– Bucky –

"Steve. Can you, uh, help me?" I winced as I asked the question, foreseeing the barrage of questions that he was going to hurl at me.

"What happened? Are you hurt?"

I smiled to myself, gazing down at the bullet holes in my thighs.

"Uh. I'm okay. I just can't drive back."

At that moment, I knew that all the alarms in Steve's head were going off. If I said that I couldn't come back, it was bad.

"Buck, what happened? Is Percy okay?"

Percy. I ground my teeth at the mention of his name, trying to keep myself together.

"I think so, but he's gone. Not dead. But gone," I said, trying to reassure myself that he wasn't hurt.

"I'm on my way. Nat can drive your car back."

I put my weight on my left hand and pushed myself up, doing my best to ignore the searing pain shooting through my body.

"Okay. Thanks, Steve."

I pushed myself up onto my feet and sat on the trunk of my car, waiting for Steve and Nat. A few minutes later I saw Steve's red sports car turn the corner to camp.

"Buck, you didn't tell me that you got shot! Who would shoot you? Where are the bullets?" Nat and I just shared a glance, smiling at Steve.

"Well, one of them's right here. Pulled it out myself," I mentioned, a bit proudly. Steve paled but Nat looked impressed. "But the other one's still there, I didn't feel like it was too pressing because it didn't hurt as bad."

I ripped the bullet hole in my jeans to be substantially bigger, exposing my thigh just above the knee. I used my metal fingers to find the bullet, nearly passing out from the feeling of my fingers touching muscle, bones, and anything else that you're not supposed to feel in your leg. Steve turned away, looking disgusted and concerningly pale.

"Buck, that's not normal."

I scoffed and Nat just slapped me, giving me the signal that it wasn't the right time. I just glanced at her and grinned; she knew that I'd push the envelope as far as it would go.

"I know that, Stevie Wonder. I had to do it at some point, though."

He just shook his head and Nat got into my car, starting it. I slid myself off of the trunk of the car and Steve insisted on helping me back to the passenger seat of his car.

I sat down in the bucket seat and he started his car, leaving the path and driving towards the tower.

"Who?" In that one word, there were multiple questions. Who took Percy? Who shot you?

I was used to Steve caring; I enjoyed it. No matter what I shoved at him, no matter what terrible things I said to him, he always came back willing to help me. He had never left my side, and for that, I was eternally grateful.

"The mob. I knew all four of them. It's the Lombardi operation, working here in New York City. They're known as the most ruthless organization in all of NYC."

Steve looked immediately distressed; I couldn't blame him, I had just revealed to him that I had been shot by the mafia and knew something about them. With the way Steve's brain operated, he was thinking that I had been part of their operation for a time.

"The mob? As in, murder and money laundering? Synonymous with 'mafia'?"

I nodded, applying pressure on the bullet holes that seemed unequivocally more interesting than admitting to Steve how I had obtained my knowledge.

"Um, yeah. Steve, I'm not thrilled to have to admit this to you, but when I was at HYDRA I was part of their operation. I was their top assassin, and I was still moving up the ranks when I left. They're dangerous people that have endless money and bloodlust."

Steve fell silent for a few minutes, staring ahead at the road in thought. I didn't like that, because he seemed scared in his silence.

I had worked in the Lombardi Building for nearly two decades. The building had gotten started toward the end of my Winter Soldier time, and hadn't always been called the Lombardi Building; before Jason Grace, it had been known as the Bolovschi Building, run by George Bolovschi. I wasn't part of the scheme since Jason had taken over, but I knew of the power change because I had been called back to finish a project; not by Jason himself, but by the man that had shot me twice. None of them knew what I looked like, but I had done my fair share of research into the organization. Not in questioning my response to their call back, but out of curiosity; I wanted to see if their tactics had been blown wide open yet. While I worked there, I saw many ways that were exposure liabilities.

I was afraid of ever getting back into that business, even more so than the business of murder. Percy was dragged into one of the biggest organized crime groups in the country, and there was nothing I could do.

"So the worst of the bad apples, huh?"

I scoffed at his grotesque understatement, still internally unable to process what had happened.

"Basically. Ever heard of the Morellos?" I ask, and Steve vaguely shrugs.

"Barely. Racketeering, right?"

I grin and nod, doing my best to choose my next words carefully.

"That, among other things. This group is like the Morellos, but worse. Their last boss, the one that hired me, was murdered by an assassin. They never caught the guy that did it, and the entire building was furious. They had another boss for a while that bridged the gap between Bolovschi and Jason, but he never would've made it. He left a paper trail of everything illegal and got himself thrown in jail, but his name was the only one on anything. A huge idiot."

After Bolovschi had been missing for a few days, people started to get suspicious. He had a small inner circle in the building that was notified of his whereabouts constantly; every time he coughed, they knew. So when his inner circle suddenly fell silent, everyone was able to infer what had happened. He had been killed, and everyone had known that it wasn't an accident like his posse had described it. There had been a murder; someone had revenge coming for them. In the days after word got around that there had been an "accident", the building became increasingly hostile. Everyone turned on each other, and no one was safe. Every person in that building became a murder suspect, and whoever was caught was going to pay.

"So you worked for these people as their top assassin, right? Which leads me to assume that you know the ins and outs, right?"

"Well, common sense says yes."

"So if you worked for them for so long, can't you just pretend that you want back in and get Percy back out?"

I turned to look at Steve, weighing my options without showing it on my face.

"Hypothetically. When we get inside, I have something I have to show you. You may have just blown this wide open."

Steve unlocked the car doors and nearly carried me into the tower, and I beckoned for him to follow me upstairs.

"No. You have two bullet holes in you."

"Steve, I'm fine."

I wasn't fine. The world was starting to swim, and I looked down to see nearly half of my jeans stained a deep purple. I wasn't walking too well, but I could feel it already getting better. I hoped that it wouldn't be too long before I was able to walk by myself, because for what I needed to do I had to.

"Who has two bullet holes in them? James Buchanan Barnes, what have you done?" Tony came around the corner and shook his head, assessing my injuries with a glance.

"I'm fine, Tony, I promise. I just got shot a couple of times."

He rolled his eyes, helping Steve carry me up to a table in Tony's lab. I sit on it, staying still and awake albeit not by much. My vision looked like Van Gogh's depiction of a nighttime sky, except it was tinged with the colors of my surroundings.

"You don't look fine," Steve judged, and I laid back on the table.

"I swear, just give me a second."

"No. We're going to fix this."

"I can do it, guys. Just give me rubbing alcohol, gauze, and a stitching kit and we'll be buttoned up pretty quickly."

Nat walked into the lab and looked at me like I was a psychopath that had just professed my undying love for teddy bears.

Steve gave me an exasperated glance and went to find everything, and when he returned he shook his head.

"Do you know what you're doing?"

I laugh at him and nod, smiling in my state of dizziness. I had lost a lot of blood, and at the time I hadn't realized it yet.

"Yes, Stevie, I know what I'm doing. I learned how to do stitches in the army."

I ripped my jeans even further and began to get all the blood off of my legs before cleaning the holes with the rubbing alcohol. I gently dabbed at the holes, cleaning them out. The sting almost caused me to pass out; I could see black spots dancing at the edge of my line of sight.

I stitched myself up without any painkillers, and after the stitches were in place I cleaned the wounds again.

"There. Now my body should heal faster, and I should be walking in about ten minutes."

Steve just sighed, probably wondering how in the world we ever became friends.

"Barnes, ready to fix this?" Bruce came in, holding a suture kit and rubbing alcohol.

"Uh, I just fixed it. But a professional opinion would make me feel better about it," I answered, and Bruce looked like I had just thrown his pet cat at the wall.

"Sure, I'll take a look. Did you two let him do this by himself?" Bruce glanced at them questioningly, and neither of them responded.

"They did. I think they were afraid of me after I declined the painkillers."

His eyes widened as his gaze fixed on the straight line of stitches.

"Wow, these are straight. You did them well," he says. "I assume you cleaned the wound first, then after, correct?"

I nodded and he smiled, beginning to walk out.

"I think he should take over injuries. Those stitches are impeccable."

I grinned at Steve and Nat, giving them the I-told-you-so look.

And then I didn't remember anything for a while after that.

I woke up to Steve standing over me, shaking me gently.

"Go get me that whiteboard, I need to show you something."

He rolled his eyes at me, and that's when I knew that I had passed out.

"You've just been through a tissue regenerator. You need to-"

"Go get it, Steven."

He rolled it over to me, however reluctantly.

On the whiteboard, I drew a floor plan for the Lombardi Building.

"Right here. Front door. A few feet down, there's a meeting room for the executives, which has soundproof walls. That's where he'll want to talk to me, but if he's feeling anxious to get me back he'll take me to his office; even better. I go in, get a feel for the building after pretending to sign on, and I get Percy out."

Steve and Nat looked at me like I was from another planet; rightfully so, I had just divulged my plan to break into a mob's main building and take one of their main assets.

I was insane.

"You're going to go over there and knock on the front door to get Percy back?"

I shrugged, not sure what else would explain it. I didn't think anything else I could have said would suffice.

"Exactly."

I stood from the bed in Tony's lab, my legs a bit shaky but nothing major. I put my hands on my hips and laughed.

"Good as new, Stevie."

I didn't want to be around anyone at that point because I needed to think. The thinking was the last thing I wanted to do, so I ended up going to my bedroom and turning the music up as loud as it would go through a pair of earbuds. The blaring music drowned out my thoughts, achieving my goal.

I sat on my bed, contemplating my options on what to do next. I had to get Percy back; a non-negotiable. I just hoped that I could do it in time, which meant that I had to make my move soon.

I dialed the number that I had been given to confirm my decision, and I called it without hesitation.

Steve would have killed me if he knew what I was doing.

"Who is this?" The response came gruffly from the other end of the line.

"Thorin. You know who this is," I replied, making my voice sound more intimidating than normal.

"Ah, I do. Made your decision yet?"

"I did. I'm in. Listen to me very carefully. Grab a pen if you have to. Meet me at the back door of the building in half an hour, and if I find out that someone knows about it besides you and your boss, I'm out. I'll walk out and take the money within five seconds if I'm known, got that?"

There was a pause on the other end as he thought about my proposal.

"Alright. I'll let Lombardi know and we can get you in an hour."

"Not an hour. Half. And not can. Will."

"You like to play hardball, don't you?"

"It's a strength of mine."

"We like that."

I hung up, resting my head against the headboard of my bed. Since Percy gotten taken, I had almost forgotten about our impending doom with a gigantic war.

My life was falling apart.

I stood from the bed and strode to my closet, looking for the right thing to wear. Those men were the pinnacle of composure and style, so I had to choose my best to meet their standards. I pulled out a black suit jacket and pants, still searching for the right shirt. I stepped into the pants and tightened them with a belt, sliding hangers along to find the black button-down shirt I'm looking for.

I found it and put on the black undershirt that goes beneath it, buttoning the shirt and pulling the jacket over it. I tied the black-tie over the shirt and tucked it under the buttoned jacket, pulling on my shoes and walking away.

Twenty minutes to get to the Lombardi Building back door. I wondered how long it would take for them to recognize me from the confrontation with Percy.

In the car, I took the time to process what I was about to do. I could die, because if they were still bent out of shape about not knowing who I was then I was potentially in trouble.

My legs were still in recovery, but I could walk normally.

I stepped out of the car, striding around the building until I reached the back door. It was dark by now, presumably around midnight.

I stood, knowing that they would be watching for me at the door. As I assumed, the door clicked open and allowed me inside where I was met by Kane Thorin.

"Soldier," he greeted me, extending his hand. I just stared at it and kept walking; I had to present a tough exterior like I was serious about working for them.

"Don't call me that. Call me by my last name, like everyone else here."

He shrugged and I kept walking, walking toward the conference room.

"You seem to know your way around," he commented, clearly judging me.

"I do. I worked here for thirty years."

This made him fall silent, and I internally smiled in satisfaction. This guy had no idea that I was just pushing his buttons and enjoying it.

I pressed my right thumb to the keypad on the door as Thorin rushed to open it, but he was too late. The keypad light turned green and allowed me to open the door. The room was impressive, I'll admit. The table was made of fine, polished mahogany with numerous black leather chairs surrounding it. They didn't have much respect for the round table theory. Only one person mattered, and that was the chair at the head of the table. The other end of the table was left empty for this exact reason.

"Boss, our recruit."

Jason Grace slowly looked up from tapping his fingers on the polished table.

"Do you remember who this is, Thorin?"

The man beside me looked confused, and as he glanced over to me he aligned the pieces.

I looked behind Grace as I underwent the scrutiny of Kane Thorin for a few moments. On the wall, carved into a marble plaque, was a phrase in Latin. I doubted anyone in the building could read Latin besides Grace, so no one knew that STULTUS EST SICUT STULTUS FACIT, ET CIRCUMDATUS SUM was an insult.

I looked at Grace, then back to the plaque.

"Trying to figure out the message? No one can read it. Latin's a dead language." Grace seemed confident in that, so I just sat next to him.

"Stupid is as stupid does, and I am surrounded by it."

He glared at me with a stormy intensity, the gray of his eyes becoming cloudy as his eyes bored into mine. He didn't inquire with Thorin in the room, but I'm sure I would have to answer for it later. I didn't care.

"What made you change your mind from last time?" Thorin sat across from me, folding his hands together.

"I realized that I could get back in and fix what's been run into the ground since I've left and make good money while I do it."

Thorin and Grace exchanged glances, then turned back to me.

"Examples."

"Well, for starters, your document forging could use some work. They have dirty money written all over it."

They both looked nervous like the police could have come to the front door and broken it down any second.

"You worked for George Bolovschi, correct?" Grace confirmed, and I nodded.

"Correct."

"And he was murdered while you still worked here?"

"Yes."

My throat became dry, and I swallowed hard. My hands were clasped tightly together under the table because I was hiding something.

Something major, important.

I knew that Bolovschi had been killed, not dead by accident, for one reason.

I was the one that killed George Bolovschi.