A/N: Phew. Sorry about the wait the like...five of you who are reading this. ;)
"There's something off about the officer's statement."
Tony slammed his fist down on the table and turned in his chair to glare at Steve. "Rogers, you're not supposed to know his statement. You keep skulking around here, and it's starting to get on my nerves."
Steve tapped on the transcript of the interview. "It's the way he talks about him. Like he's a scumbag."
"Look, I know you have nostalgic, happy-time feelings for this guy, but he is a scumbag. Police officers aren't supposed to like the bad guy. And it's not like your buddy is any old prick. This guy annihilated Officer Zemo's wife."
"Allegedly."
Tony's eyes narrowed. "Allegedly, Zemo has a right to be pissed, don't you think?"
"Yeah, but it's the way he talks about Bucky. Like he's worthless."
This time, Tony turned his chair all the way around. He leaned back, his hands clasped on his lap as he stared up at Steve with a serious expression on his face. "You're going to have to forgive me my condescension, Cap. I'm a super-genius, so I'm used to retaining a concept the first time learn it." He held up one hand. "See, James Barnes is a criminal." He held up his other hand. "Helmut Zemo is a cop. Criminals and cops aren't friends. They don't play nice."
Steve crossed his arms over his chest. "But that's the thing. Zemo and Bucky were friends. At least friendly enough to be at the same party. Together. That alone is enough to give a shadow of a doubt."
"That's great," Tony said enthusiastically. He got to his feet and took Steve by the shoulders. "Here's the only thing. We're the prosecution. That means we're trying to prove guilt, not a shadow of a doubt." He gave him a shake, and raised his voice. "You're on the wrong side, Rogers."
Tony took a step back and dropped back in his chair. "Get out of my office. Something tells me I have to prepare for the defense to rake a bereaved widower over the coals."
Steve bit the inside of his cheek. "We should-"
"No." Tony swung back to face him. "We shouldn't do anything that doesn't involve putting this asshole behind bars for the rest of his natural life. That's not our job. If the police didn't find the connection-"
"Find the connection between one of their own and foul play?"
Tony's lip twitched. "Foul play. Jesus Christ. You're straight out of film noir." He took a deep breath and made a visible effort to gentle his tone. "Steve, I get what you're trying to do here. But you're going unethical at a rate I can't keep up with. And that's saying something, because I'm not very ethical. Isn't it usually you arguing this side of things?"
It was true. Steve had gone head-to-head with him before, wanting to stick to the letter of the law where Tony didn't mind bending the law a bit. "This is important. I do what I do because I believe in justice."
"So do I." Tony reached over and picked up a file folder. He tossed it, open, on the desk nearest Steve. It was a gruesome picture of Victoire Zemo-very, very dead. "Justice for her."
Steve met his eyes, his jaw taut. "There's no justice in imprisoning an innocent man for a murder he didn't commit."
"What, besides the fact you want it to be true, makes you so sure? I've seen his visitor logs. I know you haven't seen him. No one's seen him except Romanoff."
Steve hated the idea of Bucky being alone. Where the hell was his mother in all of this? "I just know," he said, knowing full well how it sounded.
For once, Tony didn't look sarcastic or derisive. His expression was sympathetic. "It's not that I don't see how good a story it is. He saved you from a dark path only to start down a dark path himself. Now, you want to save him. It's poetic. But life isn't poetry, Steve."
Steve looked down and nodded, hiding his irritation behind the hint of a smile. "Thanks for the life lesson, Tony. I'll get out of your hair."
"Just ask yourself if he's worth risking your career. If Fury knew you were rifling through our case looking for a way to get him off…"
"Thanks, Tony. Good luck."
~0~
Natasha Romanoff arched a finely manicured eyebrow at Steve across the desk in her office. "That's a gutsy tactic. Shift the blame to the crooked cop, huh?"
"It's not a tactic. It makes sense."
"It makes sense that a man brutally murdered his wife at a party of all places, and then blamed the guy he brought to the party?"
"No." Steve sighed. "That part doesn't make sense, but follow me here. I don't know what happened between this guy and his wife. But let's just say for argument's sake that something did. They got into a fight. He overreacted. Suddenly he's got a dead body on his hands. Whatever he was doing with Bucky, I don't know. But if you read the transcript of his interviews, the way he talks about Bucky is as though he's worthless. His word choice doesn't give him any value at all, negative or positive."
Now, Natasha looked thoughtful. "He talks like a cop who's stopped seeing criminals as human beings. So assuming he's capable of killing his wife, Bucky is a convenient scapegoat."
"Which would explain why Bucky, who was sober and drinking water, doesn't remember starting to drink. Zemo would have known about his alcoholism."
"And no one is going to believe a blackout drunk ex-con over a cop." Natasha smirked.
"You think it makes sense?"
"The more important part is that I can make it make sense to a jury. A guy named Helmut with anger issues? I can sell that."
Steve frowned. "It's not a tactic."
She smiled. "You're sweet, you know that? We're lawyers. Tactics is what we do. We argue our side, prosecution or defense. Who's on the stand in the first place is the cops' job."
Which was why he shouldn't have ever expected sympathy from Tony. "I know. It's just-"
"This one's personal?" Natasha quirked her lips. "You haven't seen him since the first time."
"It can't possibly be a good idea to have an ADA on the visitor log. For him or for me." He tilted his head. "How's he doing?"
"The only time he smiles is when we talk about you."
Steve ducked his head. For some reason, his cheeks got hot. "That's not what I asked."
Natasha hummed innocently. "I'll get you a meet off the books."
Steve's head shot up. "What?"
"You've got your strings; I've got mine. I'll give them a pull and see if I can get you in the same room with him." Her expression turned devious. "Not enough time for a conjugal or anything…"
His cheeks flamed, and he ducked his head again. "That's not… It isn't…"
Natasha laughed. "Really. So it is like that. The golden Captain America likes a bad boy."
"Don't call me that." He ran a hand through his hair. "You've been talking to Tony."
She shrugged. "Of course. The bastard knows he's not going to get anything out of me, but he can't help himself. He had to try to charm me for information. About you, mostly." She grinned. "I think he's jealous. He's been trying to turn your head for years. This guy comes along, and suddenly you're breaking all the rules."
Steve shook his head. "It's not like that."
"It wouldn't be so bad if it was like that, you know?"
"Right." Steve looked up, bemused in spite of himself. "Even if he wasn't in jail for murder-"
"Which you don't believe he committed, and give me a break. If you didn't think I could get him off, you wouldn't have gotten me for him."
Steve frowned and pretended she hadn't spoken. "Even if he wasn't currently incarcerated, we've seen each other once in fifteen years. Everything else aside, I have no idea who he is now."
"Except that you're sure he's not a murderer."
"And besides, he has every reason to hate me."
They sat in silence for a few beats before Natasha said, "Are you going to elaborate?"
"Not my story to tell, but it's the reason we haven't seen each other since we were kids."
She nodded, accepting that way easier than Tony would have. "Well, like I said. I'm going to get him off. So maybe you should work on that while he's still locked up." The devilish grin returned. "Then you can work on getting him off the fun way."
~16 Years Ago~
The rain didn't bother them at first. They were teenage boys and made of anything but sugar. But a soft, persistent rain became a torrential downpour. They were deep in the neighborhoods of Brooklyn-far from shelter.
"Come on." Out of instinct, Steve grabbed Bucky's hand and ran with him.
"Where are we going?" Bucky asked over the din of the storm.
"Just trust me."
Bucky didn't answer. He tightened his grip on Steve, and they ran on.
"Who lives here?" Bucky asked when Steve led them through a gate at the side of a house.
"Who knows? The point is, they're not here."
"What are ya talking about?" Bucky pulled up short. "What are we doing here, then?"
"Getting out of the damn rain. Come on."
They were both shivering as Steve began to tap on windows. He was showing off, and he knew it. He'd skipped two houses-easier houses-to go to this one. It was fancier. Guaranteed there wasn't going to be any antique furniture there. Of course, it tended to increase the presence of burglar alarms, but it was usually easy to see if a house was wired. This one wasn't.
"Come on, man. We're going to get in trouble." Bucky looked over his shoulder self-consciously, whispering as though anyone could hear them over the pounding rain.
"Naw." Steve clenched his jaw. It was cold. "Don't worry about it. I've done this loads of times. 'Sides, if we don't get out of this rain, we're going to be popsicles. We'll be washed away in the torrential rain, only to be dug up a hundred years from now when everyone we know is dead."
Bucky laughed in spite of his nervousness. "Christ, you're dramatic. What are you…. Shit."
Steve had found an unlocked window and slid it open. It wasn't hard to pop out the screen. "Stop worrying, Buck. Hold on. I'll make sure it's all clear."
He hoisted himself through the window, taking a glance around before he spilled himself onto a hardwood floor. He grinned. The house was nice. Really nice. There was no dog waiting for him, and nothing in the way of the window. "Okay. Come on." He beckoned to his friend.
"I'm not-"
"Buck."
Bucky grunted. Being taller than Steve by a long shot, he stuck one leg in, and hauled himself inside that way. When he got to his feet, he teetered unsteadily. Steve reached out, instinctively putting a hand to his waist to settle him.
Their faces were really close when he did that. Really, really close. Despite the chill on his skin, Steve felt a rush of warmth go through his whole body. Bucky's puffs of breath were warm on his face.
"Warm," he muttered.
"Huh?" Bucky said.
Steve let him go and took a step backward. "Come on. We can find a dryer or something."
"Are you nuts?" Despite his words, Bucky followed Steve further into the house. "We're going to get annihilated. Someone is going to come home."
"Not usually. Think about it, man. It's two o'clock. Probably the people who live here work, so they won't be home until five. We have a minute."
"And if they do come home?"
"You're a fast runner." Steve flashed him a grin. "It doesn't happen very often." Actually, the last time it had happened to him was what had led Steve to Bucky, but that was another story. "We'll be fast. Use the dryer."
"And what are we going to use while our clothes dry? You want us to wander around here naked, huh? And if someone comes back, we go streakin' out of here? Literally?"
Steve shivered. Wouldn't that be a sight. He cleared his throat and went into the master bedroom. "I bet…" He grinned. "Yep. His and her robes. So. Do you want the pink one?" He was already starting to toe off his soggy shoes.
A strange, unsettled look came over Bucky's face as Steve took his shirt off. He turned quickly away. "Fine," he grumbled. "Whatever." He went around the corner to change.
A few minutes later, they'd located the dryer and were lounging-Bucky in a pink robe, Steve in white-in the living room. "Look at this controller." Steve shook his head, trying to figure out how to work the ginormous television.
"You know what? I don't want to watch anything." Bucky crossed his arms over his chest and hunkered down on the couch. "You're probably going to order their pay-per-view next."
Steve flinched. "Look, it's not like they'll miss it. It's $2.99. $4.99 at most. What's that to them?" He gestured around at the upper middle-class opulence.
"You think that's an excuse? This is fucked up, man."
"What's your problem?"
"This isn't you. Breaking into people's house. Stealing their...robes or whatever."
"I'm not going to steal their damn robes. You know that. We're just getting dry. You think we should freeze out there?"
Bucky glared. "We weren't going to freeze. This is creepy. I just keep thinking how creepy it is to think about someone being in my house when I'm not there. Wearing my things. It doesn't even matter if you take something." He shook his head and stood up. "We gotta go. I'm going to go right now. This is too gross."
Stung, Steve got up and followed him back to the dryer. "I don't understand why you're so upset. It's not like-"
"You know, this isn't you. This just isn't you," Bucky said, looking up at him. He looked so hurt. "You're not a bad kid, Steve. I don't get why you're doing this. You really break into houses?"
He crossed his arms over his chest. "I haven't for a while." Not since they'd been hanging out.
"Are you trying to get in trouble?"
"I'm not going to get in trouble."
"You could, and then what? No more basketball. No more school. You go to jail. You don't want to go into the system, man. You know what happens to pain in the ass kids who end up in the system."
Steve looked down at his feet and shrugged. "Maybe I should already be in the system, you know?"
They were both quiet for a minute after that. "What are you doing?" Bucky said finally. "Some stupid ass bullshit where you didn't go to jail when your brother died, and now you're trying to make up for that?"
"It's not like that."
"Whatever. Let's just get out of here."
They dressed in wet clothes and left the house, Steve aching for more reasons than Bucky could ever guess.
A/N: Catch you later, dudes!