A/N: Happy Birthday, Mina. I hope you're happy with what these boys are about to go through in your name.

~16 Years Earlier~

Up to that point, Steve had only interacted with James Barnes a few times in his life.

The first had been when they were in sixth grade. A group of bullies had cornered him on the playground. Steve did his best to hold his own, but mostly, that just resulted in them laughing at him. Then James had come barreling into the middle of it, shoving the other kids off him.

"How big of a pussy you gotta be to pick on one of the little kids, huh?" James had shouted, shoving the bigger kids back.

Steve still remembered how his cheeks had burned as he looked down at the ground. The other kids had laughed. "He ain't no little kid. He's in the same grade as us," one said.

"Yeah." Another kid kicked at Steve's shoe. "Just a scrawny piece of-"

"Hey, all right." James grabbed the most stubborn kid by the back of his shirt and hauled him backward. "Get outta here, already."

Snickering, the bigger kids got to their feet. Steve ignored James's hand as he stood up too, trying not to wobble. "Hey, I had that."

"Sure, you did. You were just making it look like they were kicking your ass."

Steve puffed himself up as much as he could. "Yeah, so what?"

Instead of looking annoyed, James looked amused. "So, nothing. Jeez, you're short. You skip a grade or what?"

Steve frowned. "No."

"Okay." The bell rang, and James waved. "Well, see you around."

Steve was aware of James throughout the years. He was popular and athletic. Steve was...not. But James wasn't the asshole kind of jock. He was always nice-held the door open for people, didn't act like a dickhead just because he was some kind of basketball prodigy.

And yeah, maybe Steve saw more basketball games than he really needed to. Maybe he thought basketball should have been the national pastime instead of baseball.

Or maybe he'd watched more than one basketball game because James was playing. Whatever. He wasn't going to talk about that.

It was just that he made it look graceful, the way he jumped in the air to make a shot. The way he dodged around the other players. The effortless way he handled the ball.

The way he looked in his jersey. The way his hair was always just a little too long and it riffled as he ran down the court. The shine on his muscles when they were slick with sweat from a game.

What. Ever.

That wasn't why Steve was there now. It really wasn't.

Well, he was there to see James, but not because of his muscular arms, or perfect hair, or…

What he should have been concentrating on was how the hell he was supposed to get close to James in the first place. This wasn't a good plan. It was a simple one. Too simple. Want to get close to James Barnes? Get on the basketball team. It was something he could control. Potentially.

Ah, who was he kidding? He wasn't athletic enough to get on the team. He got winded easily, and he wasn't what anyone would call coordinated. Last picked in gym, and all that jazz. Which sucked, because he really liked playing.

"Tell ya what. If you don't try out, you really won't get on the team," he muttered to himself.

As he stood in line, he watched James. The thing was, he couldn't reconcile what he'd seen-heard-the night before with the guy in front of him right now. James and the rest of the continuing team were there putting the newbies through their paces. He was laughing.

He wouldn't be laughing if what Steve thought had happened last night really happened. Would he?

"What the hell are you doing here, Rogers?"

Steve cringed. He thought about ignoring the prick, but that never did any good. Taking a deep breath, he turned around.

Maybe his time would have been better spent pursuing some kind of martial art. This kid-his name was Johan, for fuck's sake-was a bully. What pissed him off more than anything was the fact he couldn't do much to guys like this. He'd survive a little name calling, but Johan Schmidt should be brought to justice. Simple as that.

Steve looked around. "I mean, the banner up there says it's basketball tryouts at three-thirty." He looked at the clock that hung above the gym. "It's three-thirty five. This doesn't seem like rocket science, Johan."

Johan narrowed his eyes. Of course, he hated his given name. He went by John. He shoved Steve backward. Steve stumbled but managed to stay upright. "I think you must be brain dead, Rogers," Johan said, shoving him again. "I seen you in gym. You think the coach is going to let you anywhere near the team? Huh? Your clumsy ass would bring everyone down."

He shoved Steve one more time, and this time, he fell backward, landing hard on his ass. He was fairly sure one of the others had stuck his foot out behind him, but he hadn't seen who. Johan and the other boys snickered. "See?" Johan said. "Clumsy as fuck."

Glaring now, Steve got to his feet and barreled toward Johan. Johan pushed him down again easily, to the laughter of the others. Steve swept his foot out. "Whoa!" Johan cried out, and then he was the one on the floor. It only took him a second to figure out what had happened. He leapt at Steve, intent on doing some serious damage.

"Hey, hey, hey."

James had appeared suddenly. Before Steve could process what was happening, he had his arms around him and was hauling him upright. For a moment, just a moment, Steve was way too aware that he was the little spoon. James's arm was right around his waist, and Steve's back was tucked up against his chest.

But it only lasted a moment before James stepped to the side, addressing Johan who was still on the floor. "What'sa matter with you, huh? Steve's a bean pole. Why you gotta be picking on him?"

"He got no business being here."

"It's open tryouts, John." James shook his head. "He's got the same right as you to try out."

By that time, Johan had gotten to his feet. He was red in the face and furious, but the way his eyes darted to somewhere behind him, Steve could guess one of the teachers arrived. "Coach Phillips, you can't let this kid on the team?"

Steve turned around. Sure enough, the stern-looking, no-nonsense coach was behind them looking as unamused as ever. He folded his arms across his chest. "I suppose you have a good reason?"

Johan looked momentarily ashamed, but then he narrowed his eyes. "Yeah. He's a murderer."

Steve stiffened, and his blood ran cold.

"He killed his own little brother. That's why he got no friends. People are too afraid he'd kill them as soon as he got the chance."

The whole gym was silent. Steve felt lightheaded. He wanted to run, but he was frozen, his eyes on the floor. There was a lump in his throat too big and painful to speak around. His eyes stung.

"Mr. Schmidt, I need you to turn around and get out of here," Coach Phillips said.

"What?" Johan sounded outraged.

"Sports is about being part of a team, son, and I don't need players with a cruel streak."

"But, Coach! I just told you-"

"I heard what you said, and I'm telling you right now, tryouts for you are over. You're not what this team is looking for."

"Coach-"

"Walk away, Mr. Schmidt. Go on, now."

Steve didn't have to look up to know Johan was glaring daggers at him. He'd pay for this later, but he didn't give a damn. It was all he could do to keep from hyperventilating, or crying, or fainting. He was way too aware of all the eyes on him.

"Hey."

A warm hand on his arm made Steve start. He sucked in a deep breath.

"Hey, come on." James gave his arm a tug. "I'll take you through your paces on the court outside."

"What's everyone standing around for?" Coach Phillips clapped his hands. "Come on. We have work to do, people."

Steve took another breath and held his head up high. He still felt a little woozy, but there was no sense in showing it. Not when he knew everyone was still watching him, even as they got back to the business of tryouts. "I don't want to jump the line," he said, surprised when his tone was steady. Toneless, but steady.

James laughed. "You didn't notice? A buncha kids went with John. There were only a couple ahead of them, and the other guys got them. Come on. Let's get some fresh air."

When he followed James outside, Steve was afraid he was going to start asking questions, or maybe tell him privately that they didn't want him to try out. He didn't. He started taking Steve through the same paces as all the rest.

As he knew he would, Steve sucked. He made a hook shot, but that was about it. Still, though he must have been frustrated, James never showed it. He just kept saying, "Again, man. This time…" and giving him suggestions for improvement.

By the time James called it quits, Steve was exhausted. He flopped down on the asphalt, panting, trying not to groan.

To his surprise, James flopped down right next to him. He propped his hands behind his head, staring up at the sky as though they were lounging in the grass after a picnic or something. "So, here's the thing, Steve-o. You can't shoot worth a damn."

Steve snorted and sighed, waiting for the inevitable.

"But you're a fast mother trucker. Really fast. And you got what Coach Phillips likes to call grit. You're not a pansy, that's for sure."

"Uh. Thanks?"

"I'm going to tell Coach to put you in."

Steve pushed up onto his elbows. "What? Why?"

"Basketball is about more than the guy who gets the ball in the net, you know. We have to have sneaky mother truckers like you to dodge around all the other guys." James rolled onto his side to look at him. "Look, you got like, zero muscle mass and no stamina. You sound like an asthmatic right now. But you're not afraid to push yourself. That's good. So I'll tell Coach to put you in, if you agree to work with me after class even when there's no practice." He tilted his head, fixing Steve with a look. "It's going to take me a hot minute to convince Coach it's a good idea, but I'll do it if you'll agree to put in the extra work."

Steve stared at him, sure he must be pulling his leg. He narrowed his eyes, wondering if James had a mean streak in him after all. But the other kid was looking back, his blue-green eyes clear and serious. "Why would you do that?"

James shrugged and flopped back down. "Told you. You're fast. You got potential." He cackled. "Damn, that sounds like a line, huh? What is this, one of those feel-good sports movies? We should start playing 'Eye of the Tiger'. But anyway, I think you could make a good player. Simple as that."

Steve blinked. Given the reason he'd come here, it was better than he could have hoped for. One-on-one contact with James? He had to think back to be sure he hadn't planned this. It was almost devious. "Uh, yeah. That'd be great." He sat up. He knew he was going to be sore just from this tryout. What the hell was he getting into? "Yeah, man. Any day after school. Every day, if you want."

James sat up and slapped him on the back. "Good deal. Welcome to the team."

"Thanks, James."

James shuddered. "Oh, hey. None of that. Call me Bucky. Everyone calls me Bucky."

"Okay, Bucky."

~Now~

Steve closed the file folder and put his hands over his face. The list of priors on Bucky's record broke his heart. He just couldn't reconcile the memory of his friend with the person in this file folder.

How had this happened?

Steve gathered up the paperwork into a neat pile. He pushed back from his desk. If felt like that one folder weighed about a thousand pounds. His shoes were made of lead.

Tony had been the one to hand him the file, but it was Chief Assistant DA Fury he went to. He knocked on the door.

"Come in."

Steve shuffled in and set the folder on the desk. "I need to be taken off this assignment, sir."

Fury arched an eyebrow. "Is there a problem, Counselor?"

"Yeah. Conflict of interest."

Fury studied him for a long moment, his eyes, as ever, assessing. Steve looked back as evenly as he could. He didn't want to have to say why.

Thankfully, Fury nodded. "All right. Call Stark back in here. Tell him he can't pass off this one after all."

"Thank you, sir."

Steve walked back to his desk and slumped down in his chair, still stunned. He was relieved that Fury had given in without a fuss.

There was no way Steve could ever work to keep Bucky behind bars, no matter what he'd done.

A/N: My thanks to Nikki, Packy, MyOnlyHeroin, and especially Betsy, who doesn't even know these characters and yet still helps me out. Hehhe.