Something along the lines of 'Well shit' ran through the Soldiers mind. That certainly did not go as expected. He stared in numbed shock at the shattered glass on the concrete, and was still holding the door handle in his left hand when an alarm sounded. He'd heard many alarms in his life and he had been taught to pay them no heed. However, this alarm sounded particularly loud and frightening, and he couldn't help but look around for some sort of cover. The Solider was just about to slip away when he heard feet pounding down the stairs from inside the tower. Bucky turned, sudden panic screaming at him to flee, when he heard a voice behind him command, "Freeze!"

The Solider stopped. He had been through this so many times. It was almost like a game. All the time in the car, and the plane had made him restless. He needed to let some of his frustration out. He kept his back to the man, slowly raising his hands.

"Keep your hands where I can see them." The voice said again.

He stood completely still, hands above his head. Bucky chuckled a nervous chuckle.

"Now turn, slowly, and face me." He did as he was told, and found himself staring down the shaft of an arrow. The man on the other side looked calm and collected, his gaze and aim unwavering. When he saw the smile on Bucky's lips, he narrowed his eyes.

"Enjoying this?"

"Не так ли?" The Soldier replied. Bucky saw nothing but red. In a flash his right arm came up, sweeping the bow to the side of his face. He heard the arrow whiz by as the archer fired a moment too late. His left arm then wrapped around his opponents throat. He easily tossed the man at the other sliding glass door, the glass exploding as the archers body slammed through it. Bucky stormed toward him, fully expecting the fight to be over. The archer recovered almost instantly, pulling another arrow from its sheath. To the Soldiers surprise, the archer miraculously seemed unfazed. The opponent pulled the string back, ready to fire again, but the bottom of the Soldiers combat boot slammed into the middle of his chest.

Clint Barton was not on the top of his game today. He had just returned from a long mission in South America, in which he had stopped an invasion of hostile space terrorists and he was exhausted. He certainly deserved a night of deserved rest in his own bed. Clint could feel his ribs break. Each crack, each snap, each shatter. He could feel them, he wasn't sure how many, mangled and twisted, tearing out of the muscles that were supposed to hold them in place. He let out a strangled scream of agony, which only made the pain worse. He skidded across the floor, only stopping when he thumped into the wall. Delirious from the pain, he managed to duck out of the way of the metal fist flying toward his head. It connected with the wall behind him, and he heard the plaster crack and break. Tony is going to be so pissed, he thought as a dribble of blood ran out of his mouth, and struggled to crawl forward on his knees and elbows. He felt the Solider close in for the kill.

"Bucky! Bucky, what are you doing?! Bucky STOP!"

Bucky heard someone screaming his name through the roaring of blood in his ears. The red haze began to fade and he became aware of someone grabbing him from behind. They were screaming for him to stop. Bucky thought he recognized that voice. Steve? Bucky let out a scream of his own as he tried to break free from Steve's crushing grip. Bucky then fully became aware when he heard a feminine voice scream in his ear, "STOP IT! YOU'RE KILLING HIM!" He looked down and saw his left arm gripping the archers throat. The mans struggles were growing weaker, and his face was nearly purple. He gasped and released the archers throat. The red haired women, Natasha he remembered, crouched by the mans side, grabbing his hand and blocking Bucky's view.

"No... No, no, no, NO! Oh God No!" Bucky screamed, struggling again to break free. Steve's grip didn't weaken, and now he was forcefully pulling Bucky back, away from the chaos. Several other people were running into the room, a dark haired man that looked like he hadn't slept in days, a muscular man with long blonde hair and a man in glasses. Bucky was screaming unintelligible things now, half in Russian, half in English. All the people were yelling and Bucky watched as he was forced backward into a smaller room. More of a container, really. The doors in front of them slid shut. His throat felt raw and suddenly his strength left him. He went limp, and crumpled to the floor of the elevator, Steve following. He hugged Bucky close, trying his best to comfort his friend.

"I'm sorry!" Bucky blurted out.

"Shh, I know, I know." Steve replied, rubbing Bucky's back soothingly. It did little to comfort him, however.

I'm sorry. Мне очень жаль. So sorry. I'm sorry. Мне очень жаль. I'm so sorry. Sorry. Мне очень жаль.

Translations for this chapter: Не так ли? (Aren't you?)

Мне очень жаль. (I am sorry)