They got to work over the next two weeks. Business was slow at SHIELD, as usual, and Bucky wondered why they didn't just dismantle it completely. He casually mentioned it once to Steve, when he was polishing a set of knives while Steve drew an octopus holding balloons, and he was so lost in the gleam of his blades that he almost missed Steve stiffen next to him. Almost. But when he looked up, he realized Steve's face was taut and then he remembered: Peggy Carter had started SHIELD. Steve would cling to its threads as a way to stay connected to her.
So he let the matter drop.
He wasn't exactly sure if what they were doing was against SHIELD's rules or not. Technically, Captain America worked for no one; he simply assisted SHIELD when he wanted to. And technically, no one could stop them from going off on their own and forming their own mission. Still, he had a funny feeling that they shouldn't spread the news that Captain America, the Black Widow, Falcon, the Winter Soldier, Hawkeye, and Agent Madden were forming their own team to hunt down an elusive killer they knew virtually nothing about.
For one thing, it sounded idiotic.
For another, it would give people at SHIELD the opportunity to stop them.
And even worse, it would let the bad guy—or bad guys, if this was more than one person—get ahead of them.
The strange thing was…Bucky couldn't shake the dark feeling that the killer already had a jump on them. He had no real proof to back these feelings up but he didn't discredit decades of deadly-honed instinct. His mind kept wandering back to the blinking red light he'd seen in the basement of the coroner's office in New York City. What had that been? It had reminded him of something—something he couldn't put his finger on… Sometimes his memories still felt fuzzy and distorted, even though he'd gone through hell to get them back. His muscles still automatically seized up at the faintest memory of the pain the memory retrieval chair had put him through—
Don't think about that. It's done with.
He went back to the coroner's office on his own during the week, telling no one he was slipping away at night, making a small overnight trip to New York City on his own. He wasn't sure why he didn't tell anyone. He was sure that Ari and Steve, at least, would believe him and would be supportive—but he felt sort of crazy himself. He didn't want to come across as a paranoid fool, ranting about bad feelings and dark suspicions and red lights before he had cold hard proof.
Unfortunately, he didn't find any proof. He broke into the office at night (their security hadn't improved a bit; clearly no one had noticed, or perhaps really cared, that the place had been broken into) and swept the entire place but found no evidence of any blinking red light. He hesitated by Quentin Wentworth's metal box, wondering if he should take another look at it, but then he remembered how he'd passed out the last time he'd seen it. It had been a day terror, one of his episodes, his incidents, and they could come on at any time—but he still didn't want to look at Wentworth, just in case he had triggered the episode. A nice thing it would be for him to pass out here alone and be found by someone. Just the thing he needed, more legal issues; he'd already nearly escaped prosecution, immense jail time, and a possible death sentence (in his opinion, though Steve resolutely told him that would never have happened) by a hair's breadth.
According to Natasha, this Dr. Simmons still wasn't done reviewing his files to see exactly what Hydra had done to him over the years. He was starting to wonder if Natasha had made Dr. Simmons up—or if Dr. Simmons had died. It had been ages since his files had been handed over; where were they? Still, aside from hunting Dr. Simmons down himself, there wasn't much he could do about the situation, so he let it go.
Thankfully he hadn't had one of his day terrors since they'd gone to New York City. Still, he saw Ari watching him closely every now and then when she didn't realize he was watching her as well. He was almost amazed that no one had caught on that he had a problem, but then again, he'd only collapsed in front of people three times so far. The rest had all been on his own. And one time had been at four a.m. when he'd been on a walk through the neighborhood, but he'd been pretty much on his own then too, despite a few joggers who had apparently ignored the man who'd collapsed right in front of an alleyway. Or perhaps they thought he was a hobo or a drug addict and therefore didn't matter. Bucky especially didn't want Ari to hear about that situation because she would definitely grab a hold of it like an attack dog. She could be quite vicious when it came to people treating underprivileged people badly. Steve often joked that despite looking the least like a superhero, Ari most of all had the heart of a superhero. Or at least a warrior.
"There's—no—connection!" Ari slammed the top of her laptop down in frustration. Bucky gave her a lazy smile and she glared at him. "Don't you care? What are you doing?"
"Playing the Dot Game with Steve," he said, making another line and filling in five boxes with his initials.
"I know that," she said. "I mean, why are you playing the Dot Game instead of helping me research?"
Bucky shrugged. "I'm feeling kind of…"
Steve grinned wickedly. "He's suffering from Otioseness Syndrome."
Bucky stared at him, not understanding for a moment, and then all of a sudden he let out a snort of laughter and slammed his hand down on the table. "Jesus Christ…not that!"
"What?" Ari asked curiously, her blue eyes darting between both of their faces.
"Otioseness Syndrome…" Steve shook his head, chuckling. "Otioseness Syndrome is…" Bucky covered his face with his hands, shaking with laughter, and Steve could barely speak because Bucky's laughter was making him laugh. "It's this thing that…B-Bucky…" He dropped his head onto the table, broad shoulders shaking.
Bucky peeked up at Ari, who was looking extremely put-off that she was out of the loop, a frown on her face, a slight crease in between her eyebrows, and he went off into a fresh round of laughter at her expression. His stomach ached and his cheeks hurt from laughing so hard but it felt amazing; he felt like he hadn't laughed like this—the aching, gut-aching kind of belly laugh—in ages. And it wasn't even like the memory was even that funny but Steve's laughter and Ari's pout were making it funnier and funnier. Every time he tried to stop, Steve's shaking shoulders and silent mirth made him burst out laughing all over again.
"Fine," Ari said. "Keep me out of the joke." But her pressed-together lips quivered, betraying her true feelings. Finally she burst into giggles, her cheeks pink. "I don't know what you guys are laughing at but your laughter is making me laugh." Her eyes sparkled and Bucky was filled with a sudden rush of affection for her; he could never forget that for Ari, simple things like seeing him happy…made her happy. How many people like her existed in the world? Very few, he thought.
They all finally stopped laughing long enough for Steve to wipe at his eyes and explain that Otioseness Syndrome was a ridiculous thing Bucky had made up during their elementary school years. It wasn't a real disease but Bucky had invented it and used it as an excuse to get out of doing things he didn't want to do in school. "And he was such a charmer that all the teachers believed him," Steve snorted, grinning. "Everyone was in on it. Every kid knew it was fake but we all thought it was so funny… And the story got bigger and bigger in middle school. By high school, half the teachers thought Bucky had some sort of fatal disease that was eventually going to kill him—even though he was a completely healthy guy!—and the really young, female teachers would give him these soft doe eyes and gently tell him that it was okay if he didn't want to do anything strenuous… And all the kids were in on it and they'd help make the lie bigger. 'Oh no, miss, haven't you heard that Bucky has Otioseness Syndrome? He can't stay after class to clean the blackboards!'" Steve collapsed into laughter again.
Bucky grinned ruefully. "Not my fault I was a clever little punk—unlike you. Steve never used his illnesses to his advantage," he told Ari.
"That's—that's because they were real illnesses!" Steve spluttered. "Not lies like you, you lying…liar!"
Bucky raised an eyebrow. "'You lying liar'? That's clever, Steve. Wow. I'm shocked you didn't go into the literature field. That's a gem right there, really. You should write books. Do you also know how to read words?"
"Why don't you read my fists," Steve suggested, raising his eyebrows and miming punching Bucky in the face.
"Okay, okay, enough fun!" Ari suddenly yelled.
Bucky and Steve both stared at her.
She blushed. "Sorry…I was imitating my old fourth grade teacher."
"Sounds like a grand old time," Bucky said dryly.
"Trust me, we had our moments," Ari said grimly. "I never invented a fake disease to get me out of doing stuff"—she squinted at Bucky and he grinned again—"but I did get my first-ever detention in her class. Because I told her she was a bully," she said apologetically.
"A true hero," Steve said.
"Except then I really regretted it because I thought my detention was going to go on my permanent record and I'd never get into college or be able to get a job." Ari started laughing. "I remember Dani telling me—" She suddenly broke off with a confused and almost-frightened expression, the words dying in her mouth.
Steve looked puzzled by her abrupt stop but Bucky knew what had fueled it. Dani had been Ari's best friend growing up, the girl who had abandoned Ari for her bastard of a brother—and who had also indirectly been killed because of her bastard of a brother. Dani (as well as Alex) was a constant source of anger, confusion, guilt, and sorrow for Ari and she wasn't something Ari liked to discuss—even with Bucky. So Bucky never probed. He knew, just by remembering the expression on Steve's face the first few times they'd met last year, that losing a best friend was a wound that you never really recovered from.
Steve, of course, didn't know any of this, never having heard this story. Bucky cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence, and said, "Ari's right. We should get back to work. These murderers aren't going to catch themselves."
"Right," Steve said quickly, smart enough to catch on that Bucky was changing the subject for an important reason. "What have you found so far, Ari?"
Ari had been doing research into all strange deaths over the past two weeks. They'd enlisted Natasha and Hawkeye—who Bucky still hadn't met yet—to help her and they promised they would…when they weren't away on private missions for the new director of SHIELD. Steve had been busy as well, meeting with Tony Stark, attending meetings and hearings, trying to get business in order with the authorities (who still had a bone to pick with him, over a year later; Steve was becoming increasingly tired with the government interfering in his business, as he privately told Bucky). Bucky, for his part, had led two more small missions for SHIELD. He'd told Ari to sit them out because they were smaller missions and unless he'd been mistaken, there had been a slight expression of relief on Ari's face as she'd agreed to sit out. Ari had been so enthusiastic about joining SHIELD last year that he wondered if he was going mad. And Sam was still busy with his work at the VA office and training new recruits for the army at a nearby training camp.
So basically, it had been up to Ari to start doing the initial research. She said she didn't mind, that it kept her busy along with her work at the free clinic. But even her even-tempered, pleasant personality had started to seem more and more irritated as the two weeks had slowly passed. Bucky had asked her a few times how the research was getting on but all she would was sigh and huff with irritation so he decided to leave things alone until she came around.
Basically, Operation Defectors Assemble was not going very well. Despite having a rebellious and enthusiastic start, most of them seemed preoccupied with their own lives, not paying much attention to the actual mission. Only Ari seemed to have grabbed a hold of the mission with zeal…zeal that seemed like it had totally faded, judging by the exasperated expression on her face now.
"Nothing," she said in disgust, throwing her hands up. "I can't connect anything!"
"But that means you have found things," Steve said reasonably. "You just can't connect them."
"Well…alright. Listen to this." She rubbed her temples, looking tired. "I started off by researching all strange deaths in the U.S. within the past year. That didn't work out so well. It's unbelievable, the amount of weird deaths that happen every year… This one guy wrapped himself in strips of bacon and went swimming in some swamp in Florida."
"I'm guessing he didn't come back," Bucky said sardonically.
"No, he didn't," Ari said, rolling her eyes. "But the thing was, a lot of the deaths I found were just weird—not unexplained. Like, people dying by getting struck directly by lightning. That's pretty weird but we still know what happened. So I spent a few days searching unexplained deaths to see if that got me anywhere…and it didn't. I got a whole lot of missing persons cases where the body turned up a little while later—but none of the bodies were described like how Wentworth was. And there was never any mention of the black slashes. Basically, I thought the search was useless. I wasted over a week searching this stuff. I'm sure whoever is monitoring my computer is gonna arrest me any day now."
"So we have nothing?" Bucky asked, feeling disappointed.
"Wait," Steve said. "She said she found something—she just can't connect it."
"So I got mad and started searching crazy stuff," she explained. "Stuff like mummified bodies. As you can expect, I got a lot of stuff on Egyptian pharaohs and, like, bodies from ancient empires and whatnot. So I was about to give up on that…until I stumbled across this weird conspiracy thread on this shady website. They were discussing some mummified body found in some tiny apartment in Italy, of all places, and honestly, the website looked really paranoid and crazy—they still think Elvis is alive—so I was about to forget it…until I saw a comment about black marks." She took a deep breath. "Apparently someone died in that apartment and the body was taken away pretty quickly—but not before a few people caught glimpse, obviously—but the weird thing is, the apartment was abandoned. It hadn't been rented out in ages. And then it got rented out a few weeks later and the people who moved in found five black slashes made in paint on the wall. Just like this." She flipped her laptop screen up to show them a photo saved to her laptop. It was blurry and badly angled, but it unmistakably the same sign that had been painted in Wentworth's home.
"So the police carted the body out and didn't notice the suspicious sign painted on the wall?" Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow. "They didn't think that was worth investigating?"
Ari shrugged. "Maybe they thought it was graffiti? I don't know. They clearly didn't care. But the people who rented the place moved in, took this photo, and posted it online. Someone—and I don't know who or how—caught on that the photo was taken at the same address that the body was taken away from…and I guess they put two-and-two together and posted it on this thread."
"Do we know who died?"
Ari smiled, looking slightly proud. "We might not have—except I went further. At the end of the thread, there was this one guy who no one was really talking to—I guess he seemed crazy, even by their standards?—and he was waffling on and on about how he had proof of other people who'd been killed in the same way. A few people asked for proof but he told them to message him directly. I guess no one wanted to go to the trouble because he seemed really grateful when I messaged you."
"You directly contacted him?" Bucky asked sharply, already considering the ramifications of this action. She was traceable now.
Ari seemed undisturbed by her action—Bucky thought it was quite possible she didn't even realize she was traceable now (especially to a group of conspiracy wackjobs)—and said, "Yeah, I had to make an account… Made me feel kind of slimy cause they seem pretty weird on there, but whatever. Anyway, I messaged him. I could tell he was pretty lonely so I kind of flattered him a bit, told him he seemed really clever. I asked him about what he was talking about. And he broke the whole thing wide open for me."
"And?" Bucky asked impatiently, getting into Ari's story despite himself.
"First of all, he'd figured out that the body of the person who got killed in Italy belonged to a priest or something," she said. "He didn't know any names but he said that you could clearly see, under the sheets, that the body was wearing priest's robes. Like, a priest who belonged in the Vatican. I asked him for proof and he messaged me a photo he'd found online. Honestly, I'm not an expert on what priest robes look like, but they were long and black with some red sash thing. I don't know. Anyway, I asked him about the other people and he messaged me links to two other deaths: some really old, obscure, art collector who had this huge, private art collection in France and this old woman in Japan. All of them had small news articles done talking about how their deaths were strange because their bodies were found dry and withered up, with markings on the walls of their homes. But the weird thing that ChiksDigBrainz told me—"
"ChiksDigBrainz?" Bucky interrupted incredulously.
"It's his username." Ari grimaced.
"Yeah, I'm sure chicks dig his brain," he mumbled sarcastically. "Go on."
"Anyway, the links he sent me were actually photos of articles. I asked if I could get actual links to the real articles and he told me"—here Ari's eyes grew wide—"that that wasn't possible because the original articles were both deleted and replaced with articles that didn't mention the condition of their bodies or any marks at all!"
They all sat in silence for a long moment, considering all that Ari had just told them, and then Bucky side-eyed Ari and said, "You know, your definition of nothing is very different than our definition of nothing, apparently," and Steve broke the silence by laughing. Ari smiled ruefully and said, "Yeah—I mean, I know I found something—but it basically builds up to nothing, right? Because there's no connection! I mean, look at it. A young millionaire, billionaire type in New York City. Some old priest from the Vatican. An old, rich, private art collector who almost never went out in public. And an old woman who apparently lived a simple life in Japan, tending to her rooftop garden. Judging by the little proof we have, they all died the same way, with the same markings on the wall—but what connects them all? I've thought about this for ages and I can't come up with even one thing."
"I'd have guessed it was age—but Wentworth isn't old," Steve said thoughtfully. "So it can't be age… Still. This isn't nothing, Ari. The connection might be impossible to see right now but there has to be something connecting them. We'll figure it out. The fact that the original articles on their deaths were deleted and re-written proves that someone is definitely behind this, because they're trying to cover it up. Which means we have to suspect the possibility that…news agencies or law enforcement are involved."
"Which is always a chilling thought," Ari muttered. "God, I just love it when you can't trust the people who are supposed to tell you the truth and protect you."
"Why did ChiksDigBrainz"—Bucky paused to roll his eyes; he really couldn't with this stupid username—"have all of this, anyway? Have you considered that he's a part of it? And you've contacted him, acting all curious and sweet."
"Sweet?" Ari stared at him.
Bucky's cheeks felt hot—dammit, why had he added that part? His mind had just been consumed with images of Ari flirting with some faceless guy, even though he knew all she'd been doing was messaging some loser online—but he barreled on, hoping everyone would ignore it. "Have you considered it?" he pressed. "Why does he have all this information? How did he get photos of the original articles? Who even took the photos?"
"Relax, I asked him," Ari said. "I'm not an idiot, you know." Her tone went slightly sharp.
"I know you're not," Bucky hastily said. "I'm just—you know, concerned that he might be a part of it."
"I don't think so," she said thoughtfully. "He told me his uncle took the photo. His uncle is obsessed with conspiracy theories too—I guess weirdness runs in the family—and regularly reads obituaries and articles about people dying all the time. He noticed the parallels in the two deaths—which happened pretty recently, I have to add—and I guess he takes screenshots of everything he thinks is suspicious? Which seems to be basically everything… Anyway, he took screenshots and when he checked back on the articles later, they were changed—which only confirmed that something weird was going on. So he shared his photos with his nephew."
"Sounds like a great, healthy family bond," Bucky muttered sarcastically.
"We can't rule out that they're connected to the murders," Steve said, "but if they're not, we can use them to our advantage. Maybe get some more information out of them. It's good to build allies wherever we can."
Ari's face fell and she bit her lip, looking worried now. She twirled a long, dark, glossy strand of hair around her finger, a habit Bucky knew she displayed only when she was nervous. "Yeah…um, about that…"
"What happened?" Steve asked sharply.
She shrugged. "I don't know why he did this—I can only guess that me talking to him boosted his confidence for his theories—but he posted all of this information to the thread a few days after we'd been chatting and exchanging information. He even credited me; he said 'And thanks to GlassRainfall for encouraging me to put this out here.' Which was kind of a lie…I never told him to do that. In fact, I would have encouraged him to not do that. But anyway, a day later everything he'd posted was deleted off the thread and his entire profile had been deactivated."
She bit her lip again and looked at Bucky; now he understood why she was nervous. She knew Bucky and she was clearly nervous that he was going to explode at her. To be fair, he did feel like grabbing her and shaking her and demanding to know what she had been thinking, doing such a foolhardy thing. There was a chance that ChiksDigBrainz had deleted everything simply because he'd lost his nerve—but there was a bigger chance that he was being silenced…just as the original articles had been deleted and re-written. And he'd credited Ari's username in his idiotic post, which meant everyone who'd seen the message would know that GlassRainfall also knew every bit of information that ChiksDigBrainz did.
"You did delete your account, right?" he asked in horror, suddenly realized that she may not have thought to do so. His shoulders sagged with relief as she nodded but then tensed up again when she said, looking nervous again, "Yeah, I did…but…I did it a whole day after he deleted." Bucky stared at her in horror and anger and she grimaced. "Sorry! I know it was so stupid—I should have deleted my account right away—but I didn't even think about it till a day later."
"Whoever silenced him could easily have traced your account back to your computer," Steve said quietly, his blue eyes looking worried at this unforeseen threat.
"So we're agreed that…that he was definitely silenced by someone—by whoever is doing the killings or covering them up?" Ari asked uneasily.
"I think so, yeah." Steve nodded. "It fits—the original death articles were deleted and re-written. And then the only guy online who was talking about these deaths suddenly vanished. It looks like someone is trying really hard to keep this out of the news."
"And now they might have traced her username back to her computer and gotten her IP address and coordinates and everything," Bucky growled. They all sat in silence for a moment, him staring at her laptop, her staring at him—and then he lunged for the laptop. Ari had apparently seen this coming because she threw herself over her laptop, shielding it with her body, and he accidentally grabbed her arm and a chunk of her hair. She let out a shriek and he immediately let go.
"Shit—sorry," he said, standing up.
She grabbed her laptop and stood as well, rubbing her head. "It's fine," she said. But then she clutched her laptop to her chest like it was a precious newborn child and stared at him with a stubborn expression. "You are not destroying my laptop."
Steve chuckled slightly in the background and murmured, "She knows you well, Buck."
"Ari—" Bucky started testily, ignoring Steve, who was leaning back and watching the whole affair with his arms folded.
"Soldier, you're not going to destroy my laptop!" she cried, backing away from him as he took a threatening step towards her, eyes on the prize clasped behind her arms. "I have everything on here! All my photos, my stories, my bookmarks, my music, my work documents and receipts!"
"And is any of that worth your life?" he snapped, trying his hardest not to shout at her.
"My life isn't at risk!" she said loudly.
"She's got a point, Bucky," Steve interjected. Bucky whirled on him, ready to argue with him too, and Steve held up his hands. "She does! She deleted her account a whole day later. If someone was going to track her—well, they've already done it. They've already gotten her address. And destroying her laptop now won't stop them. And if they didn't get her address…well, now they can't because her account is deleted. Either way, destroying her laptop is pointless. And expensive," he added. "Don't forget, she's not working anymore. Who's going to buy her a new laptop?"
Bucky scowled. "I could…" His voice trailed off. He wasn't exactly so wealthy that he could just waltz out and drop a thousand plus dollars on a laptop. Working for SHIELD as a reformed criminal didn't exactly pay well. He lived simply so it didn't matter, but as for buying Ari a new laptop…well. Perhaps he should rethink his plan a bit. He pressed his lips together, hating the fact that he'd basically lost the argument.
Ari had a triumphant look on her face—but then she put her hand on her arm and gently said, "I'll be fine. Seriously. This is life. We've gotta…roll with the punches, you know?"
I like to be the only one throwing the punches. But he nodded and sighed.
"And don't worry about money," she said, turning to Steve, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "I have quite a lot saved up. Two years of working as a nurse plus selling off my house and almost everything in it…"
"But then you bought a BMW," Bucky pointed out.
"Right," she said after a pause, sitting back down. "Yeah…almost forgot that… Still, I'm not destitute. I'm fine."
Steve suddenly yawned and looked at the clock. "Wow, look at that," he said mildly. "It's eight and we haven't had anything to eat. I'm beat."
"From doing what?" Ari asked pointedly, putting her laptop down with one last glance at Bucky. He had to fight back a smile at her suspicious gaze. "Playing the Dot Game with Soldier all evening? I did all the work!"
"Hey, you volunteered," Steve pointed out.
"He's not wrong," Bucky said, nodding. "You volunteered, Ari. It's all on you. You can't complain."
"Shut up," she said. They sat in silence for a long moment, Bucky thinking about all Ari had found, when she suddenly spoke up. "Should we make something to eat?" Without waiting for an answer, she leaped to her feet and wandered into Steve's small kitchen, yanking open his fridge and staring into it. And staring. And staring. "There's like nothing in here!" she said, looking shocked. "There's—what is that?" She bent into the fridge, slowly reaching in to touch something. She suddenly jerked away, looking revolted. "Oh my god! Steve! Is that a steak? It's green!"
"Is it?" Steve said, looking concerned. "Oops."
"Oops?" Ari said hollowly, staring at him. "Steve, this is—" She closed her eyes and they both watched her. She stood there for a moment, eyes closed, and then she firmly shut his fridge and grabbed her satchel purse. "Right. Okay. You have no food. I'm going out grocery shopping. We're going to eat some real food." She pulled out the keys to her BMW and dangled them triumphantly, her charms jangling together.
"You want company?" Steve asked pleasantly, stomping on Bucky's foot very hard under the table. Bucky had to bite his tongue from cursing. "Bucky seems like he's bored."
"I'm fine," she said unconcernedly. "You've got a corner shop down the street, right? I'll be right back." She waved and dashed to the door, hooking the strap over her arm.
"What are you going to make?" Steve called but she was already gone, his door slamming shut. "So much energy," Steve said, shaking his head, looking amazed, "and yet so calm. That girl's something else. And you know what you are, Bucky?" He didn't wait for Bucky to answer his rhetorical question. "You're an idiot."
Bucky rolled his eyes. "Okay, thanks."
"No, seriously!" Steve said. "I can't even believe this! Why didn't you offer to go with her?"
"I would have, but you offered for me first! Thanks for that, by the way, Dad."
"I wouldn't have had to offer for you if you hadn't been so slow on the uptake! She's shaking her keys and you're just sitting there like a doofus, staring at her with this goofy look on your face. You lovesick idiot."
Bucky felt his entire face heat up and threateningly said, "I've turned your face into a meat patty before, you punk, and I'll do it again. I was not sitting there like a…like a lovesick doofus…" But even as he said the words, he felt a swooping feeling of horror in the pit of his stomach. Was Steve right? He didn't seem to be kidding. Had he been staring weirdly at her?
"Fine, maybe not that lovesick," Steve admitted, "but come on, Bucky. Come on. How much longer are you going to draw this out? How much longer are you going to wait? You've got this amazing girl who took a chance on you, who helped you, who considers you one of her closest friends—she's pretty, she's funny, she's smart—I mean, what are you waiting for? Don't tell me you don't like her that way," he added when Bucky opened his mouth to protest. "Don't even try. You can lie to her and you can maybe even lie to yourself but you can't lie to me, alright? I know you. I've grown up with you, remember? I know what you look like when you like a girl—and you've never liked one as much as you like her."
"Because she means more!" The words burst out of Bucky's mouth before he could stop them. Steve's eyes widened in shock and then glee.
"See?" he started in satisfaction. "I told y—"
"Steve, you don't get it," Bucky said through gritted teeth. "Listen to me, okay? Fine. Fine! Maybe you're right. Maybe I like Ari. Maybe I like her as more than a friend. And maybe I want to ask her out, do all those things a guy is supposed to do, but—" He hesitated.
"But?"
"But there's so much in the way," he said quietly. "Sometimes I think…sometimes I think I'll never be whole enough to be with anyone that way. Like I'll never be clean enough, good enough, normal enough. I've got so much baggage. So much…shit to deal with. Like, literal enemies who may come after me any time—and other stuff." Stuff like my day terrors and the times when my temper snaps and all I want to do is hurt someone, kill someone, make someone bleed.
"How could I do that to her?" he asked. "You tell me. Would you do that to a girl you liked? Seriously. Imagine you like a girl—a normal girl, one who's not tangled in a web of her own secrets like Natasha. Would you really drag her into your complicated life? Where she could get hurt? Where she might be unhappy or feel trapped? Or scared? And I'm arguably way more messed up than you." He gave Steve a crooked half-smile.
Steve hesitated, looking torn. "I mean… Okay, you have somewhat of a point. But at the same time, Ari isn't just some 'normal girl' as much as you'd like to think she is. She joined SHIELD. She's been in dangerous situations. She knows what your life—and you—are like. She's not stupid. She knows what she signed up for and she said yes, Bucky. So why are you taking this choice away from her?"
"Because—because what if she doesn't want it?" he burst out. "Steve, no matter how much I might want it—what if she doesn't? She hasn't given any clue that she likes me as more than…a friend. She calls me her best friend but that's it. She even went out with some other guy two weeks ago! Does that sound like someone who's interested in me?"
"But you could take a chance and ask—"
"No, I couldn't!" Bucky shouted, feeling almost desperate to make Steve understand. "Steve! I can't—if I asked her and she didn't feel the same way—and I somehow ruined what we have—if I ruined our friendship—I don't—" He slumped back in his chair and covered his face with his hands, feeling extremely broken and embarrassed and angry. "I can't do it. I can't risk our friendship. I might want something…more. Sometimes. But I'll never risk our friendship. I'd rather have Ari in my life as just a friend for the rest of my life than drive her away with awkwardness and weirdness. I can't complicate things. She's all I have. Along with you guys, of course," he added hastily.
Steve looked disappointed, his blue eyes dark. "I guess I get it," he said. "It just…sucks. I want you to be happy. And I don't think you'll ever be happy if you have these feelings you think you can never act on."
Bucky gave Steve a bitter smile. "Don't worry, I'm used to hiding things. I can deal with it. But I won't risk my friendship with Ari for anything. If she'd shown—if she'd hinted in any way—but no. She hasn't. So this is why I try to ignore it and not even think about it and why I wish you guys would all stop bringing it up. Because it freaking sucks, okay? Knowing she's not into me and she's going to marry some stupid, random guy some day and I'll have to walk her down the aisle because her dad and brother are dead and I'll have to hand her off to some other guy—"
"Whoa, whoa, slow down," Steve said, holding his hands up, looking alarmed. "No one's getting married anytime soon. Let's not get ahead of ourselves or panic, okay? Sorry for bringing it up. I didn't realize…how complicated it was. I won't bring it up again—not unless you want me to."
"Yeah, well it is complicated," Bucky said moodily—but he felt sort of better, having unloaded some of these secret fears onto Steve. Talking about his feelings—especially about his complicated feelings regarding Ari—felt awkward and odd, but at the same time it felt so natural, as if this was Steve was here for. Bucky couldn't imagine discussing these things with any other guy he knew (which, to be fair, wasn't that many guys anyway). Not even Sam, who he did consider a good friend now.
"Anyway, what about you?" he asked somewhat accusingly. "You like that girl, that one agent who stalked you, Sharon Carter."
"She didn't stalk me," Steve said, rolling his eyes. "Ease up on the drama, Buck. You could write movies. She was assigned to protect me on Fury's orders."
"And you like her," Bucky said slyly.
Steve shot him a look. "You don't like me talking about your love life—and now you're discussing mine?"
Bucky shrugged. "Hey, fair's fair. You got to hear some of my secrets. Now I get to hear yours. Come on, Steve," he pressed when Steve hesitated. "Who else are you going to tell?"
"Fine," Steve grumbled. "I may have…sort of…liked her. Like her, I don't know. It never went anywhere—and now it never will. I have no idea where she relocated to after SHIELD's fall. So looks like I should forget about her." But there was a strange, pensive look of longing on Steve's face. He didn't look absolutely mesmerized the way Bucky remembered him looking when he'd stared at Peggy Carter…but there was something there. A wistfulness. Something that suggested that he liked this Sharon Carter more than he was possibly willing to admit even to himself.
"Well, that's a stupid excuse," Bucky said flatly.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me." He raised an eyebrow. "I actually have real reasons for not addressing any feelings I may have."
"I love how you keep saying that, as if you might not have feelings," Steve muttered under his breath. "Keep deluding yourself."
Bucky continued on as if he hadn't heard him. "But what's stopping you from going after Sharon Carter? The fact that she relocated and you can't find her? That's the worst excuse in the universe. You could track her down in a heartbeat and you know it. So what's the real reason you won't?" Steve shrugged and Bucky's frustration grew. "Come on!"
"Look, you said you didn't want to talk about Ari, so I don't want to talk about Sharon, okay?" Steve said almost sharply. "Just…leave it. Let's both just drop it."
They lapsed into a semi-awkward silence and Bucky suddenly snorted with laughter. Steve shot him a curious look. "What's so funny?"
"Just that…" He tried to control his dark chuckles. "We're two…super-soldier heroes who…ain't that bad looking…and we're having the worst girl trouble in the world. What a pathetic duo of bachelors we are, right?"
Steve grinned. "Well, it's nothing new for me. You, on the other hand…"
"Stop," Bucky groaned, not liking to be reminded of his flirtatious history. He remembered the memories well, ever since he'd gotten all his memories back, but they still felt a bit strange sometimes, as if they'd belonged to a totally different man. He'd changed so much, he could never imagine being that talkative or flirty now. He was sure he could be smooth and seductive if he needed to be for a cover but in real life? No way. Too weird.
"I'm back!" Ari yelled, the front door banging open. They heard a loud thud, the sound of something small shattering, and then— "Steve…did you care a lot about this plant by your door?"
"Even if I did, I'm not gonna care anymore, am I?" Steve called.
"Not…really…"
Bucky and Steve both got up to see what had happened. She stood in the doorway, arms laden with shopping bags, a sheepish expression on her pixie-like face. A liter of Coke lay on the ground—thankfully unopened—but the small ceramic pot that had sat next to the door was in pieces, dirt scattered across the floor.
"I'll clean it," she said apologetically. "And buy you a new plant—"
"Don't bother," Steve said, taking half the bags from her while Bucky took the other half. He leaned in and winked at her. "I hate taking care of them but Natasha keeps buying them. Says it'll help me stay connected. One less to take care of now, in my opinion."
Ari gave a shocked giggle. "You're horrible. Natasha buys these out of love."
"Tell Natasha to buy me something useful with her love. Like some new colored pencils, mine are almost worn out."
Ari swept up the mess while Bucky and Steve quickly pulled the groceries out of the bags, stuffing all the empty bags into a drawer next to the stove. It was a habit they'd both learned back as children: never let simple things like grocery bags go to waste. Their parents, and they themselves as young children and teenagers, had all just come through the worst economy America had seen (so far) and the national mood had remained that of "waste not, want not," even after the depression.
"I don't see how any of these things go together," mused Bucky, looking at a bag of mozzarella cheese in one hand and a jar of sweet dill pickles in the other.
"That's because most of them are for Steve," she said, tossing her handbag onto the kitchen table and starting to put things into the fridge, pantry, and freezer. "Wasn't sure what sort of things you like, Steve, so I just got a bunch. I'm sure Sam will eat the rest if you don't like something. And a few things are for my super-special secret pizza. Which I'm making tonight, obviously."
"Ari." Steve looked appalled. "You didn't have to go grocery shopping for me."
"Have you seen your fridge and pantry?" She raised a dark eyebrow.
"Yeah, but—okay, wait." Steve pulled out his wallet. "How much do I owe you?"
"Nothing."
"Ari."
"Nothing," she insisted. "Trust me, I didn't go to Whole Foods. This is all Walmart. So don't worry, I didn't blow millions or anything. You can repay me by eating, for God's sake. I have no idea how you stay alive."
"Smoothies," Steve admitted. "And a lot of takeout."
"That's not healthy," she said severely. "You know how much sodium is in soy sauce? Enough to kill a grown horse, probably—"
"Oh no," Bucky said hastily. "Let's change the subject. Once Ari starts talking about sodium and trans fats, she never stops."
"Soldier, if more people would care about their diets, we'd see a lot less obesity in the U.S. And obesity and being overweight is one of those things that leads to almost, like, every health problem out there. You know how many patients I had that could have avoided their conditions if they watched what they ate and exercised? It's sad! And I wish—"
"See?" Bucky said in a stage-whisper. "Never. Stops."
Ari threw a baguette at his head, knowing he'd catch it—which he did. "Okay, now get out of the kitchen! I'm going to get in the zone."
Bucky took a dramatic step from the kitchen into the kitchen table area, standing a foot away from where he'd been before. "Wow," he said. "That was far."
"Hey, wear this so your clothes don't get dirty." Steve yanked an apron out of a drawer and tossed it at her. It was a good idea, since she was wearing a white blouse with high-waisted pale blue shorts. She tied it on and they all looked at the front: it was enormous on her, almost like a baggy dress, and it was covered in red lipstick-print kisses with the words KISS THE COOK emblazoned on the front.
Steve shot Bucky a sly look and Bucky surreptitiously flipped him the bird.
"I love how you have no food in the house but you have an apron that says Kiss the Cook," Ari said, her voice laced with amusement.
"Natasha gave it to me," Steve said.
"She's such a mom to you," Ari mused, tying the strings around her waist twice and knotting them. "She seems to really like taking care of you. I wonder why she doesn't have any kids."
Steve looked a bit pink in the face at the idea that he might need mothering and Bucky quickly said, "So, super-secret special recipe, huh? Where did this come from?"
"I actually invented it with Alex when we were kids," she said absentmindedly, patting out flour onto the island. Then she froze, looking shocked at her own words, and a sticky awkward silence descended upon them. Steve looked uncomfortable. This was a story he'd heard—he'd been present when Bucky had killed Ari's brother, the wretched Alexian. Bucky knew Alex had given Ari endless amounts of suffering and pain growing up—he'd even physically abused her at times—but they'd been closer as children.
"Anyway," Steve jumped in. "I can't wait to try it."
Bucky and Steve took a seat at the table and resumed their Dot Game while Ari worked in the kitchen. At one point she remarked, "This is so 1950s traditional—the girl cooks dinner while the guys sit around on their lazy butts."
Bucky bit his lip and grinned at her. Steve shrugged helplessly. "I've never been a good cook," he said. "I barely get by. But if you really want a fried egg for dinner…"
"I'm just kidding."
"I guess we never really expected to cook," Bucky said slowly. "You're right…we kind of grew up expecting a—a woman to cook for us eventually."
"Well, Bucky did," Steve said tauntingly. "I had to learn to cook—sort of—pretty early on."
Ari looked at him curiously while smoothing out the dough she had rolled out. "Because…your mom died when you were young?"
"And also because no girl was ever going to marry me," he muttered under his breath, but he nodded.
"That must have been hard," she said softly.
Steve shrugged. "It's in the past." But Bucky could see from Steve's eyes that it wasn't really, not yet anyway. Because for Steve, it still felt like only five years had passed since he'd gone to war and his mother had died when he was a teenager. To him, it still felt like his mother had passed recently. Bucky thought about his own parents with a painful twinge. His parents hadn't coped well with the death of their only son. He still hadn't visited their graves; he wasn't sure if he could stand seeing their names on gravestones, knowing that they were dusty bones under the ground, long forgotten.
And there they stayed, talking about meaningless nothings while Ari made the pizza and set it to bake. Then she sat down and they got serious for a moment, talking about what their next move would be now that Ari had discovered some important clues.
"Natasha and Barton are up next," Steve said grimly. "You did your part, now it's their turn. I'm going to ask them to check up on all of these people if they can—they're abroad so much anyway, it's probably not that hard—and see if they can find the connection between them. Maybe there are more victims too."
Anytime Bucky had tasted Ari's cooking, it had been delicious and this pizza was no different. It tasted amazing, like a normal pizza with a spicy-sweet tang that sounded, in theory, like it should be disgusting…but was actually fantastic. Ari ate two slices and then watched in amusement as he and Steve demolished the rest. He gave her an apologetic look at one point, shoving the last slice in her face to silently ask if she wanted it (his mouth was stuffed with food), and she'd given him a look that clearly said, You're an animal with no manners but then she'd grinned and waved him on.
Bucky had no regrets. After years of bland, tasteless Hydra sludge—perfectly calculated to give him a perfect mix of all the proteins, carbs, and nutrients he needed—he was never going to take good food for granted ever again. Especially because he was hopeless at cooking. I really am the definition of a pathetic bachelor, he thought mildly to himself as he shoved pizza down his throat. I should get some life skills. This is bad.
It had gotten pretty late into the night by the time they were done. Ari tried to clear up but Steve calmly told her he would do a citizen's arrest and send her to jail if she tried to do one more thing for him. He and Bucky quickly cleared up, making a game where Bucky stood at the table and hurled dirty plates at Steve, who stood by the sink, as if they were Steve's shield. It was an odd parallel for the first real time he'd met Steve, on the rooftop of his old apartment. It felt like ages ago. Ari watched in horror as they threw glass plates around like it was fun and then she muttered, "Boys."
They'd driven over together so they said their goodbyes to Steve and stepped out into the warm night, walking to Bucky's motorcycle. Once they were on, Bucky twisted around and said, "Okay. Hear me out. Come back to my place."
Ari stared at him, her eyes widening and mouth falling open. "Wha—"
"For a few days," he added, "until we're sure that no one is after you."
She blinked for a moment, looking lost, and then she said, "Oh. You meant—oh. Um…" She looked flustered for some reason. "Yeah no, seriously, it's fine, Soldier. I'll be fine. No one is going to come after me—"
"Ari," he said quietly. "Listen. Once upon a time, you stopped your car for a complete stranger and you let him into your car, your house, your life. You quit your job and even made a deal to sell your house—all to help him."
"But—but part of me was doing it for selfish reasons!" she said desperately. "You know that! I wanted adventure, remember? I was bored out of my mind, going stir-crazy—"
"But a bigger part of you did it because you wanted to help someone," he said just as quietly. "And because you cared. So why won't you let me do that? Why won't you let me care? You let a weird guy into your home, for god's sake. Maybe I'm being stupid or paranoid. But better safe than sorry, right? Please. Let me do this. So I can have peace of mind. So I can be certain there's no one coming for you or breaking in and out of your place. Just for a few days, stay at my place."
Ari studied his face for a moment and then nodded. "Okay. Fine."
"Good," he said, visibly relieved. "I'm going to drop you off at my place. Make yourself at home while I'm gone."
"Where are you going?"
"To set a few small traps at your apartment. If someone comes in or out while you're not there, trust me, we'll know."
"Then take me with you," she said. "If I'm coming to stay at your place, I want to grab some things."
"I can grab them for you."
"Thanks, Soldier, but I doubt even you want to go through my makeup collection and pick out the lipsticks I might want for the next week."
I really don't understand women sometimes.
They rode to Bucky's apartment and Ari waited with the motorcycle running while he dashed upstairs to his apartment, grabbed some supplies, and then raced back downstairs. He used his full super-soldier speed so it only took a few minutes at most. There really was nothing more enjoyable than running at his full speed in the dark, uninhibited by the paranoia that people were staring at him.
They rode to Ari's apartment and while Ari packed a few small bags, he set up his traps. They were nothing enormous—a small camera that had the ability to run for a week straight without being charged, a thin piece of pencil lead slide into the hinges of her front door (so that if anyone opened it, it would snap), and some lint stolen from her dryer spread thinly over the front entrance (so thin that no one would ever see it but if they stepped in it, they would move it around and wipe the floor clean). They were rudimentary traps—he would have personally preferred to rig up a sniper gun so that it shot whoever walked through the door—but he had a funny feeling Ari would not be okay with that.
"Gee, you think you packed enough?" he asked sarcastically, seeing Ari sweat as she lugged over two huge duffel bags and a different purse—a black one this time.
"A girl needs stuff," was her mysterious reply.
They headed back to his apartment and he gallantly offered her his bedroom before silently realizing he hadn't washed his sheets in two weeks—and he woke up sweating most nights. So when Ari nicely pointed out that she was fine on his sofa, where he most definitely not fit, he didn't protest as hard as he might have otherwise. He nodded and then gave her a few extra blankets. She kicked her duffel bags into a corner and then hesitated and said, "Can I hang up my things in your closet? They might start to smell kind of funky if I leave them in the bags."
"Sure," he said.
He sat on his bed and watched her hang up her clothes next to his. There was more than enough room in his closet, it wasn't really like he had that many clothes. Then she grabbed her night clothes and said she was changing for the night so she'd be right back. She disappeared into the bathroom and he stared at his open closet. Her girly, feminine clothes hanging next to his clothes. It was such a…domestic sight. The kind of thing a married man—or one who had a girlfriend—might be used to.
For some reason, his heart was pounding faster than normal and his skin felt oddly hot. He realized with some shock that he felt nervous that Ari was staying at his place. He'd stayed under the same roof as Ari before, of course. She slept over once in a while, when a movie they'd been watching had run too late and he didn't want her to go home alone in the dark. But that had always been temporary; they'd both known that she'd slip out early the next morning to go to the free clinic or go home. And he'd stayed at her home, of course, but he'd been in no normal state of mind then, physically ill, confused, lost… He'd barely known her then.
This felt different. His breathing was coming a little more rapidly and his stomach twisted painfully, anxiously. This is no different than normal, he sternly tried to tell himself. She's slept over before—just consider this a very…extended sleepover. You'll probably never even see each other. She has work. You have some stuff to do for SHIELD (and if you don't, you'll beg for some work). It'll feel like she isn't even here.
Except he knew that was a lie. Her presence would be everywhere. The smell of her rose-scented perfume, her clothes in his closet, her makeup in his bathroom… His right hand felt sweaty and he wiped it on his pants, feeling the mad urge to laugh hysterically. He was acting like such an immature little boy, frightened of a girl spending a few days in his apartment—a girl who was his best friend, a girl he knew well. What was wrong with him?
As Bucky had known, a girl's "I'll be right back" was never that quick. Thirty minutes later she came out of the bathroom, wearing a hot pink t-shirt and tight black yoga leggings, her dark hair done up in a messy bun on her head. All of her makeup had been washed off. He jerkily leaped to his feet, startled, before he could even wonder what the hell he was doing. Thankfully she didn't seem to notice his strange behavior and whispered, "I'm kind of tired—so I'm going to turn in, okay?"
He nodded mutely, thankful that they didn't have to interact anymore tonight. He felt to keyed up and anxious.
"Goodnight," she whispered before closing his door. He listened hard and heard her light footsteps into the living room. He waited fifteen minutes before opening his door a crack and peering down the tiny hall. The whole apartment was dark and silent. She'd gone to sleep. He breathed a sigh of relief and shut his door.
Then he knocked himself on the head hard, thought, Get a freaking grip, Bucky, and threw himself into bed, forcing himself to shut his eyes and go to sleep before he could torment himself with more weird, conflicted, confused thoughts.
