. Thank you." Maymay's hands wandered across his back, took in his hips, "Oh my, you're strong, look at you, feel you. Wow, tight. you're very tight." A caress of his thighs, a quick pinching exam of firm abs, hands settling on his ass, she gripped both butt cheeks with the certainty and enthusiasm only outdone by Steve.
"Remember to breathe, Barnes." The laughter in Natasha's voice was clear, "Talk to her. Ask to walk her home."
Sam chimed in, "Someone, get their phone out. Mine's dead. We need a picture of this, come on Nat. The look on his face is too much. He looks terrified."
Bucky searched the crowd for Steve. Eyes darting left and right, his hands at his sides, fear crawling up his body, unable to talk or move or think with this full body mauling grip, hands tightly wrapped in his flesh, a body not Steve's pressed to his chest; the panic sent fire across his brain. The urge to shove her off, throw her to the ground pushed his hands to grab her arms.
Steve's grounding voice came from somewhere, "You are fine. I'm right here. Look at me. On your left. Just look up."
Bucky slowly raised his eyes; a shiver ran through him until Steve stepped out from the gathering crowd. Near enough to see the blue of his eyes. "I've got you."
Maymay looked up at Bucky. "I know you?" She ran her fingers along his metal arm, awe in her eyes, her hand slipped around his bicep. "I know you."
He stared down at her, watching her fingers trace the grooves on his arm, the sensation of skin, sliding along the metal. Not Steve's skin. But not threatening either. Her touch gentle, a caress, careful exploration nearly not threatening, just enough to allow a breath, to stop his tremor. His flesh hand hinted contact with the small of her back. A stuttered hesitant, "I'm walking you home. Game's over. Okay?"
Maymay nodded.
Bucky bit his lip.
Steve started breathing again.
Natasha held up a skimpy multicolored bikini with several shiny objects dangling from various strings. "Nice choice Barnes." The mixture of surprise and admiration in Natasha's tone evoked an odd sensation in his gut. A feeling that resembled how he felt when Steve offered a word or look of praise. His mind forced the thought of enjoying Romanova's praise into a dark closet, slammed the door and threw away the key.
A pile of clothing laid in the middle of the passenger bay next to a ratty suitcase, two semi-functional Chitauri replica weapons, a bag of trail mix and six wet C4 detonator caps.
"I thought you didn't have any money?" Sam wondered. "You never pay for anything, ever."
Bucky ignored him and settled into a jumpseat across from Maymay who had hearts in her eyes as she stared at him. He tried hard not to make eye contact.
"Steve, an allowance? He does no chores whatsoever, and he gets an allowance?"
"No allowance," Steve called back from the controls.
"A credit card? Seriously, you gave him a credit card?"
"No credit card. Why?"
"There's a pile of stuff back here. Barnes went shopping. When the hell did he have time to shop? More importantly, how did he shop without money?"
"I have no idea, ask him. He's sitting right in front of you."
Natasha came to his defense, "Hey, at least he thought to get me a clean shirt, Wilson." She pointed at the "I Heart Cartagena" T-shirt that took the place of her vomit-covered uniform top. "That's a lot more than you thought to do."
Sam shook his head, "You stole all that stuff. I know it. I'm telling Steve as soon as we get back. Suck up."
Bucky smirked.
