AN: Two small apologies: one, for this update coming kinda late, and two, if things get slightly complicated/confusing in the last part of the chapter. It all makes sense in my head...

When Winter Strikes

9. Underground Conspiracies

"You sure you're okay, Bucky?"

From where he was huddled against the wall, Bucky looked up and put on his best grin. "Yeah, kid – 'm alright." Getting up was hard, and his stomach hurt like a bitch from where Schmidt had socked him, but he didn't want the little guy to see him badly hurt; God knows what he'd do then. Wavering a little, he clapped his hand on a skinny shoulder. "How'd ya know we were there?"

"Chester said Hydra had kidnapped a load of us, and when I went back to the shelter nobody was around." He shrugged his free shoulder, a shy smile on his face. "I just put two and two together, that's all."

Dum Dum snorted. "Smart and brave, huh? We'd probably've been in deep shit if you hadn't shown up."

"You mean we weren't already?" Falsworth asked.

"Shut it, Falsworth."

"What did they do to you anyway?" Bucky found himself being watched by deeply concerned blue eyes, and shrugged as loosely as he could, ignoring his screaming muscles.

"Roughed me up a little 's all. Nothin' I can't handle." He looked around, making sure everyone had actually made it out like they thought. "Toro not with ya?"

"He went looking for dues before news got out. I didn't know where he'd gone, so I just came by myself."

Everyone's eyebrows flew up. "Seriously?" Gabe asked.

"What possessed you to do that?" Falsworth added.

The kid blinked. "My friends were in trouble."

Dernier babbled something, which Gabe translated: "It's a miracle he wasn't snapped in two!"

Morita turned to Dum Dum. "What were you saying about him being smart?"

"Shut –"

"Hey!" Bucky shouted, getting their attention. Looking back at their stupid-brave friend, he grinned sincerely for the first time since they'd been rescued. "He got us out when no-one else would even try. He's the size of a stray dog and not even the biggest big in the Warrens could stop him! Yeah, maybe he was a little stupid for tryin' on his own," he said pointedly, making the boy glance down sheepishly, "but he sure as hell's brave for doin' it! And I'm glad he did!"

They all congratulated him then, slapping him on the back (but not too hard – he was still as strong as a twig for all his heroic antics) and mussing up his hair. Dum Dum and Dernier started doing impressions of a duped Schmidt until a high-pitched whistle caught all their attention. "Yo! Where you losers been?" a voice called from a nearby roof.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Right back at ya, asshole!" he yelled, and Toro's laughter was the response.

"Alright Buck, keep ya pants on!" He hopped down from the mud hut, beaming in the face of six glares and one quirked eyebrow. "You wanna know where I've been?"

Dum Dum snorted. "Due hunting, apparently. Left the little guy to come get us himself."

Toro seemed undeterred. "Yeah, but while he was doin' that, I bet you guys were gettin' ass-whooped, right?"

"Nah. Just Bucky really," Morita said, raising his hands at the scowl thrown his way.

"Figures," Toro smirked.

"What're ya gettin' at, Toro?" Bucky snapped.

He hoisted a bag up, nearly as big as a little's head, and there was no mistaking the jingle of coins inside. "Boys, we ain't gonna need to beg for a while!"

Once the bounty had been equally divvied up, Bucky sucked in a breath and elbowed the little soldier in his ribs. "C'mon," he said, "let's get somethin' to eat."

He nodded. "Where are we going to go?"

Looking at the coins in his hand, Bucky smiled. "How 'bout somewhere awesome?"

James was trying (and failing, judging by the grin on Steve's face) not to look too awe-struck. A nobleman would probably have been to places like this since childhood, and James Barnes had supposedly been to grand abodes across the land as he grew up, but the reality was that James barely remembered seeing any house as big and stunning as the one they were stood in front of now. Like most buildings in Cenaria it was very un-Cenarian, and would have looked better-placed in Ceura, but in that respect it fitted perfectly with the rest of the un-Cenarian architecture; that it was just considerably grander was what made it stand out.

"Impressive, right?" Steve said beside him.

James became aware that his jaw was hanging open and promptly closed it. "It looks…" 'Awesome' didn't seem appropriate. "Does the Duke live here alone?"

Steve shook his head. "He's a busy man who likes to entertain people. Feasts are his kind of thing. You must have met him at the King's last one?"

He thought of the huge man who'd knocked the wind out of him with one 'pat' on the back and nearly deafened him with his laughter. "He was hard to miss. Guess he likes to show off a little, huh?"

"Not intentionally," the Captain said, reaching forward to pull on the large brass knocker. "The Odinsons are the second richest family in Cenaria after the Borsons. His Lordship had this built after he returned from Ceura – he spent some time out there at the behest of his father, learning how to be honourable according to the rumours. He's also been to Alitaera I believe, though why I'm not sure."

"How long was he there for?"

He shrugged. "A year or two? I really don't know. Whatever his reasons though, it affected his family's favour with King Odin."

James frowned. "What do you mean by that?" Steve looked hesitant, like he didn't want to say anything, but before James could press him the huge door was opened and a servant ushered them into a tall, spacious entrance hall, assuring them Duke Odinson would be with them shortly. As soon as they were alone, James turned back to Steve and asked again what he'd meant.

Sighing unhappily, the Captain glanced around. "You promise you won't tell anyone what I'm about to say to you?"

He nodded. "I swear, My Lord."

It was an infuriating minute before Rogers worked up the courage to tell him. "I don't like to gossip," he began in a low tone, "but the Duke's absence likely had an impact on who the King chose as his successor."

"How so?"

"Everyone assumed that, with no children of his own, King Odin would name Thor Odinson his successor, but during His Lordship's absence the King chose Loki Laufeyson instead."

"A Laufeyson?" Steve nodded. "Why would he do that? I thought nobody liked –"

Their hushed conversation was abruptly cut short by the sound of a door opening and a loud argument coming to some sort of end. "– family and my family are not the same!"

A man with dark hair strode out, eyes blazing, and he was quickly followed by Thor Odinson, a larger figure with long, blonde hair. Neither seemed to notice James and Steve. "I am only trying to do what is best for you!" Thor shouted, voice echoing around the hall.

"Then stay out of my private affairs!"

"Loki!" The door was wrenched open and the dark-haired man disappeared.

As the room quietened, Thor sighed, wide shoulders sagging as he turned to his guests, expression a mixture of fury and despair. "I'm sorry you had to see that, my friends," he said.

Steve held up a hand. "There's no need to apologise, My Lord," he said, turning to James to wait for a similar assurance.

James, however, was not currently with them – at least, not mentally. He was back in the underground rooms the Vürdmeisters had kept him in, having just woken up from the sleep they forced him into, and a couple of them were leaving the room – except one of them wasn't a Vürdmeister. He didn't even appear to be a Meister, and paid no attention to James as they left, but he had long-ish dark hair and very striking green eyes…

"James!"

Jumping at the sound of his name, James blinked, and the Red Room disappeared; there were no Vürdmeisters, no Loki Laufeyson, just Thor, Steve, and a lavish entrance hall of Ceuran design. A dull ache had started at the back of his head, and he rubbed it absently. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I just… drifted off."

Duke Odinson smiled. "I must apologise too, Lord Barnes, on behalf of Lord Laufeyson. He arrived unannounced this morning, accusing me of inserting myself into his affairs."

James nodded, still slightly numb from the revelation he'd just had, and Steve stepped in to fill the silence. "Are Peggy and Lady Foster nearby?"

The change in Lord Odinson was sudden – his face lit up, and James half-expected the sun itself to burst from him. "Indeed they are! They deigned to take a turn around the gardens – I shall have the staff inform them of your arrival!"

As a servant scurried away to bring the ladies back inside, James couldn't help but imagine how Darcy would react to all of this, and him having dinner with Duke Odinson (who, apparently, was a noble Lady Sif's girls planned to draw lots on should the occasion arise). The thought also made him aware that he was the only one present without a date; Lord Odinson was courting Lady Jane Foster, a pretty brunette who was almost comically short against him, and word amongst the nobility was that The Question would be coming any day now.

What Steve had said about Thor having a thing for feasts was, James decided, an understatement. There was a lot of food in great variety spread out on the dining table, and he wondered if the Duke regularly ate three times a normal man's portion. He was seated next to Lady Foster, Steve and Peggy opposite them, with Thor at the head of the table, and after toasting the King they dug in. Thor and Steve chatted (loudly) like old friends, with Peggy adding a comment in here and there, leaving James to converse with Lady Foster.

"Is it nice to be back in Cenaria?" she asked.

He gave a polite shrug as he finished chewing. "It isn't too bad. It was hard at first with my financial problems, but now that everything is sorted I find I'm quite enjoying myself, My Lady."

She smiled. "Please, call me Jane. I was never one for formalities."

"Then I'm James," he returned with a grin.

"Where were you before you came home?"

"Ossein."

Her face lit up. "Really? I was there myself not too long ago. Do you know of the Chantry?"

"Yes, I've heard of it."

"I befriended a sister there, and was permitted to stay for a few days. I'm fascinated by magic," she explained, "but I can't use it myself, so I've decided to write a book about it."

"Forgive me, but aren't there already plenty of books on magic?"

A slight pink crept into Jane's cheeks. "Yes, there are, but this one will be different."

James raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"This book will look at the connecting factors required to become a mage," she said. "I'm going to study each component needed – largely a person's glore vyrden, of course, but other contributors such as psychology, physicality, genetics – and see how they all contribute to one's ability to use magic, and to what degree each one is necessary."

He nodded appreciatively. "Sounds like a big project."

She tilted her head. "You mean for a lady?"

"No," he assured her hastily, having witnessed what happened when Peggy believed Steve was insinuating something patriarchal. "For anyone."

After a beat Jane nodded, turning back to her plate. "I've been working on it for some time now. I can't imagine what I'll do when it's finished."

"Why don't you look at another aspect?" he suggested, continuing when she looked at him with confusion. "You could explore why spells are formed through weaves, why women need to speak to cast, or why elements don't need weaves at all."

Jane stared at him for a moment, then surprised him by laughing. "Goodness! I'm going to be doing research for the rest of my life at this rate."

"Perhaps you'll become an expert."

Her smile was full of warmth. "Perhaps." She didn't understand the relevance of that statement to James' own life. Their conversation had, however, diverted his thoughts away from the troubling revelation caused by the appearance of Lord Laufeyson – he had to tell Fury. What Steve had said earlier about the King changing his mind when naming his heir seemed like exactly the sort of thing the Vürdmeisters would orchestrate, and warning bells were going off in his head. Ignoring them, he ate his meal, kept up conversation, and left in the early hours of the morning, pleasantly warm from whatever glorious beverage Thor had insisted on pouring for them time after time.

"Enjoying the high life, are we?"

Stumbling a little in surprise, James turned to glare over his shoulder as Hawkeye sauntered up behind him, shit-eating grin on full display. "So what if I am?"

Clint rapped his skull. "Shouldn't let it get to your head."

"You'll prevent that from happening, I'm sure."

"Count on it." They began walking again, Clint matching James' slower stride and not saying much more. After several hours of loud, constant conversation, the silence irritated James.

"Did you want something, Clint?"

"A couple of things, yeah."

"Spill."

"Coulson sent me to find you," he began. "He has a contract for you, but said to tell you to go see Stark tomorrow first."

James frowned. "Stark?"

"Yep. Didn't say why."

"Wonderful," he groaned.

"Now that I've found you though, how about me and you take a trip to Asgard before the night gets old?"

"What, didn't want to go and see Bobbi on your own?"

"Dude, it's Darcy I'm thinking of here. On your behalf, of course," he added hastily. "Jess said you haven't been in a while. The girl's missing you."

Somehow, Clint's cajoling got the better of him, and they soon found themselves at their usual (too-frequent, if you asked James) haunt. When they stepped inside, however, they were surprised to see nearly all the girls gathered around two men; one of them James recognised as Sam, aka Falcon, one of Fury's spies with a thing for birds, but the other guy was someone new. He had dark, messy hair on top of a youthful face, and he was grinning as though he was compensating for Sam's lack of humour. James thought the completely orange outfit was a little unusual, but then unusual was considered normal in these parts of Cenaria. Either way, the girls seemed… fond of him.

"James!" Blinking out of a reverie, James was pleasantly surprised to find Darcy tugging on his arm. "Come and say hello!" she said, dragging him over to Sam and the new guy as Clint followed eagerly behind. "You know Sam, right?"

Sam nodded once. "Barnes. Barton."

Clint waved a hand. "Hey, Sam. Who's the hot stuff?"

'Hot stuff' turned round, suddenly freezing the moment he locked eyes with James. For a long time nobody said anything – not even Clint – then the guy frowned. "Do I know ya?" he asked.

Rubbing the back of his head, James thought hard. A lot of his memories were still missing, but he couldn't picture the man from anywhere. Most of his 'visits' to Cenaria as the Winter Soldier had generally been to the noble areas, and this guy was clearly anything but nobility. "Nope, don't think so."

"Oh." His shoulders seemed to deflate, happy face falling into something much sadder. "Sorry," he said a moment later, some of the brightness returning, "ya just look like someone I knew once."

James snorted. "I've heard that one before."

Sam stepped forward. "James Barnes, Clint Barton, this is Toro Raymond."

"Nice to meet ya, fellas," Toro grinned, extending a hand to each of them.

"Likewise," Clint returned, an easy smile on his face. James just smiled, the awkwardness of not being who Toro thought he was still lingering. "What's with the orange get-up?"

Toro shrugged. "People say it's my colour. Not as much as green, but that's for when ya get past the orange," he explained with a wink. Clint laughed.

Wanda appeared from the back rooms with a bird of prey perched on her arm, making her way over to their group. She needn't have bothered – as soon as the bird caught sight of Sam it was off, startling a few of the girls as it flew across the lounge to his waiting arm. He stroked its chest tenderly, then nudged Toro in the side. "We're good here," he said.

"Right. Nice to see ya again, girls!" Toro called as they moved to the door. "Look after these gents for me, 'kay?"

Clint grinned at the chorus of giggles the comment elicited, but James noticed the wistful look Toro pinned on him as he left. He would have thought more about it if Darcy hadn't spoken up when she did; "Don't take that the wrong way. It's Toro's way of saying he likes you."

"Oh yeah?" James let her lead him away from Clint and the other girls, grateful for the fact that Lady Sif wasn't watching them this time. "Didn't think Fury hired friendly guys."

She shook her head. "He doesn't work for Fury."

"He doesn't?"

"No."

"Then what was he doing with Sam?"

They'd reached Darcy's bedroom, and she pushed the door open quickly. It still amused him a little to know that each door was completely silent, despite the age of the hinges – another false impression. "They're old friends. Known each other since before Sam got in with the Sa'kagé."

"How long is that, then?"

Her face screwed up a little as she worked it out. "Bit over ten years? I don't know. Sam's younger than Toro, so he started at Baxter's later, I think."

James' eyebrows rose. "Baxter's? You mean…"

Darcy stared at him for a second, then smirked. "What, you didn't know Sam used to be a rent boy?"

He couldn't help his cheeks colouring a little. "Um, no. So, does that mean that Toro's…"

"Still a rent boy? Yep." She grinned as he turned a deeper shade of red. "He comes round every once in a blue moon, and because he's one of the only guys who actually visits because he likes us rather than wants us, he's like everyone's gay best friend."

Nodding, James thought back to that last wistful glance. "He told you all to look after me and Clint, and you said –"

"He likes you. And I guess he does." Darcy shrugged lightly as she stepped closer. "Toro's quick to make friends is all. He won't actually hit on you unless he thinks you swing the same way, so don't worry 'bout him."

"I won't." Not in that respect, anyway. Reaching up to brush a strand of hair from Darcy's forehead (with his metal hand – they'd gotten to the point where he felt comfortable using it normally around her, and she'd stopped reminding him that she didn't mind it a while ago), any thoughts of his past and the tension he'd felt since leaving Thor's began to trickle away, and he smiled easily.

"I've missed you," she murmured.

"Yeah? Sorry. I've been busy."

"Getting to know your new pal Captain Rogers?" At his open jaw, Darcy chuckled. "Don't worry – it's between you, me, and Sam. I promise."

Deciding not to ask how Sam was involved, he rolled his eyes. "Can't keep anything secret, can I?"

"Is it nice? Being a noble?"

James shrugged. "The food's great, I guess. Not to mention the houses are fucking huge – but it's a hard lifestyle for the gossip alone." He smirked. "Remind me to thank Coulson for not ranking me higher."

"What," she laughed, "you're telling me you wouldn't want to be a Duke with a fucking huge house and great food?"

He moved to the bed, sitting on its end as he shook his head. "Not after what I saw today I wouldn't."

They fell into their old pattern instantly, lying side by side on the bed, sharing worries and anecdotes like people who'd known each other all their lives. Darcy liked the sound of Duke Odinson and Lady Foster, eyes wide as James described the Duke's mansion as best as he could, and grew concerned when he mentioned Duke Laufeyson and the possible memory he'd triggered. It still bugged James: the more he thought about it, the less sure he was that it was a memory, and not just him confusing Loki with someone else the same way Steve and Toro had done. When he asked if she could provide any insight, Darcy was unable to be of any assistance. "Tony might know something," she suggested. "Why don't you ask him tomorrow?"

He frowned. "Why would Stark know things about Loki Laufeyson?"

She made a face. "He seems to know about everything. He's like the one that Fury almost recruited but didn't."

"I can see why," he huffed. Having Tony Stark know your secrets was like sending them out to all the nations via carrier pigeon.

"What do you think wants you for?"

"Not sure," he admitted quietly, then raised his arm. "He seemed interested in this the first time we met. Could be he wants to take another look."

Darcy shifted on to her side. "What has Steve said about it?"

James swallowed. "He… hasn't." Glancing at her sideways, he lowered it back to the bed and sighed. "I've kept it covered; made up some story about a spell gone wrong. He's too nice to pry."

"Will you ever tell him?" she asked softly.

He paused to think about it. "Maybe."

"Will you ever tell me?"

Tipping his head to look her full in the face (and realising she was a lot closer than he'd anticipated), he nodded. "One day."

"Soon?"

"Soon."

"You promise?"

To move closer, to press his lips against hers for a few, breathless seconds, then to rest their foreheads together, real hand finding hers somewhere between them – it all seemed so natural, as did the smile that spread across his face when he looked far into those warm, clear eyes. Really, it was like they'd both been waiting for it to happen, and now, at last, it had. "Promise."

As it turned out, James' suspicions were correct: Tony Stark wanted to play with the metal arm and its many weaves. After startling the mage and nearly earning himself a fireball to the face, he was lead inside to the workshop area where Stark had first forged his nobility papers and told to sit at the work bench, arm out.

"Can you take it off?" Tony asked.

He shook his head. "I think the weaves would break if that happened. They never removed it, from what I remember."

"That's a shame." There was a knock at the door, and Tony turned to his dog. "Jarvis?" The dog obediently hauled himself up from where he was sat – with a small huff, if James wasn't mistaken – and padded out towards the door.

"How'd you train him like that?" he had to ask.

"He's very smart," Tony replied, face buried in a draw halfway up the wall. "Sometimes I think he used to be human. That, or he's a god in disguise."

"I really hope not," James muttered as the canine in question returned, Phil Coulson following him.

"Gentlemen."

Tony turned, smiling. "Coulson. Not like you to be late."

The Shinga's hand merely blinked. "I was tied up."

"Again? You know, I think you should ask Hill to stop doing that to you, it's not good for your punctuality."

James snorted into his shoulder and felt rather than saw Coulson stare at him. "I think you should ask Sister Potts to move in with you," he countered coolly. "She does wonders for your personality."

"My personality's fine as it is. Isn't it Jarvis?" From where he'd lain back down, Jarvis didn't even so much as raise his head.

"I don't think he agrees," James said.

"Do you see him disagreeing?" Tony returned to the work bench with a handful of small tools, including two pairs of tweezers, and a band around his head with some sort of magnifying glass attached to it. "Now, it is imperative that you stay absolutely still."

"Why?"

"I don't want to blow up."

He swallowed. "Uh, I don't think it'll do that."

Tony snorted. "This is Khalidor's work. I'm only taking as many precautions as they would to preserve you and whatever's in here." He knocked on James' skull for emphasis.

"Gee, thanks."

"Don't mention it."

"Are there traps?" Coulson asked. He'd found a stool to perch on and was watching procedures with the same, clinical gaze he always wore.

"Not yet," the mage muttered, peering down at the arm with a pair of tweezers in each hand.

"There weren't any on my head," James offered.

Coulson frowned. "Your head?"

"It's how they messed with my memory. The B – the person who looked at it said there might have been some, but they didn't find anything. If there had been, I don't think I'd be here."

"Nice to know the evil masters cared about your good features," Tony said.

"You really know how to compliment a person, don't you?"

He shrugged. "Pepper taught me."

After a few minutes of silence, James grew curious – and a little worried. "What are you doing?"

"Just… having a peek at these layers," Tony explained. "There's a lot… and I'm trying to see them all without – breaking any of them."

"And if you did break one?" Coulson asked first.

His eyes flicked up briefly. "The arm would melt."

"Melt," James echoed in disbelief.

"Yep."

"Why melt?" That Coulson seemed unconcerned about the possibility of James being rendered limbless was oddly comforting.

"Because it's made of liquid metal," Tony said as if it was obvious. "All these weaves, they're holding it in shape – allowing it the sturdiness… of real metal, but the fluidity of a non-metal. I wish I could do that," he added in a mutter.

"So the weaves act in a similar matter to the ka'kari?"

Tony actually stopped, sitting up straight to look at Coulson directly. "I don't know. I've never been able to study the ka'kari, so how would I?"

The tension suddenly rocketed. James felt it, and saw Jarvis sit up in his corner. Some unspoken message was passed between the mage and the Shinga's hand before Tony silently went back to navigating the structure on James' arm, but something close to bitterness still lingered in the air above their heads. He cleared his throat. "So, uh, what else does this non-metal thing mean?"

"Not sure," Tony mumbled, "but it looks like they've taken the best properties of the best metal and… combined it with the best properties of liquid metal." Coulson asked for some examples. "Liquid doesn't stay in one shape, can't rust, doesn't get marked. This metal won't go dull, it doesn't have any blemishes or indents on it, it's light, but also very strong. That, and it holds weaves better than a basket maker."

"If it doesn't stay in one shape then why does it look like an arm?"

"That's the metallic property." James stared at him, and he sighed. "Think of it as liquid metal in a flexible mould, with the weaves as the mould."

"How many weaves would need to be broken for the mould to break?" Coulson asked.

Tony stared at something between his tweezers. "Not many." He quickly explained to James that, on the plus side, they could only be broken by being pulled apart, which was something only a magic user could do, Talent users excluded. This, of course, brought up more questions, and it was at least two hours before James decided his head hurt enough and he was bored of sitting still. Trying to work out the stiffness of his other muscles he bid goodbye to Tony and Coulson before following Jarvis to the door.

Once the dog returned, Coulson waited for the mage to finish his delaying tactics as he fiddled with draws and tools, muttering to himself and Jarvis. "Well?"

Tony spun round. "You're still here?"

"What did you find, Stark?"

"I told you. I thought you were listening. Isn't that one of your special skills?"

"You told Barnes what he wanted to know, but the Shinga doesn't care about that."

There was a tiny twitch in Tony's jaw. "No, of course he doesn't," he muttered.

"Can it be done, Stark?"

"Do you even know what you're asking me?" he snapped. "No, let me rephrase that: do you even care?" Coulson didn't respond, physically or otherwise, and the mage sighed in frustration. "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, I could isolate it. Theoretically, anyway." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not sure how much of the original flesh limb still remains, but I think there's a way to preserve the weaves as they are even when cutting, or shortening, the ones keeping it attached to his body."

Coulson nodded. "Thank you Stark." He turned to leave.

"You'd only be left with a lump of never-dulling metal though," Tony called, stopping him in his tracks. "Those liquid properties? They'd only still apply if attached to something living, something equally motional."

"That's not important." Coulson moved to leave again.

"Why?" Tony called. "Why did you want me to do this?"

"You're a researcher, Stark. It's what you do."

"You asked me to find a way to disable one of my friends, one of your own wetboys. I think I deserve one answer, at least."

Coulson eyed him for a long moment. "We need to be sure we can stop the Winter Soldier," he said, then pointedly looked upstairs. "Imagine if you could recreate those weaves on your suit." The Shinga's hand left Tony Stark, speechless, in the middle of his house.