Chapter Four

Bucky slept fitfully that night. Admittedly, ever since Steve had dragged him out of Zola's laboratory, his sleep in general hadn't been peaceful, filled with hazy nightmares of scalpels and needles that left him waking up in panic, throwing himself out of bed almost immediately just to prove to himself that he wasn't strapped down. This night, however, he just felt a horrible sense of apprehension, like something was going to happen, and the worst of it was that he couldn't tell whether it was justified or not. He was usually all for trusting his feelings, but this was different from any circumstance he'd experienced, and he'd experienced some strange (very, very strange) circumstances.

So he tossed and turned restlessly, dozed briefly, and got up for breakfast feeling a little like a tank had run him over.

Natasha, Steve, and Clint were down in the kitchen area, and he ate a bowl of something called Lucky Charms while nodding and smiling at their small talk and trying to look as though he was paying attention. He felt a little better after the cereal, probably because it appeared to be almost entirely composed of sugar, but dawdling around the kitchen half-heartedly looking at futuristic appliances didn't exactly provide much distraction and after the third concerned look Steve sent his way, he was just about fed up.

He dropped himself into the chair in front of Steve. "So, still no news on the research?"

Steve sighed. "This is going to take time, Buck. I trust Tony and Bruce to—"

"Okay, okay, I know." He tapped the table restlessly. "Just—they haven't figured out whether it'd screw things up for me to get any info, I'm presuming."

"They haven't, no."

"Right." He sat glumly at the table for an uncomfortable thirty seconds. "I only— Is it really going to be a problem if I know general things? I mean, I already know stuff about the technology, and I know you're here, now. I'm just not allowed to ask any questions about what I really want to know, and it's getting… I feel like we're all practising a smaller version of the whole 'Loose Lips Sink Ships' policy."

"Bucky, you're not the enemy. But we don't know—" said Steve, looking pained.

"We're covering all bases," said Clint, who had finished his toast and was hovering eagerly near the coffee pot. "Better to be safe than sorry and all that."

Bucky scowled. "If it turns out that really little things can cause changes, we're screwed anyway, though. You'll have to—" —use Thor's tech to wipe my brain, he nearly said, but he caught himself in time. He didn't really want to think about it, and there was no need to give Steve flashbacks because he was feeling twitchy, for god's sake. "—to figure something out to deal with that."

"So it's probably best not to make it any worse then." Natasha observed him calmly over her tea cup, from which she was taking dainty sips. Bucky tried to glare at her, but she didn't bat an eyelid.

Finally he sighed in frustration and stood up. "I'm going back to my room. To read a book, watch a film or something."

Steve shot him yet another concerned look. "I am sorry, Buck. Are you okay?"

He looked over at Steve's worried face and sighed. "Yeah, I'm—I slept bad, that's all. I'm just frustrated and twitchy."

"We could do something to wear you out," said Steve. In the background there was a sudden splutter as Clint choked on his coffee. A complicated expression passed over Steve's face. "By which I mean," he added, slightly louder than he needed to, "we could play a game in the gym or something."

Bucky found himself smiling despite himself. "Yeah, that's okay, Steve. I'm not really in the mood for games."

In the background, Clint smirked and Natasha gave him a look that adequately conveyed how disappointed she was in his immaturity.

Steve just looked as worried as ever, and Bucky tried to seem reassuring. "I'm okay, honest," he said. "Just need a bit of rest or something. I'll come down later."

At this, Steve looked slightly mollified. "Don't forget lunch. I'll see if I can catch up with Tony and Bruce's progress, maybe see if I can get them to come down."

"That'd be great," he replied, and meant it. Actually having some idea of what was going on would surely help with the restlessness, after all. It would at least make him feel less paranoid.


Bucky did try reading at first, and then he tried watching another film, the second movie in the "Star Wars" trilogy this time. He couldn't really concentrate though, and ended up switching it off before he found out how Luke managed to avoid expiring from hypothermia on Hoth (clearly he was going to; it wasn't like they'd leave a main character to freeze in the middle of nowhere when there were still one and a half films to go).

Next he wandered listlessly around the room for a bit, looking at shelves and posters. They'd moved him from where he'd initially woken up, and he was now staying in Steve's apartment in the Tower, in a massive bedroom with a plush bed, multiple chairs for lounging and even a small balcony, although he hadn't yet gone out onto it. This meant that the decorations were at least more personal that the sleek, generic ornaments from the other room, but he couldn't help but notice the absence of anything that gave any real information about future events. Probably the only exception was a framed black and white photograph of wild celebrations in New York; from the skyline and the clothing style of the citizens and servicemen it was easy to guess that it was a photo of the victory celebrations from when the war ended. Still, he already knew that it had all ended; all that really told him was that victory couldn't have been too long from when he was picked up. That in itself should have made him relieved, and it did, but this still didn't quiet his sense of jittery unease. It didn't help that he knew that Steve hadn't been there to celebrate, and he'd almost wonder why Steve would keep a picture of something he never experienced himself except—he got it. He did. It was evidence. A reassurance that something so huge and all-encompassing, that defined the lives of so many for so long, could come to a finish. If Bucky were in Steve's place, he'd put up that picture too.

Wearying of the room investigation, he flopped down into a comfy lounge chair next to the window and stared out at the city below. It was so much taller than before, the sky filled with skyscrapers of all shapes and designs. Some were sleek and streamlined; others looked similar to the ones that he recognised, the ones that had been around in his time. Then there was the good old Empire State, and there was something eminently comforting about the fact that it, at least, was still standing strong.

He hadn't seen the outside of the Avengers Tower, but judging from the interior, he guessed it was leaning towards the "sleek and streamlined" end of skyscraper design. It also had to be one of the tallest buildings in New York; he wasn't even on the top floor and he had to crane to see anything that was happening on the ground. The people looked like toy figurines, thousands of them weaving around the streets and in and out of traffic.

He'd been somewhat disappointed to see a distinct lack of flying cars. Steve assured him that there were some working examples around, but he'd rather thought that they'd be in everyday use by now. Still, scanning the skyline, there were quite a few helicopters hovering around above the buildings, and he could see the black spots of planes in the distance and off to the sides, so it wasn't like the sky didn't have its share of… wait a sec—

Bucky blinked, and turned his head back to focus on the window next to the balcony. There had been something—something out of the corner of his eye. Another black spot, and his mind had at first discounted it as something in the sky, but now he wasn't so sure that it had been—there!

He frowned and leaned closer in the chair, puzzled. It wasn't something in the sky; it wasn't something far away at all. It was outside on the window itself, and he would have thought that it was a blemish, except that he'd seen it move. An insect? A spider? Up here? This place was enormous; how far up did spiders live? Curiosity finally pushed him out of the chair and he padded over a few steps to look at the window close-up.

His first thought was, "Oh, it is a spider." It certainly had spider-like proportions; it was tiny and had a black body with spindly legs extending from it. Then he looked closer at the body and… was that metal?

Suddenly wide-awake, Bucky backed away carefully, keeping his eyes on the—thing, until he got to the small panel that was situated next to the bedroom door. He tapped it. "JARVIS?" he said in a low voice.

Gratifyingly, JARVIS replied in a voice that was equally soft, "Sergeant Barnes?"

He watched the black mechanical spider thing. It shuffled slightly to the left, further from the balcony but slightly closer to where Bucky was currently standing. He frowned. "This is going to sound like a strange question, but… you live in the mechanical things in this building, right? Like—you're connected to them all?"

"I am networked to most of the tower's systems," JARVIS replied, quietly, "Although my ability to connect with a device is restricted if it lacks complexity within its own systems. Is there a device that you wish me to interact with?"

"No, I—actually maybe. Look, maybe this is even part of your systems. Do you have things that look like metal spiders walking around on the windows outside of the buildings?"

JARVIS seemed to pause for a tiny second, or perhaps Bucky just imagined it. "I do not have a feature like that, no. Am I to assume that you have come across something like it?"

"There's something like it outside the window in my room!"

This time there was a slight delay. "None of my sensors are detecting any kind of device, even through visual means."

Bucky carefully moved back closer to the spider thing, still keeping his voice low. "I'm looking right at it! And it's definitely made of metal. I can see the joins in it; it's not a real spider." He paused as a sudden thought struck him. "It might be a real bug, though. I mean, an electronic one. Howard showed us some designs he was making with hidden microphones and they were real small, so I'm assuming that in the future they'd be able to be disguised as insects, or spiders…"

"If it is an electronic bug, then it is very troubling that it would be cloaked from my sensors," said JARVIS. "I will put out an alert to the team."

"No, wait!" he hissed.

Another pause. Then: "Yes?"

"Look." He had to resist the urge to take his eyes off the bug and address the ceiling, or the wall, or something. It was maddening, talking to thin air. "We need to be careful. It's tiny, and hanging on the side of the building, and it's capable of movement. If it's a bug, the person on the other side will get rid of it in a heartbeat if they realise there's something wrong, and if you can't detect this one we don't know how many other bugs there are around the building. Making a fuss about it means it'll disappear and we won't get a chance to examine it."

JARVIS seemed to accept this for the moment. "Do you have a suggestion that might allow us to retrieve it?"

Bucky thought quickly. "Well, I don't think the person listening is suspicious yet, or else it would probably already be gone. Look, it's near the balcony. It might be able to be reached from there." He looked over at the coffee table, where an empty bowl he'd been using for popcorn the other night was still resting. "We could try the traditional way of trapping bugs."

"You are saying that a bowl should be an adequate means to trap a device that is sophisticated enough to cloak itself from my sensors?"

Bucky did briefly look at the ceiling then, with some suspicion. The AI's tone hadn't sounded sarcastic, but it was hard to tell. "Do you have a something on hand that would be better?"

When JARVIS didn't answer, he grabbed the bowl, glided quietly over to the balcony doors, and tried to open them.

They didn't budge.

He frowned impatiently, keeping one eye on the bug and the other on the doors. They didn't have handles, but there were two metal panels inlaid where the handles would be. He'd assumed that pushing on or tapping them would do something but— "JARVIS?" he whispered. "The doors won't open."

"Yes," said JARVIS. "I'm afraid I've been directed to not allow you to go out there. If you will wait, I'll discreetly alert one of the others to the situation so that they can—"

"Wait, what?" Bucky interrupted sharply. "I'm not allowed to go out on the balcony?"

JARVIS's voice was as calm as ever. "I have been instructed to not allow you to leave the building."

"Not even to the balcony?" His voice was rising despite himself, and he hastily reined himself in and hissed: "I'm not supposed to go out so I don't find out too much about the future! What exactly can I find out on the balcony that I can't find out looking out the window?"

"My instructions are—"

"That's ridiculous. Look, we're wasting time. Open the doors."

Bucky waited. The doors completely failed to open. "JARVIS!"

"I'm afraid that my instructions were quite clear. It would be dangerous to allow you to leave the building."

The uneasy feeling that he'd woken up with was now curling through him again. "I'm sorry, what possible danger is there in letting me out onto the balcony? There's no information out there, unless…unless there's something out there that I can't see from here." A thread of panic started deep in his gut. He'd been assuming that what he could see out the window was what was actually out the window, but now that he thought about it, what proof did he have? With the technology he'd seen, it'd be easy to project an image on the windows. Why was he even trusting—

JARVIS cut into his thoughts, tone soothing. "There is no deceit about what is outside the windows, I assure you. If you wish to talk to the Captain—"

Steve. That was why he was trusting these people. Goddammit, he needed to calm down. Steve wouldn't deceive him like that. "Okay fine. What's the danger you're talking about then? What do they think I'm going to do, throw myself off?"

"Were that to happen, it would present a problem—"

"Why the hell would I—"

"However, it may be that this decision was made in haste." JARVIS managed to sound marginally apologetic. "I am attempting to contact Sir in order to discuss the situation."

"Or you could just make the decision," Bucky said, irritated now. "I thought they said you could think for yourself."

JARVIS blithely ignored him. "It will only take a short time to check," he said, and went silent again.

Bucky bit his lip in frustration and watched the bug. If there really was someone on the other side of it, he thought, it was a miracle that it hadn't already been destroyed with the amount of conversation he'd been having. Yes, he'd kept his voice down, but surely someone had heard something? Of course, the fact that it hadn't been destroyed could mean any number of other things. It might be there to do something other than eavesdrop, although he was stumped as to what else a minute metallic fake spider would be for. Perhaps it was recording but didn't have someone actually listening to it live? Which meant he needed to retrieve it as soon as possible, before someone did start to listen. "JARVIS," he warned. "I'm about thirty seconds from prying the door—"

"I apologise for the delay," intercepted JARVIS smoothly. "Sir has given permission for the door to be opened. However, if you wait just a few minutes more, he and Clint are going to come down—"

"I'll have it for them to look at, then," he said impatiently. The last thing he wanted to do was wait longer.

Bucky pressed against the panels on the balcony doors, and this time they opened effortlessly under his touch and he stepped outside. A tiny, irrational part of himself was still holding its breath in anticipation of the world outside the building turning out to be some kind of horrible apocalypse or something, but JARVIS had been telling the truth at that. It looked exactly the same, although there was an odd smell to the air that hadn't been there in his day. He looked carefully over at the bug. It seemed mostly still and was sitting about three feet off to the side of the balcony. He might have to lean, but he could reach it with the bowl, and he'd be able to pull it closer when he got it. Bucky soundlessly shuffled closer, keeping an eye on the bug as he did.

He was so absorbed in his task, he'd be the first to say that he wasn't paying attention to his surroundings. So when he glanced over the balcony edge at one of the buildings in the distance, it was pure instinct that caused him to register movement and a small flash of light near the top.

Pure instinct that made him drop to the balcony floor, just in time for the bullet to whistle over his head and into the glass behind him.

Sniper. Adrenaline kicked in like a flood. The balcony was tiny and bare, with almost no cover. The worst place to be under fire; the best place to hit your target. Idiot, he was an idiot. He lunged back through the balcony door and another bullet whistled past, barely missing this time. It hit the door, which swung open widely and cracked but didn't shatter. Reinforced glass, had to be. Good news for him, although the fact that it could stand up to one bullet didn't mean it would stand up to several. He turned back momentarily to try to push the balcony door back, then dived behind the comfy chair as another bullet thumped into the glass, and then two more bullets whistled through the open doorway and into the far wall, just in time for the bedroom door to fly open and Clint to burst in.

"Sniper!" Bucky yelled, and to his credit, Clint was already in motion, falling to his knees, loosening an arrow just before dropping behind the bed.

"The hell happened?!" he yelled.

"They wanted me on the balcony!" he yelled back, because of course they did. Dammit.

Clint expertly drew another arrow while half lying down, and then, keeping it drawn, he carefully craned his head around the side of the bed.

Several things happened at once, then. First, there was a crashing sound behind him, and the doorway of the bedroom was filled with what looked like a large red and gold robot. The robot surged forward and raised an arm and—

Clint's body tensed in alarm and he yelled, "get down" and then "grenade!" and—

The robot was suddenly flying towards him and—

There was a sound like thunder and—

The room dissolved into light—

He was flying backwards—

His head slammed—

His head

Time snapped back into motion, and there was fire and concrete and he was lying, stunned, amongst the dust, and furniture, and building parts, and he opened his mouth to say something, and then coughed and gasped as his chest seized with pain, and there was no sound but the ringing, droning in his ears that obliterated anything else and his head pounded and he blinked vaguely and noticed that there were spots of red all over his vision which was very—which was very—