8. All I Do Is Damage

Steve drove one of the cars from the motor pool toward a former SHIELD academy about forty-five minutes northwest of the City. He didn't take his motorcycle, in case he needed to give Bucky a ride back. He didn't know what Natasha was doing. He was frustrated with her. Bucky wasn't ready to be back out in the world. He was volatile and exhausted. He needed to rest, not go on mysterious adventures with the Black Widow after a sleepless night.

Bucky was improving, certainly, but he couldn't keep himself from worrying. Steve had always been reckless, always throwing himself into dangerous situations with little care for his own safety. "Sometimes I think you like getting punched," Bucky had told him the night before he'd shipped out. It wasn't exactly true, but it was close. He did like to be in the fray. It was why he'd always blamed himself for Bucky's death; why he now blamed himself for the much worse fate that had befallen his friend. The mission to capture Zola had been reckless; he could have made it safer. He should have. It shouldn't have just been him and Bucky. If he'd brought along someone else, Bucky might have survived. They might have captured Zola faster, maybe had more time to defeat Schmidt. And then maybe he wouldn't have been frozen in ice for seventy years.

This was pointless. What had happened was in the past. He couldn't go back. He could only try harder now, be safer, help his friend. Bucky had been made into the Winter Soldier, and might never be Bucky again. But he owed it to him to help him, however he could. So maybe Natasha was right. Maybe having a job to do was what he needed. Steve had certainly benefited from having something to do after he was awoken.

He reminded himself that Natasha was, after all, also a former assassin and might be familiar with what Bucky was going through. He'd been quick enough to trust Sam with his friend, and he certainly believed Natasha wanted to do the right thing. It was just galling to have to leave Bucky's recovery up to someone else. He felt he owed his friend more than that. But maybe between his own experiences and Natasha's, they could effectively put themselves in Bucky's shoes.

The academy was empty, so it was easy to find Natasha's car. Well, the one she borrowed, anyway. He didn't know if she actually had her own. She appropriated things for herself so naturally that even the original owner wouldn't take notice. She was sitting on the hood of the car, as comfortable as she always seemed to be. Bucky was standing like a soldier a little ways away, feet spread, arms loose at his sides, back straight.

"Hey, Rogers," Natasha said as he parked and got out of the car.

He glanced at Bucky, trying to assess how he was doing. His face was devoid of expression as he met Steve's eye. "Nat, what were you doing?" he asked, keeping his voice calm.

She smiled and walked around to the trunk of her vehicle. "Fetching this." She opened it and he was mildly surprised to see a man curled up back there. He was relieved to see he was breathing, though faintly.

"Why?" he asked, at a loss.

She glanced at Bucky, who was watching them impassively. "Because of what he used to do for HYDRA."

He nodded quickly, a sudden understanding of Bucky's cold behavior hitting him. "Why did you want to bring him here?"

She shook her head. "Not him. This." She held up a flash drive. "We may need him to access some of it, but this place has the best tech for decryption. And I didn't want to be bothered," she added.

"Okay." Steve shifted his weight, glancing between the three other people hesitantly. "Should we head in?"

"Break in. Yeah, let's go," she said, and started forward.

Steve looked at Bucky, who had been motionless except for his eyes during the whole exchange. When Natasha started moving, he did, too, walking over to the trunk of the car and pulling the man out roughly with his metal arm. He swung him over his shoulder placidly, and followed Natasha. His body language didn't make it seem like he was following someone, though. Steve brought up the rear, glancing around to make sure they weren't noticed.

The parking lot was large and it took several minutes to cross it. Steve watched Bucky marching in front of him, somewhat surprised that he carried their prisoner so effortlessly. His shoulders were set, but the one he'd dislocated didn't seem to be bothering him. He moved easily, and Steve supposed he was more comfortable doing this than anything else he'd done since he'd appeared in Steve's room.

The doors of the building were glass. They were locked. Natasha was picking the lock when he caught up, Bucky standing silently a yard or so from her. When she'd gotten the door open, she motioned for them to stay where they were, and moved stealthily inside. She walked to a box on the far wall and typed something into the keypad there. It took her a few tries, but then she turned and, smiling, waved them in. Steve let Bucky go in first with his burden.

As soon as they were inside the door, Bucky dropped the man dismissively onto the tile floor with a thud. Natasha set off down a hallway, clearly knowing where she was going. They were in a large open space, mostly empty except for a SHIELD sign and a plaque on the far wall. Steve followed Natasha to a computer lab four doors down on the left. Bucky stayed behind, standing over the prisoner.

"I don't think we'll need him," Natasha said as he entered, already leaning over a console and typing quickly.

"What are we going to do with him?" Steve asked.

She shrugged. "Hill will probably want to question him." She glanced at the door hesitantly, and Steve wondered what she knew about the prisoner that he, and apparently Bucky, didn't.

"Who is he?" he asked, frowning and shifting his weight uncomfortably.

Sighing, she turned to face him. "I thought I gave you a file on this."

"What's his name?" Steve knew every name in the file.

"George Porter."

His frown deepened. It was familiar, but he couldn't remember what he'd done. Something recent, obviously; the man couldn't be older than forty. "Should we have not left Bucky alone with him?"

She laughed grimly. "If he remembers him, I don't think we'll be able to stop how he reacts to that kind of memory."

"Do you need me here?" he asked, staring intently at the door, listening.

"No, Rogers, you invited yourself. The soldier and I had this taken care of," she said dismissively, turning attention back to the screen in front of her.

He watched the rapidly changing images on the monitor a moment longer, then turned and walked out of the room. There was only silence echoing off of the cold tile, now joined by his footsteps. He reached the large room at the end of the hallway and froze, dismayed to find it empty. At least, by the door, where he initially looked. After a brief scan of the room, he saw the prisoner, Porter, laying in a heap on the floor by a plaque.

He rushed over, thinking of what Natasha had said, and was relieved to find the man in much the same state he had been before. He looked around, searching for some clue of what happened to his friend. His first instinct was to call for Natasha, but he resisted. He didn't know if Bucky was still around, if her presence might affect that. Something caught his eye as he looked hastily around the large room.

The plaque was dedicated to SHIELD agents who had died in action. The Wall of Valor. It was stone, with names carved into it. One of them had, recently, been scraped out. Probably by metal fingers, for the scratches were deep. He could barely make out the familiar letters, but he knew what it had said: Bucky Barnes. Steve felt the air go out of him like he'd been punched. He looked out into the parking lot and was disappointed, but not surprised to find that one of the vehicles was gone.