I didn't recognize the voice but the Russian sent fresh terror through me and I froze as a thousand panicked thoughts rattled through my brain like a handful of beads in a glass jar: God, Bucky! Hydra oh shit, no, not here, are they always going to be out there maybe I can run, fight, Bucky, Bucky!

My back hurt when I felt the hard poke of a gun muzzle against it, and I flinched. Whoever it was, he was male and smelled sweaty. He herded me deeper down the hall, and through an open door to a dim room.

"Take your phone out and give it to me. No heroics."

I fished my cell phone out and tried to look around; a janitor's closet of some sort since I could see cleaning equipment on the walls and plastic jugs on the shelves. I tried to turn my head but my captor gave me a hard shove towards the wall and pushed the gun harder into my back, pinning me there, damn it.

I sighed. Part of me had been expecting something like this; my Russian nature was always suspicious when things were going too well. Ever since our arrival in Florida I'd been mentally holding my breath, waiting for something bad to happen, and now that it was, I was sort of . . . relieved. That didn't mean I wasn't scared to death and worried for the people I'd come to love, it just meant . . . I dunno, that my cynical genes were still in working mode I guess. That my guard really did need to be up.

Behind me I heard whoever it was give a pleased sort of grunt before they spoke up again, and I realized they must have had a Bluetooth on. "Yes, I have her. Do you see them?"

A pause, then, "Good. We have enough around us to prevent any fighting. It's a black android."

My phone? I tried to figure what that was all about, and it dawned on me a moment later—bait. Bucky, Steve, Harriet—they all knew what my phone looked like. I tried to look over my shoulder at whoever it was and saw a nondescript guy in a Hawaiian shirt and shorts, looking perfectly ordinary . . . except for the gun of course. And heck, this was Florida, so maybe even the gun was commonplace around here.

I took a breath, thinking hard. I hadn't been to the dojo in months, but I knew I could probably throw and pin this guy if I could get him to move the gun and grab me. Judo is primarily about defense, and that meant I had to get him to make a move on me; unfortunately a weapon increased the danger. But I was pissed now, that gut-deep sort of anger that combined all my ongoing fear and frustration into a core of hate inside.

"Fuck Hydra," I hissed loudly, hoping whoever he was talking to would hear it.

That was enough to do it; my captor moved to try and clock me in the side of the head with the gun. I reached over my shoulder, grabbed his sleeve and threw myself back against him, bracing for the fall. He wasn't expecting resistance and we went down with a thud onto the concrete floor, jarring us both. I had adrenaline on my side though, and rolled to my feet before my attacker could grab me. One good stomp on his wrist and he let go of the gun.

"You motherfucking son of a rat's asshole!" I raged at him, and dropped myself into an ude-garami on the bastard. That's an armlock, by the way, with both of my legs across his body—one over the chest, the other over his neck—and my hands twisting his arm up between them, locking his elbow into a really really uncomfortable position.

"Fuuuuck!" he screamed, and it echoed in the room. "Goddamn it!"

I settled in, prepared to hang onto him for a while, feeling proud that my parents' investment in Putin's favorite sport had paid off . . . so far.

"You're dead, bitch, you hear me?!" my captor shouted. "I'm going to arrgggggh!" His threat shifted into a muffled scream as I twisted his arm a bit and pressed the back of my knee against his windpipe.

"You're going to lie here like a butt-hurt prison bitch," I informed him, wanting so much to keep torqueing his arm. "Keep yelling and you'll be in a hospital bed for months, asswipe. You Hydra shits really need to stop chasing us."

I could hear voices over his telephone, which was somewhere off in a corner, and other voices starting to get louder from down the hall. I hoped to hell they were Steve and Bucky; if they were Hydra I was probably screwed. "Why, by the way? You know he's never going to let himself be recaptured, right?"

"We don't-" the asswipe began, and coughed a little.

I bared my teeth. "Keep talking, or I can start biting too. Wouldn't take much to chomp a pinkie off."

"We don't want him!" the asswipe spluttered. "Just the arm!"

I should have figured, but it made sense. They'd want their tech back, especially now that they knew the self-destruct in it had failed.

Footsteps came down the hall. Soft ones. I looked up, making sure my grip was secure, and caught sight of Bucky in the doorway, his gaze taking in everything. One corner of his mouth quirked up—just a quick, tiny flick—and then he advanced, squatting by the asswipe and sliding a grip around the guy's other arm.

"Let him go, Melvin. He's mine."

"No killing," I groused, reluctant to let go now. "You can't kill him, dorogoi."

"I can . . . and I can do it very slowly, and very painfully," Bucky growled in that light, dangerous way of his. More people crowded up in the doorway; Steve and Sam, both looking grim as hell. The asswipe whimpered and I realized he'd just wet himself. I unlocked myself from him in a hurry and picked up his cell phone.

"Bucky," Steve warned. "Mel's okay. No need to do something we'll all regret."

"I won't regret it at all . . ." He hauled the asswipe up and held him so he was on his tiptoes. ". . . but how do you want to play this, Steve?"

I stepped up and held out the phone; Steve took it and started talking while I stood quietly and let myself relax. That was a mistake because I started trembling instead as the adrenaline rushed out of me. That was the problem with the stuff—when it drained away you were left feeling weak and stupid.

Sam came over and put an arm around me. Even though we were both still damp from the rain it helped; a lot.

"Judo, huh?" he whispered.

"Brown belt," I replied. "Never really used it outside a dojo before."

"First time for everything," Sam murmured.

More people showed up, but Sam and I made a barrier at the door and Harriet held back what looked like a squadron of people behind her.

Steve spoke again and this time I caught his words. " . . . Not your technology anymore. The outdated weaponry you had him outfitted with is now in pieces with Stark's engineers."

I caught my breath, wondering what the hell Steve was doing. Was he supposed to be saying this? I knew Bucky wanted full disclosure, but that seemed a bit much to be telling Hydra agents, especially over a phone.

Bucky dragged the asswipe over and shook him lightly. "I'm not going to kill you," he announced loudly. "I'm done with that shit. You hear that?" Bucky yelled towards the phone in Steve's hand. "I'm not your puppet, your tin soldier, your bullet or bayonet any longer. SHIELD knows everything I ever knew about you, so my advice is to start stuffing those Hydra heads up your asses if you don't want them cut off."

I laughed. It was a nervous giggle; the sort you make when something that isn't really funny suddenly seems to be the most hilarious thing you've ever heard. Sam shot me a concerned look but I shook my head; now wasn't the time to explain it, even if I could.

Bucky threw the guy down and glared at him; the asswipe was smart enough not to get up. Steve held out the phone.

"Leave. Me. alone," Bucky hissed, talking to both the agent on the floor and those on the other end of the line. "I have nothing you want anymore and seventy-five years of hate and training that will be coming after YOU if you persist in this idiocy. From now on, consider me as dead as Pierce."

He reached out and crushed the phone, letting little bits of glass and plastic drop to the floor. Nobody moved for a moment, and then Bucky turned to me. I slipped out from under Sam's arm and wrapped myself around Bucky, suddenly on the verge of tears and fighting them hard.

Harriet, Steve and Sam were picking up the asswipe and talking to the security people but I wasn't paying attention to any of that. Instead, I kept my face against Bucky's collarbone and let him hold me a while, because that was what we both sort of needed right then.

"Will they stop?" I asked. Stupid question because Bucky didn't know, and the thought that I'd have to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder for attempts on our lives had me on the verge of a panic attack.

"Yeah," Bucky murmured against my hairline. "They will. They don't have the manpower or morale to keep sending agents on suicide missions. "

I snuffled a little at that, and felt him chuckle a bit. "Hey, Mel, look at me," Bucky asked, and I tipped my face up.

He looked at me. "So . . . what happened?"

I told him, and then had to repeat it to Harriet and Steve later when we'd gotten out of the ball park and back to the motel. Mr. Heyward had built a bonfire on the beach for us and we sat around it in lawn chairs in the damp twilight, drinking beer. Only Sam was roasting marshmallows but he kept passing S'mores to all of us while we talked, and they were perfect.

"So whether or not they're going to give up on you remains to be seen," Harriet grumbled. "Stark's technology is a helluva lot better than theirs, but they might be after you for more than that."

"They won't be back," Bucky predicted quietly. "Hydra is going to slink back into their holes and regroup. They're going to assess what they've got and concentrate on re-building. No risks for the next three years at least, and by then they'll either have the Serum or they'll go another route for world domination. Maybe robots or mind-control rays or something."

"Zola was playing the long game," Steve grumbled. "I wouldn't put it past him to keep trying."

"Maybe, but I was Pierce's tool," Bucky countered. "And an old one at that. You can upgrade only so far; eventually you need a new weapon."

"So what now?" Sam asked, and we all looked at him. He skewered another marshmallow and waved it over the flame. "My two cents worth is that if they're going to try and keep tabs on you, make it hard for them to do that. Stay on the move."

"Like how, a Winnebago?" Harriet snorted.

"What's a Winnebago?" Bucky wanted to know, and I made the mistake of showing him one on my cell phone. He stared at it intently before murmuring, "Sort of like a cross between a bus and an Airstream but blockier."

"Airstreams are still around," I told him. There had been plenty of those particular RVs up around the lake year after year, so I knew what I was talking about.

"Where would you go in one of those land yachts?" Harriet wanted to know, and I laughed.

"Iowa. We'd at go to Iowa at the very least." At Bucky's curious look I added, "It's the corn dog capital of the world."

"Sold," Bucky announced and even Steve laughed.

"Buck, you can't be serious . . . you've lived in the city all your life!"

"Not all of it," came the flat reply. For a moment nobody said anything, and then Sam spoke up in that easy, quiet way of his.

"Might not be a bad idea. Couple of weeks or months on the road, taking your time, keeping your route to yourself . . . Lord knows you could probably buy an RV cheap in this state and outfit it yourself."

"Most of them are pretty comfortable," Harriet admitted. "And you'd blend in on the road."

I felt Bucky look at me, felt the question in his gaze and I sighed a little. "The only way you could make it worth my while is if you get one with a decent kitchen. I didn't become a chef to do my cooking over some rinky two-flame unit!"

He looked at Steve, and slowly grinned. "I could see all forty-eight states before you do."

"There are fifty now, Bucky."

"Whatever. And I'd start at Ebbits Field—"

"—Ebbits is gone. So are the Dodgers. They're in Los Angeles," Steve told him. Bucky shot him a disbelieving glance and I tried not to laugh.

"You should start at Cooperstown," Harriet broke in firmly. "The baseball hall of fame is still where it was. After that, you can work your way around to whatever you want to see, sweetie. The Liberty Bell, Lincoln's birthplace, Bourbon Street, the Grand Canyon . . ."

"The Henry Ford Museum," Steve offered up quietly. "The Brickyard at Indianapolis."

Bucky's grin flashed out, bright in the firelight. "Only if you meet us there, pal. You too," he added to Sam.

"Hey, what am I, chopped liver?" Harriet complained, but she was grinning.

Later, after everyone else left us by the fireside, Bucky moved closer and draped his new arm around me. I liked the warm weight of it, and snuggled closer to him, sighing.

"So . . . think you could do the cross-country thing with me?" Bucky mumbled into my hair.

"I might be able to . . . with stipulations," I replied just as softly. The moon was out now, and I loved the way it reflected on the ocean in front of us.

"Stip away," Bucky told me. "I know the kitchen's the main one, right?"

"The kitchen's one," I conceded, "But I guess what I really have to ask is . . . why me? Steve would go with you in a heartbeat, you know. The two of you would have a blast out there."

"Melvin, this might come as a shock to you, but I'm not in love with Steve Rogers," Bucky snorted. "He's a great guy, my best friend for years I'm just remembering and one of America's great heroes but he's not the one I want to sleep with, and plan with, and get on with my life with. He's sure as hell not the one I'm proposing to."

I snorted and pulled my head from his shoulder to meet Bucky's gaze. "Proposing?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "I don't have a ring for you—yet—but I know how I feel about you and I'm hoping . . . hoping you feel the same way about me."

I smiled, feeling all sorts of emotions churning inside of me. Most of them were good, but I won't lie; there was a little panic in the mix too. "You prick, you know I do!" In English I added, "but there's a lot we still need to talk about. Kids for instance. Are you dead set on having any?"

He hesitated and that gave me the confidence to blurt, "because me, I'm not sure I want kids, dorogoi. Certainly not while travelling around in an RV, but also because . . . you and me- our genetics . . ."

Bucky nodded, his gaze locked with mine. "Yeah. I don't know about possibly passing on what I've got, what's been altered by Zola and the rest of 'em. Kids are great, but . . ."

"Not now," I nodded, feeling relieved. "Yeah. Okay, that's good."

He nodded again, and I felt his shoulder relax. "Agreed. Ah, anything else?"

"Parity."

Bucky gave me a blank look; I smiled. "Equal say—at least, my fair opinions, suggestions and point of view. I've been looking out for myself for a while and I'm not going to take a back seat if we're a couple."

"You just whipped a Hydra agent with your bare hands, AND you handle huge knives for a living," he teased, "somehow I don't think equality's going to be a problem for us."

I grinned, feeling better than I had in a hell of a long time. I nuzzled my way up to his mouth and kissed Bucky, enjoying the taste of beer and s'mores there. We kept kissing for a while, warm and comfortable together.