Friends in High Places

PARIS, FRANCE

LAT: 48° 85' 66" N

LON: 02° 35' 22" E

04-OCT-2017, 15:02:45 CET

It was fall in Paris. The trees, ablaze with autumn colors, lined the city streets, bathing the parks and walking paths in a carpet of red and gold and orange. Tourist season had left with the summer, lightening the pressure on the city, but even at this time in the mid-afternoon, the roads were still congested with traffic—locals, business-people, and legions of nondescript black taxis.

The Winter Soldier, however, wasn't here to enjoy the scenery. High on an unfinished floor of a commercial development, he crouched behind a concrete pillar, with only the birds, the whistle of the wind, and the assault rifle in his hands for company.

The silence was electric. Anxious. Tense. Parisian officials had reported something strange in the sky over their city, and they'd called in help to deal with it.

The only problem? The Avengers were busy. Something had crashed down in Amsterdam, and whatever it was, there were a lot of them, and they weren't happy. Earth's Mightiest Heroes could only spare a few hands.

That left Bucky on his own.

"Something just crossed into Paris airspace," Tony reported over the link in his helmet. Bucky could hear the repulsor engines roaring distantly behind his voice. "It's not responding to air traffic control. Radar is picking up a signature, but we can't get a visual."

Bucky scanned the grey sky and pressed the butt of the rifle into his shoulder. "How do we know they're a hostile?"

"You wanna tell me why they're coming in disguised?"

Bucky opted not to argue this time. "Good point."

"Be careful, Buck." That was Steve. He sounded fairly calm, though bangs and gunfire could be heard behind him. "We'll send you backup when we're done here."

Bucky didn't miss a beat. "Roger, Rogers."

Snickering could be heard on the line, and a deep sigh that could only be Steve's.

"Jerk." He sounded like he was smiling. "Just don't die, okay?"

Bucky allowed himself a smirk and flexed his fingers on the foregrip. "I'll try not to."

Sure enough, something broke through the clouds. The air distorted around a small shape in the sky, rippling like heat rising from the pavement on a blistering summer day, and then something landed in a nearby empty lot, scattering the gravel with a clatter and the roar of jet engines.

Bucky had the strange shape in his crosshairs. He was watching, all senses honed on the invisible aircraft, when the woman in the armored dress made her entrance.

A moment before, she wasn't even there. And then, it was as if a door opened out of nothingness, and she stepped through. Brown hair over her shoulders, sculpted arms beside a red breastplate, and a blue skirt that showed off muscled thighs.

"Holy..." whispered Bucky.

Immediately, Steve was all ears. "What is it?"

Bucky lowered his voice, in case she had super-sonic hearing. "You know that tv show Tony showed us? With Lucy Lawless, but with the black hair?"

"Xena, Warrior Princess, it's a classic," Tony interjected. "What about it?"

Bucky narrowed his eyes. "Did she have a plane?"

"Focus, Barnes," Natasha chided him between punches. "Whoever that is, she's still a hostile."

Bucky raised the assault rifle. "Copy that."

He began with a hail of fire, the butt of the rifle jogging his shoulder as cartridges clattered to his feet like brass rain. She whirled around and deflected. The bullets pinged off her golden gauntlets, throwing sparks like white fire.

She took a flying leap his direction. Bucky swore under his breath. He dove behind the pillar, but it was no use. She crashed into the floor right under his feet.

The steel and concrete buckled. It heaved. The floor fractured and erupted beneath him, throwing him off his feet and through where the window would have been.

Bucky tumbled through the debris, grimacing against the gravel hitting his face, and barely managed a hard landing on the street below. The pavement cracked under the fingertips of his metal hand.

Great. He coughed and slowly got off his knees. He'd lost the his rifle in the tumble, and the comm link was broken, blaring static in his ear. With a bonk of the heel of his palm on the other side of his skull, he knocked it out and onto the concrete.

She landed in front of him. Bucky felt the pavement shake. As she lifted her head, her eyes darted to his metal arm, and then, with a look between fear and ferocity, to his face.

Bucky muttered some choice words under his breath.

Here he was without his rifle, and on her belt was a sword.

They lunged. Traded rapid blows. It was like punching someone made of solid rock. Bucky grimaced; just blocking her swings was bruising his arm and side.

New plan. With a flick, he reached behind him and pulled a knife out of his belt.

Her eyes widened.

She swung at his head. He slashed at her arm. She parried, blocked, and lunged for the knife. He flung it in the air, blocked a kick at his hip, grabbed the knife with his other hand and slashed at her sternum.

They were getting desperate. Swing, swing, block, slash, lunge. He leaped and took a stab at her forehead; she blocked it with a gauntlet, the point of the knife just an inch from her eyes.

His arm was crossed over hers. She grabbed him at the elbow, whirled him around, caught the metal arm in a vice-like lock and slammed his face into the pavement.

Then, she began to pull.

The metal creaked. It groaned. The arm barely had any sense of touch in it, but Bucky could feel all of the plates buckling into the steel mechanisms underneath, and then—as tears formed in his eyes, and he began to scream—his bones snapping, and metal ripping away from flesh.

Finally, the arm came off, with a sickening rrrrip. She tossed it away, and it hit the ground with a clang.

Bucky collapsed. His head felt light, his eyes were swimming, and a pool of his own blood was spreading on the pavement.

Oh god, was all he could think. Oh god, oh god, oh god no.

He pushed with his one remaining arm, rolled over, and struggled to get up. An armored boot pressed into his chest.

Bucky coughed. His spit tasted like blood. She loomed over him, a dark shape against the blinding sun.

Bucky didn't see her unsheathe her sword.. He didn't see the fire in her eyes. He didn't see the blade raised over his skull.

All he could do was gasp, his one remaining hand helpless on his chest, and think of the voice in his ear.

"Just don't die..."

There was blood on his teeth and tears in his throat. "Sorry, Steve," he croaked.

And then, as the blade came down, it stopped.

Her hands were shaking. She moved the sword to her side, away from his neck, and let go, letting it clatter on the asphalt.

Bucky was just fighting to keep his eyes open. It took all of his strength not to pass out. He could barely even process the fact that I'm alive, I'm not dead, I'm still here, but he could clearly see the look of emotion and disbelief on her face as she bent over him.

"What did you say?" she whispered.

For the first time, she sounded human.

AVENGERS HQ

LAT: 41° 49' 40" N

LON: 73° 57' 54" W

04-OCT-2017, 10:05:23 EDT

Out of the blue, the Avengers' private radio line received a terse message appended by Bucky's call sign: "Change of plans. Meet me at the HQ."

Baffled, but having secured the situation in Amsterdam, they obeyed. Though it was late in the afternoon in Europe, it hadn't even yet reached noon in New York; the Quinjet touched down outside Combat not ten minutes before the invisible jet.

Bucky was barely conscious. His one side was heavy with bandages, the wrappings still tinged red around the seams, and his vision still swam and turned grey. He couldn't see the stairs leading off the jet, but he didn't have to; he was lifted in two strong arms and carried across the tarmac.

He didn't have the strength to argue until they reached the door.

"Put me down," he finally murmured. "I can stand."

"Are you certain?" she asked worriedly.

He nodded, and made a noise like "mmn".

He'd done this before.

So she set him on his feet. He wobbled for a second, but she caught hold of his arm, and made sure to hold it over her shoulders.

She was so tall. She practically had to stoop to hold him up.

Well, at least she let him keep that little shred of dignity.

Bucky's knees still felt like water, but somehow, they made it. The moment they stepped through the door, a dozen faces, caught between worry and relief, turned their way. Steve, who hadn't even taken off his dirty Captain America uniform, was already on his feet.

"Bucky," he breathed, and hurried to their side.

Diana—because that's what Bucky learned her name was, Diana—turned to the man on her shoulder and whispered, "Is this—?"

"Yeah." Bucky smiled softly. "Yeah, this is the one."

Diana slid him off her shoulder. She kept a hand on his back, trying to help him not pitch over, and Steve caught him.

"We lost communication." Steve pulled Bucky's arm over his own shoulder. "What happened?"

Bucky leaned into him, bruised and exhausted, and smiled at Diana. "Made a friend."

Steve looked up warily at said 'friend'. Diana gazed down with complete solemnity. It made her seem strangely regal; old and wise and kind.

She knelt on one knee with a hand over her heart. "Forgive me for the damage done. It's an honor to meet fellow warriors."

Steve frowned. Bucky could see those gears in his head turning.

G'wan, Stevie, he thought. You're smart. I told you what she looked like. You can figure it out.

The frown deepened, and Steve's grip tightened ever so slightly around Bucky's side. But he didn't look angry. He just looked cautious, and grateful for the apology, and overwhelmingly relieved.

Bucky gave up the losing war with gravity and let his head drop onto Steve's shoulder.

"Can I go lie down, now?"

He did get to go lie down. In fact, he took a long nap in the Cradle, while the machine reconstructed the flesh and bone to close his wounds. When he woke up in a recovery bed, Diana was seated there, in a chair that she made look tiny.

"Good," she said quietly. "You're awake."

Bucky blinked lazily at her for a second. She'd apparently had the time to change into something less ostentatious than the armored dress; instead, there was a red turtleneck and black slacks, and she'd tied back her hair.

A soft snore on his other side made Bucky turn his head. There was Steve, fast asleep, with his elbow on the mattress and his cheek bunched over his fist.

Diana's voice was soft. "He hasn't left your side."

Bucky's laughter caught in his chest. Good old Steve. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse with sleep and disuse. "Looks like you haven't either."

Diana smiled and lifted one knee over the other. "I've been in and out. Your companions wanted an interrogation. It seems they did not take kindly to the damage done to you."

His eyes slipped askance. "Sorry."

She shook her head. "Do not be. I am glad you have such loyal friends."

Bucky spent the next few seconds taking a long look at Steve. Y'know—speaking of loyal friends.

He and Diana had talked on the way back from Paris. It wasn't a long conversation—Bucky had bled out so badly he could barely stay awake, much less speak—but he'd at least discovered that her invisible jet was visible on the inside.

He'd also learned why she, too, cared so much about the name Steve.

His voice had recovered from its sleepy timbre, but it still rasped in his throat. "What was he like?"

She knew what he meant. Her face broke into a nostalgic smile. "Foolish. A little brash. But a heart of gold." Something in her expression was warm and longing. "We fought together in the Great War. I suppose you call it your First World War now. In another life, perhaps, we would have lived the rest of our days together as well."

Her eyes had misted over. He said nothing, and just looked at her for a long time, letting his face show all of his empathy and grief.

He knew what it felt like to lose the ones you love.

Eventually, when he felt it was safe to ask, he said quietly, "He was a soldier?"

She nodded. "Yes."

He knew something about that. A lot, actually. Softly—and leaving the option open in case she didn't want to answer—he asked, "How did he go?"

Diana's hands were folded in her lap. She stared at them, unable to look him in the eye. "Our enemies had a plane full of explosives. The only way he could save them all was to take it up."

She blinked slightly. Her voice was faltering, and she couldn't go on, but swallowed hard.

Bucky just nodded.

He understood.

After a while, she lifted her head. "I read your papers." She nodded at Steve, who was still asleep in his chair. "They thought he met a similar fate as well."

Bucky turned his head. His best friend was still there—alive and breathing, his big chest drawing in deep, slow breaths and letting them out again—and he looked absolutely stupid, drooling onto his own arm in his sleep.

Bucky felt an ache in his chest. He couldn't imagine a world where Steve took the plane down in the Arctic and never got out. He couldn't imagine a world without his brother.

He probably wouldn't even have been able to enjoy it. Steve had saved his life. Steve had pulled him out of HYDRA. Steve had killed their chance at a reign of terror. If he hadn't been there, Bucky would never have been set free. His captors would never have been stopped.

He would have remained the Asset, a slave trapped in his own brain, forced to watch as his body ushered in HYDRA's world of hell.

But all of that was conjecture. Steve—his Steve—was still here, and he and the whole world were better off for it.

"I guess I got lucky," Bucky said lightly, but the smile on his face soon fell into sympathy and grief.

He got his Steve back.

She didn't.

"I'm sorry."

Her smile was small, but genuine. "Thank you."

She sat up, took a deep breath, and composed herself. "If there is anything I learned from it, it is to treasure the time you have. No one's time is certain, especially in this profession. While we have the chance to love and be loved, we must take it, or risk losing it.

"If I may call you a friend," she said humbly, "I would advise the same of you."

Bucky was quiet for a while, thinking that over. He didn't expect he'd get here, philosophizing about love and the fleetingness of life, when he was lying in a pool of his own blood on a street in Paris—but, well, there was some wisdom in what she said, and he'd made friends in stranger ways.

"I will," he finally said, and mustered a smile. "Thank you."

Movement in the peripheral caught Bucky's attention, and he looked over just in time to see Steve open his eyes. He inhaled, blinking sleepily, and looked around the room—and the moment he saw Bucky awake, lunged out of the chair and gripped his hand where it lay on the sheets. "Buck. Hey."

Bucky grinned softly. "Hey, lughead."

Diana leaned back, watching them with a warm smile.

"You were out for a while. How ya feeling?" Steve's fingers were in Bucky's hair, gently untangling it on the pillow.

Bucky made a face that counted as a shrug. "Pretty good, for having my arm ripped off." He sank deeper into the pillow and murmured, "Can we have Tony make a detachable one?"

"He's already on a call with Shuri. They're real excited."

Bucky snorted.

When Steve looked up at the one other person in the room, Diana smiled apologetically and stood to offer her hand. "I feel I should apologize again for harming him."

Steve reached over the bed and shook her hand. "Thank you, but I should too. We thought you were a hostile."

Diana quirked an eyebrow. "Why would you think that?"

Steve was equally confused. "Well," he said slowly, "the aircraft was disguised."

"The invisible jet?" She wore a tiny, incredulous smile, and nodded at Bucky. "You may ask him. It's always like that."

For a long moment, the only sound was the clock ticking on the wall.

Bucky snorted. Steve slapped a hand to his forehead. Diana hid her smile behind a crooked finger.

"I see we have a grave misunderstanding on all sides," she said graciously.

"You're telling us, doll," said Bucky.

Steve just dragged his hand down his face and looked like he wanted to kick himself.

Diana smiled and leaned down to grip the railing on the bed. "Rest well," she said to Bucky, and then headed for the door. "I have business elsewhere, but I will return."

She paused in the doorway, speaking over her shoulder. "There are some people I'd like the Avengers to meet."

"What kind of people?" asked Steve, his hands on his belt and his Captain Voice reverberating in the little med bay room.

Diana gave a smile that was equal parts nobility, mischief, and pride. "The 'saving the world' kind."

Bucky was far less dramatic.

"Bye, Diana." He lazily waved his one remaining arm.

"Farewell, James," she said warmly, and swept away and out of the HQ without another word.

After a while, Steve crossed his arms, glancing out the door and raising a trouble-making eyebrow at Bucky. "Quite a looker, ain't she?"

Bucky scowled. "Shaddap, Stevie."

"I'm just saying, you've got a thing for brunettes—"

"If I weren't bedridden, I'd'a punched ya in the face."

Steve turned away, stifling his laughter.

fin

A/N: Behold! My EXTREMELY LATE crossover with the 2017 Wonder Woman movie! Based on the notes of a comic by mysiepereira on tumblr, which I saw back when I used tumblr. (I haven't seen WW 1984. I've heard it's a mess. We're gonna pretend it doesn't exist.)

Anyone who cares to follow my AU timeline will notice that I placed this after Civil War, which means Bucky has his vibranium arm. I have specifically written this in such a way that you can ignore that detail so the story stands on its own. If anyone wants to know why I gave Bucky the vibranium arm just to rip it off again, PM me. The TL;DR is "important emotional beats in Start Somewhere, and also this story doesn't work well without the arm-ripped-off bit so I might as well sacrifice one I don't like much".

For any DC fans just tuning in, welcome! I know even less about DC than I do about Marvel, so I hope you'll forgive any inconsistencies. My headcanons about the invisible jet are all my own. It just seems rather silly to see Wonder Woman puttering through the sky like she's on an invisible chair.

Reviews are Parisian autumns. Enjoy the epilogue!