A/N: Good afternoon, duckies!

Strictly speaking, Steve didn't like calling in favors. He didn't like the idea that he could get special privileges just because he did his job. He was good at putting bad people behind bars. In his mind, that didn't mean anyone should bend the rules for him.

Bad people.

Every time Steve thought about Bucky's file, his heart leapt up to his throat, and he was consumed by the need to just do something. The person in the file couldn't be his friend. Another Brooklyn hooligan, Tony had said. He'd been teasing. He'd never believed Steve when he told him he used to be trouble.

Without Bucky, it could have been—likely would have been—Steve in that file. It should have been his rap sheet—theft, breaking and entering, possession, drunk and disorderly conduct. Steve had been dabbling in all of those things. He agreed with Tony when he called these people scumbags because he firmly believed that was what he had been, or at least, he'd been well on his way to becoming one.

Now, he was eating those words. No way could Bucky be a scumbag. Steve sat at his desk, staring out the window, trying to reconcile his memory of Bucky with the list of charges and convictions in his file.

As an ADA, Steve looked at that file and saw a good-for-nothing lowlife who had never brought anything of worth to his community and country. Someone who might be able to reform, but for now was better off behind bars where he couldn't hurt anyone else. As Steve Rogers—former stupid-ass kid—he looked around his office, at his degrees, at the pictures of him in a suit shaking hands with influential and powerful people, and he knew exactly how much value a scumbag like James Barnes could bring to a life.

And, okay. Theft, b and e, drugs. How bad were those crimes, really? Steve still believed in justice, and from Bucky's file, he could see his former friend had been in and out of prison all his adult life. He could accept, as much as he didn't want to, that Bucky had done those things, and he'd paid his debt to society.

But murder? A very gruesome, cold-blooded murder? That was a leap Steve couldn't wrap his head around. Bucky, despite obviously being into some very bad stuff, hadn't ever hurt anyone. To go from that to the crime scene in the file?

No. Not Bucky.

Steve knew he was running out of time. The case was straightforward enough. Charges were going to be brought formally against Bucky quickly. Tony might have played the part of the rich playboy, but he was good at his job. Too good.

And there was the other thing Steve didn't want to think about. Part of the reason he didn't want to accept that Bucky's life had fallen into such spectacular pieces was the fact that he was responsible. The last time Steve had seen Bucky, his friend had looked at him with such hate in his eyes that it made him want to throw up every time he thought about it. This was his fault.

Steve picked up his phone and made the call.

~Bucky~

Someone had brought fresh fruit for the inmates.

It happened sometimes. There was a donation or somebody's garden was overabundant. Either way, to Bucky, it was a bigger treat than when he managed to get his hands on a damn Snickers bar. Give him a fresh apple over a piece of candy any day of the week.

They had plums today. He grabbed one quickly, knowing they'd be gone in a heartbeat and walked away from the line with nothing else. This was enough. He turned it over in his hand like he was Golum and this was the one ring. His mouth watered just thinking about what it would taste like. He raised it to his lips.

"Barnes!"

Startled, he dropped the plum. He looked up to find three guards around him and wracked his brain, trying to remember if he'd done something that would piss the guards off. Not that it took much. If the guards wanted to mess with him, they always found a reason—his bed wasn't made right; he didn't answer them quickly enough. Whatever.

They didn't like him, and they had their reasons.

The features of the guard who had called his name twisted and he grabbed Bucky by the arm, hauling him to his feet. Apparently, in trying to figure out what the hell they wanted with him, he hadn't reacted fast enough. "Come on, Barnes, I don't got all day."

And just like that, Bucky found himself being propelled out of the dining hall. He looked over his shoulder just as the untouched plum he'd left behind was scooped up by another inmate. A light shove to his back and he faced forward again, heart racing.

"Where we headed, fellas?" he asked, taking on as unconcerned a tone as he could manage.

"Hows about you shut your fucking mouth, huh?" said the other guard, steering him down another hallway.

"Hey, don't get your knickers in a twist," Bucky said. "It was a friendly question."

"Oh, well, in that case. You're going wherever we take you. How's that for a friendly answer, huh?" They turned down another hallway.

Bucky's throat got tight as he realized they were headed to a part of the prison that didn't get a lot of traffic. He craned his neck, looking around as they walked. They'd long ago passed the area that was off-limits to inmates. Were there any cameras back here? "What the hell is this?" he asked, his voice still steady though he felt anything but. "Don't tell me. You guys finally found your nuts, and you're going to kick my ass like you mean it. None of this bullshit like you're so clumsy, you 'accidentally' tripped me."

The guard walking to his right, predictably, stuck his foot out. Bucky had too much forward momentum going to stop, so he tumbled to the ground. Pissed, it was his automatic reaction to throw off the grip of the guard who tried to haul him to his feet. That was a mistake, and it earned him a baton to his back and an elbow to his gut among other things.

"Who's the clumsy one now, huh?" one of them laughed.

He was wheezing, wanting desperately to curl in on himself when the guards got him back on his feet. Two of the guards took an arm in a vice grip while the other took up the position behind him. He poked him in the back while the other two half-dragged, half-hustled him forward a ways.

They stopped in front of a door, and Bucky's gut twisted more painfully than it already was. He had the feeling he was going to be leaving this room in need of serious medical attention.

"Try not to aim for the face," he said, his voice strained only because he'd been struggling to catch his breath from the hit he'd taken to his stomach. "Makes it hard to make it look like an accident."

"Shaddup." The guard behind him shoved him, sending him flying into the room. Bucky went down face first.

"Hey, what the heck is going on?" a fourth voice Bucky didn't recognize asked.

"He's a mouthy sonovabitch," the first guard said. "Gave us a fight."

Bucky scoffed as he pushed himself to his knees, still facing away from the door, looking down at the dirty floor he was on. He started when the owner of the fourth voice knelt beside him. Bucky flinched. Here we go.

Rather than the hit he expected, Bucky felt a light hand on his back. "Did you tell him what he's doing here?" the voice asked, sounding annoyed now.

One of the guards huffed. "You got fifteen minutes, Rogers," he said. Then, there was the sound of footsteps and the door slamming shut.

A hand curled around Bucky's arm. "Get off," he muttered, rolling his shoulders to throw the hand off just as he had in the hallway.

The fourth guy—the only guy in the room now— instantly took his hands off Bucky. "Sorry, Buck. Are you okay?"

Buck.

And the asshole guard had called him Rogers.

Bucky turned his head and instantly snapped it back to the ground. He blinked several times, feeling the other man's eyes on him.

It couldn't be. He was going out of his mind. Again.

He forced himself to look. Sure enough, he would swear on everything that the face staring back at him was none other than Steve Rogers. "Jesus Christ. Did I hit my head?"

Steve's concerned face crinkled as he smiled. "Do you know who I am?"

Bucky sat with his back against the wall and shook his head hard, still not sure if he was hallucinating. "You're Steve." He laughed because the very idea of it was ridiculous.

He didn't know how to feel about this. He hated Steve Rogers. Yet, seeing his smile, he wanted to smile back. His eyes followed Steve as the man sat against the wall next to him. It wasn't a bad sight. He was wearing a gray shirt that hugged muscular arms, and jeans. Bucky laughed again. "Did you sign up for a government experiment, or something? You were miniature the last time I saw you."

Steve bristled. That same face he used to make when they were stupid kids, and Bucky told him to stop getting himself in trouble—practically anyone could beat him in a fight. "I wasn't that small."

Bucky opened his mouth, ready to deliver the double entendre that was right on the tip of his tongue, but then he snapped it shut again. He suddenly remembered just who he was talking to and why it had been so many years since he'd seen him. He got to his feet.

"I hit a growth spurt. After you left," Steve said.

They were in some kind of storage room, Bucky realized distractedly. He turned his back on the other man. "What are you doing here, Steve? How did you do this?" he gestured around them.

"Ah…" Now it was Steve's turn to give a humourless laugh. "I'm a lawyer."

That got Bucky's attention. He swung around and stared. Steve had stayed seated. He wondered if that was on purpose—to give Bucky the sense he was in control of anything. "What kind of lawyer?"

Steve looked down to his folded hands. "I'm an ADA."

Bucky covered his face with his hands, hiding a smirk. "Oh, that's perfect. Don't tell me you got my case, and now you're going to be the one to put me behind bars for the rest of my life. What, did you have me dragged in here so you could shove it in my face? You shouldn't have bothered. I really know I'm as good as dirt."

"Buck…"

That one word sounded so heartbroken, Bucky couldn't stand looking at him. He was angry, but he didn't know why.

Steve sighed. "I did get your case, but I gave it right back." Now, he did get up. He touched Bucky's arm. Bucky yanked it away. "I'd never prosecute you."

"Of course not. Conflict of interest, I guess. Though it's been, what? More than a decade? Is that really a conflict? You could have taken the case."

"No. I couldn't have. Look. We don't have a lot of time. I came here to ask you what the hell happened."

"I thought you got my case."

"I know what they say happened. What they say you did." Steve shifted. "Did you?"

"Would you believe me if I said I didn't?"

"Yes."

Bucky was startled by his tone; frozen by it. There was such conviction in Steve's voice, that it was impossible to deny the truth in it. He meant what he said.

Then again, Steve always meant what he said.

Bucky wiped his hair back away from his eyes. "They said I did it," he said, his voice flat.

"But you don't know?"

"I don't remember." Bucky sat down heavily on the edge of a sturdy-looking box. "There was a party. I was drinking water." He shook his head, disgusted with himself. "I'd been sober for a year and a half. Since my last stint in prison. I guess I fell off the wagon."

"And murdered a cop's wife? Practically ripped her apart?"

Bucky shuddered. "I don't remember," he whispered.

Someone pounded on the door, and they both jumped. "Wrap it up," one of the guards said.

Steve made a face, looking at the door with a tight jaw. "They're not treating you right in here," he said. It wasn't a question.

Bucky scoffed. "They say I killed a cop's wife. Practically ripped her apart, remember?" He shuddered again. He'd woken up covered in blood, face to face with the glazed-over eyes of a woman he'd only met once; the wife of his friend. Her untouched face was the only thing left unbloodied, but even that was a horror. Her mouth was twisted open in a horrible scream. "It's a fun place to be. The guards hate me, because it was a cop's wife. The inmates would love me except I didn't kill the cop—I killed the girl. You don't get points for that." He ran a hand through his hair with a rueful smile. "I get in a lot of accidents. The guards see to trip a lot when I'm around. Luckily, I'm there to break their falls."

"But they're the ones who are responsible for your well-being. That's their job."

He had to smile. "Steve. You haven't changed at all, have you? Just because people are supposed to be good guys doesn't mean they are."

Steve ducked his head, a strange look on his face. "Yeah. I guess I never did figure that out."

When he looked up from under his lashes to find Steve's eyes on him, Bucky shivered. It wasn't a shudder of revulsion this time, but a thrill that shot straight down his spine.

He hated Steve. Right?

There was another hard knock on the door, and this time it opened. The guards came back in. Steve kept looking at Bucky. "I'm going to send someone. A lawyer. Not a damn public defender. Accept her help, okay?"

"You and your god damned savior complex. Haven't grown out of that either, huh? What, the first time wasn't enough for you?" Bucky asked, not really as angry as he wanted to be. The guards had grabbed his arms again.

"Buck." Steve was looking at him. That look. The one that always made Bucky want to give him anything he asked for.

"Yeah," he said, tired. "Yeah, I'll see her."

He tried not to look back as he was led away.

A/N: See y'all soon!