Whew! Lotta action in this one, and more intrigue! Not quite as much angst as the last chapter. It went slightly off direction to where I thought it would go, but I'm happy with the end result.
He didn't see anyone for a week.
The television was gone. It had been a casualty of the Suit visit. He was left to pace the boundaries of his confinement, completely isolated from all human contact, staring at the walls or the ceiling. It wasn't healthy, and he knew it, but something in his spirit felt like it had broken, and Bucky was full of despair.
Sometimes he slept. When he did, the dreams were usually terrible memories of what he had done as the Winter Soldier. Or worse, his subconscious tortured him with betrayal: Steve turning him over to Suit, or him stealing Darcy away from Steve. The expression on his best friend's face in either dream tortured him. In the first, Steve bore an eerie resemblance Zola, grinning in delight at the emotional pain Bucky felt when he was handed over to Suit for reconditioning. In the second, Steve was broken, a shell of a man after the betrayal by his girl and his best friend.
Sleep wasn't a great idea. That left pacing, or working out in the limited space available. There wasn't much left to destroy, so that wasn't an option. Bucky also refused to clean up the mess he'd made. A deep part of him reveled in the destruction he'd caused. It seemed to be the only thing that was under his control.
He was very close to losing his mind completely after the sixth day of not having anyone to distract him from himself. Unexpected salvation occurred early afternoon on the seventh day when he heard a commotion in the hallway outside. Since even S.H.I.E.L.D related business was a welcome distraction from his own dark thoughts, Bucky drifted over to the door, picking his way carefully through the destruction he'd caused.
"You're being reassigned," he heard. "All Level 2 and above agents in this building are to report outside."
"What's going on?" another voice asked.
"Unknown."
Hmm…some excitement in the world of S.H.I.E.L.D? Bucky wondered what was happening. At this point, even oblivion was preferable to the long hours of nothing. Why would only the lowest level agents be left on guard? Maybe S.H.I.E.L.D was done holding security risks. But if the building's occupants were being liquidated, wouldn't higher level agents be preferable?
Then his stomach dropped. Suit was coming, and he didn't want anyone to know what was going to be done to Bucky. So, easily intimidated agents, Level Ones only.
To hell with that. Bucky would rather die than go back to being an assassin. He slid away from the door, and turned to look over the destruction. Ah. The remains of the bed frame, twisted into angry shapes, should suffice. He scooped it off the floor, pinching off the twisted metal at certain spots to have two lethal swords.
Then he drifted back over to the door to wait. It wasn't long before he heard other voices outside.
"Sir, what's going on?"
"All Level 2 and above agents on guard duty were reassigned. There's been an…incident. Why are you still here?"
"Two days and one certification away from Level 2, sir. My physical certification got pushed back. I was in the group that got sent to London to round up that alien monster that was chasing birds. It sort of threw me through a building. Broke my leg in four places."
"I forgot about that. I'm promoting you, congratulations. Captain Rogers' girlfriend was snatched out of the coffee shop she always visits this morning."
Bucky froze. No. Darcy snatched? What?
"The captain has reacted…poorly. Word from above is that they don't want their golden boy heading out on some vindictive crusade, it would tarnish his image. So the captain has to be detained."
Bucky's stomach nearly dropped to his feet. He felt a flash of heat move through him, followed by ice cold. They were 'detaining' Steve to keep him from rescuing Darcy? To protect his public image? Were they fucking stupid?
The newly promoted Level 2 agent outside his door seemed to agree. "We're detaining Captain America when his girl has been kidnapped? How, exactly?"
The voice of the upper level agent was weary. "Shot him with tranqs. It slowed him down enough that we could secure him with adamantium restraints, but we have to keep pumping tranqs into him."
Rage rose in a red tide inside Bucky's head, clouding his vision. They were fucking tranquilizing Steve to keep him from going after Darcy? When the hell did Steve become an enemy of S.H.I.E.L.D?
"Sir…that seems dead wrong."
"Just…just follow orders, agent. Here's the address of the Captain's apartment. Do not discuss this with anyone else except the agents on site. We have very strict orders to keep this under wraps."
So the other Avengers didn't find out. Because they would liberate Steve and hunt down Darcy immediately. What the hell was S.H.I.E.L.D thinking? Who was running this fiasco?
Bucky took a step back from the door. Purpose, after so long being without it, felt good. His best friend needed him. He had to get to Steve, and then…then they would go get Darcy. And anyone who got in Bucky's way was going to regret it.
It felt as if a switch inside of him flipped over from broken to driven. Bucky curled his hands tightly around his makeshift weapons, took two more steps back from the door, then exploded into forward motion.
The door never stood a chance. It buckled outward, spilling Bucky to the hallway floor. He rolled smoothly to his feet and disarmed both agents without blinking. They gaped stupidly at him, and a well-placed hit from his bed frame swords put both of them down, unconscious. Bucky took the Level 4 badge but left the guns behind, moving toward the stairs with purposeful strides. He didn't want to kill the grunts who were just following orders. But he would track down the idiot in charge. This was a whole new level of insanity.
He took the steps six at a time, body remembering the fluid agility that came with being the Winter Soldier. He barely touched the surface of the step before leaping to the next one, all muscles finely tuned and keeping him moving in a graceful descent.
He had to get to Steve. Steve would be frantic with worry. And Darcy! Why had she been grabbed? To use against Steve? To use against Thor? Information? Would they dare harm her? Darcy would be terrified, or worse, she would be sassing her kidnappers, trying to hide her fear.
The possibilities welled up in his head, finding fuel in the memories he didn't want to remember. How long had she been gone? What was happening to her? Was it someone with a grudge against Steve that had grabbed her?
Brain in overdrive, Bucky hit the street level door in mid jump. It exploded outward and he rode it to the ground like a surfboard, skating across a sidewalk and coming to a halt in the street. Bucky kept moving, smoothly dodging traffic, tuning out the honking horns and screeching brakes. He reached the other side of the street and did a quick spin, eyes flitting over the scene, looking for agents posted outside. He saw nothing, so orientated himself the way he had first arrived, and began backtracking, striding along the sidewalk as if he belonged there.
He pulled out his cell phone while he moved. Darcy had bought it for him, and that thought made his stomach clench. He hadn't needed it until he'd decided to get away from her and Steve. S.H.I.E.L.D either didn't know about it, or didn't care. Since he'd become chummy with Barton, he also had the man's private cell number. He typed out a quick text, advising of the situation and that he was going to free Steve. If Barton was able to pass that on, the Avengers would very shortly be involved.
His bed frame swords were attracting too much attention, so Bucky discarded them in the nearest trash bin. He needed to make better time, though, so casually moved to a motorcycle parked along the street. He'd learned all kinds of useful skills as the Winter Soldier, among them hotwiring vehicles and the ability to look like he was supposed to be doing what he was doing. If anyone was suspicious of his actions, they hid it well.
The motorcycle roared to life, and Bucky gunned it into the street, weaving in and out of traffic skillfully. His eyes flitted around, never resting, watching for law enforcement. It wouldn't do to get into a chase situation. He didn't want policemen to get involved in this situation. It wouldn't end well for them.
He made excellent time, and was soon approaching Steve and Darcy's building. Bucky pulled the motorcycle into a side street and parked it, scanning for agents. They had to have people stationed outside, but he didn't spot any of them. There were no suits, so if there were agents, they were dressed casually.
The direct approach was out. His arm was too noticable, and any S.H.I.E.L.D agent would immediately identify him from that. But…he had skills.
He took a circuitous route to the building, coming in from behind it. There was an entrance in the back as well, but that wasn't what Bucky was aiming for. He was more concerned with the light pole by the corner of the building, near the dumpster area. One thing the mechanical arm was good for was for gripping things that normal hands could not. He could squeeze tight enough with the metal hand to not slip as he scaled his way up the pole. And hope that no one was looking.
At the top of the light pole, he pulled himself up onto the lamp, utilizing the insane balance skills that apparently came with the super soldier serum, even the subpar version inside him. Then, still hoping no one noticed him, he bunched the muscles in his legs and leaped up toward the building. More specifically, toward a third floor balcony on the corner.
He knew instantly that he wouldn't get the height he was hoping for, and recalculated his options. The metal hand shot out and grabbed the base of a balcony post. It crunched alarmingly when his body reached the apex of its jump and dropped toward the ground, but the post held together. Bucky gritted his teeth, hating that he was suddenly reliant on the metal arm, and reached up with his real hand to get another handhold. Then, with a bunching of his arm and shoulder muscles, he pulled sharply upward, and popped up over the balcony balustrade, landing lightly on his feet.
On a better day, he'd pick the lock on the balcony doors and slip into the apartment attached to it, but he had no lock picking tools with him. Bucky wrapped the metal hand in the tail of his shirt and punched through the balcony door. The sound of breaking glass was minimal, and he reached through to unlock the door and step into the apartment. It was dark inside, so luck was with him. He moved swiftly through the apartment to the door, and stepped out, eyes darting both ways. It was clear on this floor. Steve and Darcy's apartment was on the eighth floor, so he needed to navigate up five floors, most likely through a shit ton of S.H.I.E.L.D agents.
Bucky broke into a run, and found the stairwell door quickly. He pushed it open and darted in, eyes sweeping for agents, but the stairs were clear, so far. Rather than the boisterous descent he'd made in his escape, he opted for stealth on this invasion, gliding up the stairs on the balls of his feet. Every sense was on alert, straining to hear sounds of someone else, nose flared to try to catch any scents.
He could hear them from a floor below, voices shouting instructions, and a slurred angry shout rising above everything else. They couldn't keep Steve sedated, because of the serum, but they were keeping him groggy enough to hold him. Bucky's rage flared again. How dare they?
He came to a halt, muscles tensed and ready to fight, and considered his options. He had no idea how many agents were up there. A frontal assault would be foolish. They would end him before he even got close to Steve. While he healed faster than normal people, enough bullets would kill him. So, infiltration from where it would least be expected.
The Winter Soldier's campaign to draw out Captain America had been without any of the subtly he was skilled in. With any luck, S.H.I.E.L.D wouldn't anticipate what he could do.
Bucky left the stairwell on the seventh floor, and took a moment to get himself oriented. The details he had noticed when leaving Steve and Darcy's apartment were immediately available when he wanted them, another side effect of being trained as a super assassin. He absorbed and stored situational details like a computer. This floor mirrored the one above, so he loped though the hallways until he found the apartment directly under Steve and Darcy's. Then he knocked.
Luck was not with him this time. He felt footsteps coming across the floor, and then a long pause. Bucky noted the peephole in the door and assumed he was being looked at. His greasy tangled hair and stubbled cheeks probably weren't inspiring a sense of security, so he slid a hand into his jeans pocket and pulled out the S.H.I.E.L.D badge he'd swiped, holding it up to the peephole. After another measured pause, he heard locks disengaging.
A middle aged man with graying hair opened the door cautiously. The way he stood told Bucky that he held some kind of weapon behind the door. "Yes?"
"Good evening sir. Agent Barnes. There is a security hazard in the building. For your safety, we need you to vacate the building. There is a coffee shop across the street with a temporary staging area. Please go there immediately. Use the stairwell, the elevator is not safe. We only have minutes to secure the building. After that, I cannot guarantee your safety."
He spun away to the next door and repeated what he'd just said when another tenant answered, without even looking at the first apartment. The next two doors yielded no answer, and Bucky turned back in time to see the stairwell door closing behind the two tenants. He waited two minutes, then walked back to the first apartment and forced the door open with his metal shoulder.
He closed the door behind him and took a quick look around. The apartment was slightly different than the one right above, but he knew where he wanted to be. Bucky grabbed a chair from the kitchen and measured off several steps until he stood in the master bedroom. Right above was his old room. Hopefully S.H.I.E.L.D wasn't using it.
He needed a distraction. Bucky picked up the round metal trashcan he'd noted when entering the apartment, and took it back to the stairwell. He placed it on its side, then gave it a little push and ducked back out onto the floor, smiling in grim satisfaction as he heard the clanging from behind the stairwell door. Shouts from above told him it had worked, so he darted back to the apartment and up onto the chair as fast as he could.
Metal arm extended above his head, hand fisted, he jumped straight up. The metal hand broke through the ceiling and the floor above it. Bucky dropped back down to the chair, switched arms, and jumped up again. His real hand curled around the jagged edge of the hole, latching on to a floor beam, and it creaked but held his weight. Ignoring the jagged edges that were cutting his palm, he reached up with the metal hand to pull at the surrounding area, widening the hole.
To him, the sounds he was making were extraordinarily loud, but the area above did not light up. Then again, they might just be waiting. He had chosen to break through in the closet of his room, and he could easily envision a gathering of agents waiting outside the closet door, ready to shoot him.
When the hole was wide enough to fit his shoulders, Bucky once again bunched his arm muscles and pulled, popping up through the hole and landing silently in the dark closet. He froze, listening for signs of agents outside of the closet, but the room outside was dark, and the only thing he could hear was Steve's slurred shouting - so very close now. His friend was pissed. Based on the direction his voice came from, they had him in the living room area.
What was available to use in his room? His assassin trained mind inventoried what he had left behind. There were assorted items, gifts from Darcy mostly, that could be thrown to knock someone out. Something that could obviously be used as a weapon would not be available. The three of them had tried to assassin-proof the apartment after his dream-walking incident, in addition to allowing Stark to install a subroutine of his AI, Jarvis, to monitor…
Well shit. Bucky smiled hard. The version of Jarvis that had been installed had the capability of putting him down, like Stark Tower's defense protocols had when he'd been the Winter Soldier. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut briefly, hoping against hope that Steve and Darcy had not disabled the program with his absence.
The main console was in his room. Unlike Stark's homes or places of business, this was a relatively limited version of Jarvis, and functioned primarily from the console.
He opened his eyes and slid the closet door open slowly, still anticipating being on the wrong end of about a dozen guns, but the dark room was empty. The bedroom door was closed, so he was secure for a moment. Steve was making enough noise that any creaking of the floor shouldn't be noticed. Bucky crossed to the wall panel on light feet, and then paused.
It was targeted to his biology, and would shock the hell out of him if he touched it. That was a safety feature to prevent him from dismantling it.
"Jarvis?" he inquired in barely a whisper.
He heard a soft whirring, something an ordinary ear wouldn't pick up, especially over Steve's drugged shouts nearby, and a green light lit up on the console. He knew the unit had audio capabilities, because it had spoken to Stark when the billionaire had installed it.
The cocky hero was so much like his father that Bucky felt a severe case of déjà vu when Stark had come strolling into the apartment as if he owned it. It had knocked his head off balance, and left him doubting his current reality. Steve had noticed his rapid fire eye blinking and bracing hand on one wall, and immediately set about reassuring him. Bucky struggled with it, though, and finally Steve had suggested a walk outside. Stark had made some type of sarcastic comment before they went, and Steve used his cell phone to stay in touch with Darcy so that he knew when it was safe to return. They did so after Stark was gone, and Darcy had complained about the AI talking to Stark while it was being installed.
"It was in pieces on the floor, but it was talking to him," she'd complained. "That's just wrong."
He hoped it could still do so. "Jarvis?" he whispered again.
"Sergeant Barnes," the voice was barely audible, which was truly terrifying if Bucky thought about it for too long. It meant that the AI had assessed the situation and had the programming necessary to realize that secrecy was needed. "My systems are coming online, one moment."
Every moment was an eternity. One moment longer that Darcy was in unfriendly hands, and Steve was being dishonored by the very agency he worked for.
"All systems are now online. Do you wish to have the current situation reported to Mr. Stark?"
"Yes. Can you tell me how many agents are in the apartment?"
"There are ten S.H.I.E.L.D agents currently in the apartment. My sensors do not extend beyond the apartment, but it seems prudent to assume there are more agents outside the apartment."
As the Winter Soldier, he could have easily killed ten agents before they even knew there was a problem. But Bucky didn't want to kill. Not these people.
"What are your capabilities? Can you put any of them or all of them down?"
"The system capabilities should be able to neutralize five agents, but they will need to pass between the arrays."
Bucky nodded. Located in the walls outside his room and on the way toward the outside door, the tiny metal arrays were capable of generating a cross charge that could put him down.
"Barnes," another voice whispered through the wall console.
"Stark?" he answered.
"Jarvis just notified me that his systems came online in Capsicle's apartment, and that you're there. Barton assembled us – Darcy's been snatched?"
"Yes. They're detaining Steve. Someone at S.H.I.E.L.D has lost their mind," Bucky snarled as softly as he could. "What can you do?"
"Jarvis is hacking their system, to get any information about Darcy's kidnapping that can be found. We're on our way, but will reroute if we get more information on little spitfire. Barton is leaking that information, to help create a distraction. You're springing the Cap?"
"Damn straight. They've been pumping him with tranqs, to keep him controllable. As soon as that stops, it's gonna clear out of his system, and Steve is gonna be very angry."
Stark's voice was almost gleeful. "Have at it, then. Jarvis is at your complete disposal."
Bucky was practically crawling out of his own skin now. It was time to free Steve. "How do we get them back here?"
"My arrays also have holographic projectors. Might I suggest that you arm yourself, Sergeant Barnes? I will provide bait."
Bucky made a quick circuit of the room, picking up an armful of items that could be thrown, and returned to the console. "Let's do this."
Right outside the bedroom door, he heard Stark's voice, masterfully copied. "Uh hey agents. Can we crash this party?"
Running footsteps announced that the bait was successful. Bucky waited tensely. A loud sizzle sounded, followed by the thuds of bodies dropping to the floor. That elicited alarmed cries, followed by more running footsteps, and that was his cue.
Bucky exploded out of the bedroom, tossing three baseballs, a hand weight, and a solid glass paperweight at the S.H.I.E.L.D agents who were running to help their downed comrades. His aim was devastating, and they dropped before they even realized there was a problem. He kept moving, heading toward the living room area, eyes sweeping for other agents. No one else had entered yet.
Steve was secured in a heavy duty metal chair that looked like it belonged in a mad scientist's lab. It had been bolted to the floor. There was an intravenous needle in Steve's arm, and glittering metal restraints swathing his arms, legs and torso. The sight ignited Bucky's rage, and he lunged forward to rip the needle from Steve's arm.
Glazed blue eyes turned up to look at him, and Steve blinked. "Buck?" he asked groggily, voice hoarse from shouting.
"You'll be yourself in a few minutes," he assured, biting off every word. Then he reached out with the metal hand and strained against the metal bands securing Steve to the chair. While the bands were adamantium, the metal chair was not, and he just started tearing the restraints out of the chair.
Shouts from outside the apartment told Bucky that his time was up. He tore one final restraint free and spun, picking up the coffee table as he did so. Agents were pouring into the apartment. Bucky dove across the room and slammed the coffee table into the front runners, pushing them out. He caught a brief glimpse of too many more out in the hallway before popping to his feet and slamming the door shut. The coffee table served as an impromptu brace for the door, and he also dragged the sofa in front of it.
"Someone is gonna get hurt for this," the voice at his back snarled.
Bucky turned. Steve had freed himself from the chair, and was standing, albeit shakily. The door would hold for now. He flowed across the room to Steve's side, lending a shoulder when the blond listed to one side dangerously.
Steve patted him on the chest. "You came for me," he slurred, blue eyes boring into Bucky's face.
"Of course." He could literally see the tranquilizers being metabolized, as portions of Steve's body went from slack to normal.
"You…you…I am so mad at you right now."
Bucky felt his stomach twist violently. "Later. Let's go get your girl."
Steve straightened, pulling away from him and heading toward the bedroom with purposeful strides. Bucky watched him go, and then quickly dragged the loveseat over in front of the door, inverting it on top of the sofa.
"Catch!"
He turned and caught the bundle of clothing that was tossed at his face. And flung it away as soon as he recognized it. His Winter Soldier gear. No.
Steve's expression was unreadable as he picked it up and walked across the apartment to hand it back. He'd already pulled on his Captain America uniform. "Gear up. Other than my uniform, it's the only thing I have for you to wear that is resistant to knives and bullets."
Bucky shook his head, taking a step back, staring at the bundle like it was live grenade. "No." Why did Steve even have it?
Steve slammed the bundle into his chest, and his other hand fisted in Bucky's shirt, hauling him close. "We're going for Darcy. I need to know that you've got my back, and for that, you need to wear something other than cotton." His face twisted, part rage, part despair. "Now gear up."
Bucky staggered back a step as Steve released him. He stared down at the bundle of clothing in his arms. What if he put it on, and donned more than the clothing?
"I trust you," Steve said softly. "And I need your help to rescue Darcy."
Fuck. Bucky stripped out of his tee shirt and sweats, and pulled the tactical suit on, trying to ignore the way it made his skin crawl. Splintering wood from behind his furniture barricade made him dress hastily. S.H.I.E.L.D was breaking through.
"You have something for me to shoot?" he asked, voice catching.
Steve looked at him measuringly for a moment, then took two steps to his right, to where the loveseat use to be, and stomped down hard on a floorboard. Bucky stared in astonishment as the board flipped up to reveal a deep and narrow weapon locker, brimming with guns. Steve tossed two handguns to him, and took one for himself.
Bucky tucked the guns into his belt and looked up at Steve. "Was this here while I was?"
Steve nodded grimly, securing his shield on his back. "Yes."
Of all the stupid… "That was just dumb, Steve! What if I'd found this when I was dream walking?"
His friend turned away. "I told you I trust you. We've gotta go. They're breaking through. How did you get in?"
Bucky led the way back to his room. When Steve saw the hole in the closet floor, he grinned in appreciation for a moment, before worry fell back onto his shoulders. "We're gonna have a long talk after she's safe," he warned. Then he dropped down through the hole.
Bucky pulled the closet door shut behind him, it would buy them a little time, and followed through after Steve. He took the lead, backtracking out of the apartment. His ears told him that the stairwell was compromised, so he led the way back to the closest corner apartment that was in the back of the building, forced the door open, and headed out to the balcony.
Steve followed him without question when he went over the side of the balcony, swinging briefly from the balustrade, and then dropping to the balcony below. Like this, they worked their way down to street level. Bucky couldn't understand why S.H.I.E.L.D wasn't covering the back, but then he thought back to the reaction of the Level 4 agent he'd overheard. Resignation to the situation, but no conviction that they were doing the right thing. He was willing to bet that they were following their orders to the letter, and not any more than that.
Steve's motorcycle was parked nearby. "I know where Darcy is," he told Bucky, heading toward his bike. "S.H.I.E.L.D has her location, but they wouldn't let me go get her. My relationship with her leaves me…compromised."
Bucky clenched his teeth. "We'll deal with them after she's safe, okay?"
Steve stared at him for a long moment, until Bucky started to feel uncomfortable. "Agreed." He swung himself onto the bike, and Bucky slid on behind him.
"What can we expect?"
"Some kind of mercenary group that I apparently pissed off," Steve responded tightly.
Figures. "Lotta guns and knives?"
"Yep."
"Let's do it."
As Steve gunned the bike into the street, Bucky tried to push all of his conflicting emotions aside. Later it would be time to deal with everything. Right now, they had to rescue Darcy.