Natasha had chosen Ivan's, a bar in the middle of Novosibirsk, as their meeting place. Bucky found it easily, and went inside. He paused inside the door to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim interior light. Unlike in the States or some of the more tourist-oriented cities, no neon signs illuminated the interior, only a few lamps along the walls.

Of course the bar itself was the dimmest area, the better for the bartenders to water down the drinks without the customers noticing. Bucky ordered vodka, not surprised when it turned out to be a local brand unavailable outside Russia, and found a table that offered a decent view of the bar, especially the door.

At half past seven, the bar was doing a brisk business mostly from factory workers stopping off for a drink or three before heading home to their families. It was an easy place to blend in, Bucky decided, and sat back in his chair. He sipped the vodka, savoring the cool burn down his throat as he swallowed.

He could only hope Natasha had been more successful in their search for the Mandarin, or even the Ten Rings, than he had. He'd scoured the local underworld for bratva officers, found a couple, but they proved to be as ignorant as he was feeling. He'd moved on to the riverfront.

The Ob River hadn't been a significant official transportation route for more than a century, but Bucky was willing to bet that a lot of unofficial merchandise still floated down to the Gulf of Ob, then to the Kara Sea, the Barents Sea, and beyond. It probably did, but those who moved it either didn't know anything or, less likely, kept their mouths shut despite the asset's interrogation techniques.

All in all, a very disappointing day – but one that would get better when he called Pepper later. Bucky might not be one for long telephone conversations, but just the sight of her on the other end of the electronic connection would lift his spirits. He was looking forward to it.

He was halfway through his drink, now approaching room temperature, when he saw a flash of red – Natalia's hair – through the smoky room. He downed the last of his vodka and signaled the bartender for two more.

Natalia – no, Natasha, and he really had to remember that, even if she never objected – threaded her way through the crowd with a grace a ballet dancer would envy. She saw him and turned toward him, only to be caught up short by a man grabbing her arm.

That was stupid. Bucky just wished he had some popcorn.

Even his enhanced senses couldn't make out their words over the din of conversation and loud music, but Bucky could read her expression well enough. It went from a distant politeness to amusement, and then in the space between heartbeats shifted to I'm trying to think of a reason not to kill you.

Yep, he definitely wanted popcorn.

With a subtle move almost too quick for him to follow, Natalia dislocated the man's shoulder and then left him howling in pain and continued through the room.

Bucky slid one of the drinks toward her as she sat down. "Thanks for not killing him."

"Steve would be upset by the bad publicity if I did."

"Yeah, I've been on the receiving end of his I'm disappointed in you expression a couple of times." Bucky shook his head ruefully, then picked up his glass. "Nicely done."

Natasha raised her own, and then, with a wicked glint in her eye, knocked back the entire drink in one swallow.

Bucky rolled his eyes before following suit. He put his glass down and gave her a steady look. "You do know I can't get drunk, right?"

Natasha shrugged, and Bucky signaled for two more.

"Anything?" he asked.

"Someone called the Mandarin was the subject of a lot of gossip a few months back."

"The Killian incident?"

"A little before. Spasibo," she added to the waitress who brought their drinks. "The best rumors these days are that he's still in the area, just staying quiet. More stones to turn over, hoping for scorpions."

Bucky grunted an acknowledgment. He'd known even before they left New York that this would be hunting for a needle in a haystack, but he'd do it, and lots more, to keep Pepper safe. He was still surprised that Natasha had come with him, given that her memories of Russia couldn't be any better than his of Germany.

He took another swallow of vodka, aware of Natasha's eyes on him even as he kept an eye on the table where she'd left a man with a dislocated shoulder. These men weren't the type to let that lie. He shifted his gaze away from them long enough to give her a sidelong glance. "What?"

"If I'd known it was a wasted effort, I wouldn't have slept outside the quinjet last night."

"If you'd asked, I would've told you."

She looked skeptical. "You would've?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"1940's morals?"

"Were a lot more variable than people think nowadays. I'm never going to share everything with everyone, but a friend? Sure."

"Are we friends?"

The question surprised him, and then he thought it shouldn't. Bucky took another swallow of vodka while he considered his answer. At the other table, the man with the dislocated shoulder had stopped yowling and was looking angry.

"Maybe not," Bucky said finally. "But we're teammates. And Steve trusts you. And you wouldn't have been asking out of prurient motives."

"Nobody uses words like prurient much anymore."

"It's a good word. We should go." He knocked back the last of his vodka, watched her do the same, and then rose, dropping enough rubles on the table to cover their tab.

He led the way through the crowd, not obviously avoiding the injured man's table but not heading directly for it, either. Just when he thought they'd slip out without incident, a beefy man with all the subtlety of a shotgun planted himself in front of them.

"Step aside," Bucky said, the Russian coming more easily after two days of speaking nothing but. "No one else has to get hurt."

"Except you and your little bitch there," the man replied. "She hurt Leonid."

"He grabbed me," Natasha said. "What did you think would happen?"

That seemed to confuse Beefy. There might still be a chance to get out of this without more of an incident, Bucky decided.

"Tell you what," he said, "I'll relocate Leonid's shoulder, Natalia will apologize, and we'll buy the next round."

Leonid looked up. "You can fix my shoulder."

"Da." Bucky moved closer, extending his flesh hand in a questioning manner. Leonid hesitated briefly, then nodded.

"Do it."

Bucky positioned himself behind Leonid, and a minute later, Leonid yelped as his shoulder went back into its socket.

"Ice it," Bucky told him. "It'll feel better tomorrow."

Beefy scowled. "You said you'd buy the next round."

"I did." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a handful of rubles, counted off enough to buy two rounds.

He started to put the remaining bills back into his pocket, but Beefy's hand closed over his.

"We drink a lot," Beefy said.

"Remove your hand," Bucky told him. "Or I'll shatter it."

Beefy looked startled by the threat, and then laughed. Bucky smiled with him. Beefy probably figured that since he outmassed Bucky by a good twenty kilos, he'd win the fight.

"You want me to move my hand? Drop the money."

Bucky didn't plan to fight. He withdrew his other hand, the metal one, from the pocket of his hoodie, rested it over Beefy's hand, then squeezed.

"I said I'd shatter it," Bucky said. "You should be feeling the pressure by now, the muscles constricting around the bones, the bones moving toward each other …"

"Bozhe moy." Leonid's exclamation was little more than a breath, just enough to be heard over the din. "Zima Soldat."

A working-class bar in Novosibirsk wasn't the last place Bucky expected to be recognized, but it certainly wasn't in the top ten, or even the top thousand, places he might have expected it.

"You know me?" Bucky asked.

"Of you," Leonid corrected. "I was KGB when I was younger. Please don't break Viktor's hand. He's a good man."

Bucky released the other man, even though he wasn't certain he agreed with Leonid's opinion. Beefy – Viktor – backed away, rubbing his hand to restore the circulation.

"What are you doing here?" Leonid asked.

"Looking for a man called the Mandarin," Natasha answered. "Or his organization, the Ten Rings. Know of them?"

"I have heard things," Leonid said. "They are coming back, as the Americans say. Starting small, but serious."

"Do you know where we can find them?" Bucky asked.

Leonid shook his head. "I have heard rumors they want to build an empire from the Black Sea to the Baltic. I still have contacts in Moscow, and I can ask what they've heard."

If what Leonid said were true, they'd been searching a few hundred miles too far east. If. But this might be their best chance for solid information. Bucky glanced at Natasha. She gave a minute shrug, leaving the decision to him. It was no choice, really – if this man's contacts had information that could keep Pepper safe, Bucky would use him.

"Tell me your telephone number," Bucky instructed.

Leonid recited a string of numbers, and Bucky repeated them, committing them to memory. "I will call tomorrow night."

Leonid shook his head. "If I were still KGB, I would ask what they have done to earn your interest. But I am not, and I no longer wish to know such things."

"Probably wise," Natasha muttered.

Leonid grinned suddenly. "Not only have I faced Zima Soldat and lived, but he bought me a drink."

"Probably wise not to tell that story too often," Natasha said.

"No one would believe me if I did," Leonid said.

#

Bucky let Natasha guide them back to the hidden quinjet, the conversation with Leonid heavy in his thoughts. He'd known the Winter Soldier hadn't worked for the good guys, but having it confirmed in person, by someone who wasn't one of his handlers, made it more real somehow.

"It's not on you." Natasha's simple declaration cut through his reverie.

"What's not?"

"Whatever it is that has you brooding so much. Did you pick up the habit from Steve, or he from you? Or maybe it's a trait all you Brooklyn boys share?"

Bucky didn't respond to her attempt at humor. "I didn't know what I was doing. That doesn't make it any less wrong."

"The actions, no. Your culpability, yes. Legally, even morally, you can't be held responsible for any of it. It wasn't your choice."

"I know that. I'm just having trouble believing it." It was true as far as it went, Bucky thought. He just wasn't willing to share more with her - with anyone, really. Not even Steve. Not even Pepper.

Pepper. His soulmate. Beautiful, intelligent, strong Pepper. How had God seen fit to bind someone like her to someone like him? Even if he didn't bear responsibility for all of his actions, he knew he wasn't anything like her.

"Talk to Pepper," Natasha said.

"Are you a mind-reader?"

"No. I just know Steve would be thinking about his soulmate, and you're a lot like him."

"Steve hasn't met his yet."

"He'd still be thinking about her. Or him."

Bucky had the sense that she'd added those last two words just to see his reaction, hoped she was disappointed when he took the suggestion in stride.

"Call her," Natasha's words were simple, but they held a tone of command. "She'll set you right."

Bucky nodded. He'd promised to call Pepper regardless. Just the thought of seeing her again, even if only by videoconference, was enough to lift his spirits.

By the time they reached the quinjet, Bucky had shaken off most of his dark mood.

"I'll give you some privacy," Natasha began, but Bucky waved her forward.

"She's in Sofia for meetings," he said. "I don't know that she'll be able to take the call. Wait until we know. No sense kicking yourself out if you don't have to."

He tapped the command to lower the quinjet's ramp, strode into the craft, and within minutes was dialing Pepper's number. Voice mail connected immediately, and Bucky glanced at Natasha, shrugging.

"It's me," he said when the recording prompted him. "Call whenever you're free."

"So romantic," Natasha murmured as Bucky ended the call.

"What about you?" he asked. "You met your soulmate yet?"

"Thank you for assuming I have one."

"I saw your mark this morning, when we were changing."

That was something Bucky Barnes would never have done - just changed clothes in the same room with a woman he hadn't slept with. Not, he reflected, without trying to seduce her, anyway. The asset - the Winter Soldier - accepted the necessity of changing clothes, and simply did it. Natasha had behaved with similar unconcern, and he'd concluded it was just the way things were.

Natasha had stiffened at his words. "Did you read it?"

"I wouldn't invade your privacy like that unless it was necessary."

She relaxed, fractionally. "Yes."

"My turn to offer you privacy, then."

Natasha shook her head. "It's not necessary, but thank you."

Bucky knew a shutdown when he heard one, changed the subject so she wouldn't have to. "Game of poker, then?"

"What are we playing for?"

"Bragging rights?"

"That's the first game." Natasha looked thoughtful for a moment. "Loser buys the winner a case of vodka every month for a year."

"First one to win fifty games?"

"Make it a hundred." She frowned suddenly. "Does Stark even have cards on board?"

"I have a deck." Bucky withdrew it from a pocket. "Kept us occupied a lot of nights during the war."

"Deal me in. I'll find something to use as chips."

Twenty games later, a pile of rations in front of each of them, Natasha excused herself to go to the bathroom. Bucky stretched, then frowned as he saw the time.

Even with the three-hour time difference between here and Sofia, Pepper should have been done with her meetings by now. Bucky turned back to the control console and called Pepper's cell phone again.

Again it went straight to voice mail. He ended the call without leaving a message.

"Still no answer?"

"You gonna tease me for bein' worried?"

"I'm going to ask why you're worried."

"Besides that someone tried to kill her a couple of days ago?"

"Besides that." Natasha slipped into the co-pilot's seat, turned it so she faced him. "Are you feeling anything through your bond?"

"We haven't bonded yet."

A raised eyebrow was Natasha's only comment. He met silence with silence, and after long moments, she gave a slight shrug.

"Then why are you worried?"

"Gut feeling."

"Fine. Examine it logically. What reason does your gut have for feeling that way?"

Bucky grimaced. Wasn't the point of gut feelings that they weren't logical?

But Natasha was still talking, and he refocused on her words. "You were Pepper's bodyguard for a month. Think about what you observed during that time."

Bucky tapped the console, his metal fingers pinging against it, punctuating the silence as he reviewed the month he'd spent as his soulmate's bodyguard. "She gets caught up in her work, so focused on it that she sometimes ignores the rest of the world."

"And?"

"And she never turns off her phone." Bucky looked up at Natasha. "When I call, it goes directly to voice mail. That means the phone's off, right?"

"That's one explanation," Natasha said.

"She never turns her phone off while she's on a business trip. Never that I saw," he corrected.

"So there's a break in her routine. What else?"

"She knows I plan to call tonight. She told me to call her cell." Now on firmer ground, Bucky felt his mouth tightening. "She wouldn't have turned it off tonight."

"Then let's see where she is." Natasha turned to the onboard computer, started typing in commands.

"You don't consider that invading her privacy?"

"I consider it easing your mind. Or your gut." Her fingers flew over the keyboard. "What's her cell number?"

Bucky gave it to her and made a mental note to get familiar with computers quickly. As the asset, the Winter Soldier, he'd had no need for that knowledge. His assignments had been more practical, more physical. Now, as the Avenger, the Winter Soldier, he couldn't predict what knowledge he might need.

Natasha wasn't quite frowning, but her expression was grave when she looked at him. "I'm not getting a ping from her phone."

"Which means?"

"It's off."

Bucky suspected that was an incomplete explanation, but her expression worried him. "What should we do?"

Natasha pursed her lips, thoughtful before she finally spoke. "Do you know where she's staying?"

"I can find out." Bucky reached out and contacted the tower.

"Good evening, Sergeant Barnes," JARVIS said. "I trust you're well?"

"Fine, thanks," Bucky responded automatically. "Can you tell me where Pepper's staying in Sofia?"

"She is registered at the Grand Hotel, sir."

"Thanks." Bucky ended the call, saw that Natasha was already punching buttons on her phone.

"Ms. Potts' room, please," she said into the phone. "My name is Maria Hill."

Bucky raised an eyebrow at the lie, but trusted that Natasha knew what she was doing. She was silent for long moments, then said, "No, thank you, no message."

"She didn't answer," Bucky said. "She said Cardona's handling her detail personally, this trip."

"You have his number, right?"

It was a simple, quiet question, but Bucky understood the implications, and they sent a chill down his spine.

He didn't bother to answer, just withdrew his own phone and tapped in the number. As when he'd called Pepper, voice mail answered immediately.

Natasha was frowning visibly. "My gut's starting to agree with your gut."

"Now my gut's saying we should fly to Sofia."

"I'll secure the hatch for takeoff."