The reprieve was short-lived. Bucky's demons refused to be ignored.
Logic fell apart as soon as Steve's hands caressed his back; he lost himself in the feel of their mouths pressed rush of endorphins overrode everything else and kicked open a thousand locked doors to his past.
Compartmentalizing was hard to keep up when his brain was on fire.
He pushed harder, grinding their hips together; anxious for the feel of Steve's full cock pressed against his struggling erection. His mind shoved aside that glaring distraction and refocused on their kiss. All he could think of was filling his emptiness with Steve. His cock twitched at his moans; somewhere distant the metal plates recalibrated.
"Have you fucked him yet, Soldier?" The old woman's words evoked a flash of anger. He shook it off; the force of his attempt to shut down the memory made Steve stumble backwards; he followed him, as they landed against the wall.
He vaguely heard Steve groan and felt him tense; he dug his fingers in deeper; holding him in place. A wave of guilt washed over him; 'You don't deserve this, Barnes…you piece of shit…all those dead innocents…look at you, desperate for forgiveness…ain't coming this way….not from the dead.' Bucky moaned in frustration and tightened his grip. It was his own voice offering the conviction, not a ghost, not that damn torturing Voice. His own voice.
Steve struggled out of the kiss. "What's wrong?"
Bucky panted against his neck; he dragged his tongue across Steve's cheek trying to reengage.
"Buck, hey…you're not ok. What's going on?" Steve twisted without completely letting go.
"Fine…I'm fine…all good…why?"
"Well. You're about to remove my right kidney." Steve drawled.
Bucky groaned "What's the problem? You've got two of 'em."
"Funny guy." Steve huffed.
"Sorry." Bucky abruptly let go and stepped away; he worried his hands in his hair as he paced the gym. "Ok..sorry….you need to go get the truck…sorry…..I need to study the mission plans." He headed towards the tactical room then abruptly turned around. "No I wrecked the truck..sorry…my fault…I'll go get it." He headed for the stairs.
'Wait." Steve blocked his final escape. "Just wait." "What just happened?"
Bucky looked away and shrugged.
Steve shifted closer. "Ok...I get it...you don't want to tell me about another flashback or asshole that hurt you. Fine."
"Not that." He shook his head.
"No? Ok. Well...here's what I think. You ready for what I think?" Steve wrapped an arm over his shoulder.
"No."
He shifted to face him. "I know they hurt you; I know you'll never tell me what really happened. Some days it drives me crazy thinking about it; I want to tear them apart."
Bucky shifted under his gaze. "Too late. Most of 'em are dead, Steve."
"And you're left with their ghosts. Do you know how that pisses me off? To see you suffer for what they did. Some nights the hatred consumes me; when I hear your nightmares." Steve paced away then back, putting his anger into motion.
"I'm sorry." Bucky mumbled.
"Stop...I'm not doing a good job with this" Steve pulled close again. "What I want to say...I want a life with you. Bad dreams, voices, flashbacks; all of it."
"Don't be an idiot...I'm a mess." He tried to pull away but Steve grabbed his t-shirt.
"This is true...but...you're my mess, Buck...I can't imagine being with anyone else; I know we never said anything about it 'til now; doesn't matter about the words, we've always known."
He shook his head and grabbed Steve's hand holding his shirt. "Before you go putting your foot in your mouth...you need to know something, Steve." Bucky lowered his voice. "I was there...watching...there was a piece of me awake...all the time.."
"What do you mean?"
"I watched myself kill people...like watching a movie of yourself...I couldn't stop it...I tried...you can't know how that feels...to see yourself murder people and not stop yourself."
Steve brushed Bucky's hair from his face. "I will never accept that you were anything other than a victim. None of your misplaced guilt will change that."
Bucky groaned. "Anyone ever tell you how bull-headed you are?"
"Yup...you."
Steve slipped his fingers into Bucky's metal hand. "Maybe now that we know how we feel we go slower...I told you I can wait."
Bucky nodded. He lifted his hand laced into Steve's "I don't deserve this. I deserve punishment; I deserve hell."
Steve shot back firmly "Redemption." He threw his arm around his neck; "You deserve forgiveness...your own. You deserve to have your life back."
"You don't get it, Steve." He tried to pull away but Steve kept him close.
"No. You don't get it...Buck... I will spend my last dying breath protecting you."
"Stop saying that kind of shit."
Steve pressed his forehead to Bucky's; "Make me."
Bucky sighed "I can take you, Stevie. Don't try your luck."
"Womb to tomb, pal." Steve carefully placed his lips on Bucky's.
"Hey are we getting that truck or what?" Sam came thundering down the stairs.
Bucky slipped away and muttered, "I hate him." He wandered towards the tactical room.
"Wait…Buck."
" Go on…get out of here…you're a pain in the ass Rogers….I got work to do, right, Birdman." Bucky waved dismissively over his shoulder.
Steve watched him walk away.
Bucky waited until he heard the front door close before he slammed his fist through the wall. The computers were spared; but the chairs were fair game. He growled angrily as the table went over; he shredded all the maps and papers that didn't contain his intel.
He was pissed; not stupid.
"Fuck!" He tossed a broken chair again for emphasis. "Damn it!"
The intimate moments with Steve had sent him into an emotional turmoil that far surpassed anything he had experienced as the Soldier. What he felt for Steve, with Steve, was unlike anything he'd felt in the past 70 years. Now he was within a New York minute of sex with Steve; not just sex, but a life with Steve; and the ghosts and nightmares; guilt and shame, came roaring back to steal him away.
"You fucking stole my life; you stole him from me once already. You don't fucking get to steal him again." He sobbed, as he screamed at Hydra; at Pierce, at the universe.
He thought about putting another hole in the wall; but the drywall debacle, right after his breakdown curbed that urge. "Fucking Birdman will make me fix this." Although it was actually Steve who insisted; "You broke it, you fix it."
Bucky kicked a chair into splinters; stalked six strides then three, then six again around the room until finally dropping to the floor by the computers; his face buried in a demolished chair. He reached over his head and fumbled on the desktop to find the cell phone. It landed on the floor; he contemplated crushing it. Puking was under consideration but he opted out…"Too far to the bathroom and too much trouble to clean up." He threw himself backwards onto the floor to finish sobbing and wait out the post sob hiccupping.
"Fuck, Barnes you're a mess. Get a grip. Time to grow up….a little."
He picked up the phone and dialed Fury's number.
"Is that you Dodger?"
Bucky didn't answer.
"Hello? I can hear you breathing…so either this is a pervert call or it's you Dodger."
Bucky snarled….quietly.
"So assuming this is you….I take it you've reconsidered my offer."
Bucky reached to end the call.
"Don't hang up."
He hesitated "How the hell?" He glanced at the computer and covered the phone. His paranoia peaked.
"We've all got demons. The only shame is wrestling them alone." "I'll text you the number. We're a go for tomorrow."
"Oh and glad you're on board."
Bucky disconnected.
The text came immediately.
He was desperate; there were no more options. The last thing he wanted to do was make that call. Fury was insistent the night of the debriefing; "Call or no missions. You can have whatever you need; work alone or on a team. You call all the shots. Except on this one item. Engage or no missions."
Bucky's go to response of 'fuck off' was tempting. But this was more complicated; considering he killed the man once and it was only by some damn miracle or something that he survived. This put Fury a cut above most others, except Steve. No one was above Steve.
His plan before all the hot and heavy kissing started was to back out of the mission at the last minute. He'd make up some stupid excuse or 'go crazy' then sulk in his room for a week. "No way I'm making that call." He'd told himself and Fury. But the onslaught of memories, the ghosts, the gut wrenching guilt and shame in the middle of merely kissing Steve convinced him; he was going to have to play the game if he ever wanted a chance at a life with him.
"There's more where that came from, Soldier. A lot of closed doors and monsters just waiting to jump out when you least expect it. Think about it; you and Steve, all cozy, doing the deed and bam! Out comes that fool who..."
"Stop. I get it. Point taken."
He reluctantly made the required call.
A man's voice came across the computer speaker. "James?"
"Hello? James, are you there?"
Bucky was there….lying on the floor below the level the camera so the only thing the man could see was the completely trashed room.
"I understand this is difficult; meeting a therapist for the first time. I'm glad you've called but if we're going to work together I'd like to actually confirm that you're in the room. Can you show yourself? At least enough for me to see that you're alive."
Bucky frowned; he raised his metal hand slowly until he heard.
"Ok, there you are. Great. Thanks. Shall we begin?"
We're good to go here." Sharon's voice was sharp and impatient. "Jet fuel isn't cheap, ladies and gentlemen." She stood by the quinjet with Fury.
Steve sighed and headed for the men's room as Sam covered; "He's got ritual, Sharon…he's the Winter Soldier…you don't think he just throws on the gear and hits the road do you? Takes a lot of checking to be Winter; knives, guns, zippers, pockets."
"He checks his guns in the bathroom?" Sharon smirked.
"Yes. Indeed he does. Anywhere it damn well pleases him."
Steve paused at the door as he took in the odd scene; Natasha standing over the full-on Winter Soldier as he hugged the porcelain throne, puking. She was holding his hair back from his face; a wet paper towel on his neck.
"You can do this, Barnes…puking is cleansing…you'll think faster….streamlining…you're a leaf in the wind…."
"God…let it go…woman…It's puking!" Bucky rasped out between dry heaves. "It's anxiety; it's disgusting and it's weak. I never puked before." He groaned as he collapsed in a heap on the floor.
Steve nodded for her to go.
She whispered "Good luck" as she squeezed past him out the door.
"So. Two choices." Steve squatted down next to him. "Walk to the jet or walk to the exit. I'm following you. If you walk to the jet…we are all in. If you walk to the exit…we are all in. No looking back; no second guessing. No judgments."
Bucky crawled up the toilet and kneeled at the sink to splash water on his face and slurp in a handful to spit out. "Look at me…the fucking Winter Soldier…puking and crying."
"Stop it." Steve put a hand on his chest. "You're not him. You…are Bucky Barnes. You are allowed to be scared, sick, confused…..and an asshole…sometimes." He wrapped his hand around the back of his neck "You get to decide how it goes from now on. You're writing this story, pal. I'm with you 'til the end of the line."
Bucky shook is head "Jerk."
Steve patted him hard on the shoulder and headed for the door.
"I'll be outside…which ever way you go…we are right behind you."
Bucky sighed as he stood up and stared at himself in the mirror. He shivered. The Winter Soldier was staring back. The black Kevlar vest fit was like his own skin; it covered a black long sleeve jersey minus a sleeve. The leather jacket was soft; supple; complimenting his tapered waist and broad chest while taking nothing away from the desired intent; to intimidate. Every item had function as well as form; pockets and sheaths; the holsters coalesced with the outfit perfectly. The metal arm was covered by the jacket; urban warfare necessitated. The uniform was everything he would have designed himself; easy to move in a crowd; conceal the weapons; yet remain functional in a fight. The team had never even asked him a question
"Looking familiar Soldier…."
Bucky rolled his eyes.
He paused outside the hanger doors. "Ok, Barnes. Two choices here." To his right the way home. No missions, no fighting, just waiting for Hydra or the CIA or Stark to find them. To his left the team; the quinjet and a mission. Hydra, the CIA and Stark would still be looking for them but at least this way he could be making a difference; this way maybe he could erase some of the red.
Bucky started walking…towards the team. Romanova in her dark form fitting uniform; scary lethal. "She's lethal looking in her pajamas and those damn fluffy slippers never mind dressed like that." He shook off the image of the fluffy slippers.
Wilson was smiling at him; "What?" Bucky vaguely thought. He was all decked out in his dark grey Falcon outfit; looking damn proud of himself "Peacock."
Then there was Steve. The dark Nomad; Bucky thought nothing would outdo the Captain America uniform…. but this one "Hot. Without a doubt, dark is better." He felt an odd twitch in his groin. Steve picked up the shield, the Red Star was clear even in the dusk. "Like a damn beacon." Bucky sighed.
"You don't have to do this, Soldier. You'll betray us if you do. There will be a price to be paid for that betrayal."
"Yup…I know. I'm willing to pay that price."
"Who said you would be the one to pay?"
"Anyone who tries to get to him…will have to go through me."
The quinjet brought them to an abandoned complex on Long Island in Boston Harbor. It had been a homeless shelter for many years and prior to that a tuberculosis sanatorium. A good base of operations since no one ventured there and the only road was shut down.
Once he stepped out of the bathroom…Bucky; weepy, anxious, self-doubting Bucky, was safely tucked deep within his mind. With every step towards the quinjet; every minute in the air; and now as they made their final prep, the Winter Soldier was emerging.
"Nervous?" Steve wondered aloud as he hovered, trying to hide his worry from prying eyes…like Sharon.
"Nope." Bucky lied. The Soldier didn't.
"Got everything?"
"Yup." The Soldier had checked everything times three. Bucky wondered "three plus three?"
"Let me fix this." Steve fussed with the gold cord; tucking it under his sleeve.
"It's good. Ok." The Solider was annoyed. Bucky felt fuzzy and warm.
"We're good to go people?" Sharon's voice grated in Steve's earpiece.
He shot a questioning look at Bucky, who nodded.
"We are good to go."
Steve had a fleeting thought to kiss him on the cheek; or pat him on the shoulder. He checked that impulse as he watched Bucky transform; the look went cold; his posture stiffened; his eyes lost some of his distinctly vulnerable overtones.
"Be safe." Was the best he could offer.
The Soldier nodded briefly. Steve watched him walk away alone.
"Alone…Fury…alone…I work alone." Bucky was quietly adamant from the start.
Even Steve couldn't convince him otherwise. "Let me at least cover you."
"No. It's too risky…I can't be worried about you and do my job." He mumbled.
"Worried about me?" Steve laughed. "I can take care of myself."
"No. You don't get it. This is Hydra. I know what I'm doing." Bucky had walked away ….his favorite tactic, but Steve let it go. He could see how this anxiety was different; more focused; maybe more justified.
Steve scrutinized the two rather salty looking men hired to take Bucky in a small boat towards the city; Fury had sworn they were well-vetted. He didn't miss how Bucky surveyed them before he got in the boat. He nodded as Sam became airborne and reassured in his earpiece "I'll keep an eye on him Nomad."
"All right…we're up next." Natasha strode past him towards a second boat.
Fury encouraged "Good luck everyone. We've got a good plan; now let's stick to it."
"Dodger? You there?" Steve asked about three minutes into the mission.
There was no answer.
"Dodger? Answer me." Steve called again.
"Steve; remember, he said no talking to him. He won't answer." Natasha whispered.
Steve groaned; he immediately regretted agreeing to the 'No talking to me rule.'
He tried to distract himself by recalling Bucky's reaction to the Dodger nickname.
"Who the hell is Dodger?"
"You are." they chorused.
He stared at the DODGER name plate on his tactical locker and mumbled "Better than Jon Snow or yellow snow or Winter." Although he secretly liked that one, especially the way Steve said it with affection.
Everything came into alignment for Bucky as they made their way across the harbor. Emotions faded away. It all came down to the singular focus of the mission; and survival. As they crossed the harbor, he took cold note of the second man's nervous glances; he stared too much for a discreet hired hand.
"Make a note….find a new way back. He's dirty."
"Ya think?" he muttered without caring if they heard him.
They delivered him to a small pier; he never looked back as they rowed away.
His only goal now; the first target.
A. H. Rossignol a mid-level Hydra operative with extensive holdings in the Boston area. His specialty: money; laundering, gambling, loans; a major source of income for Hydra. No one could touch him; his operation was so well maintained it was virtually impregnable. He was an all's fair in war kind of guy.
Hydra had sent the Winter Soldier to eliminate a competitor cutting into their profits.
Bucky carried the screams of that man in his dreams; saw his children's faces as they watched him die.
"Don't lose focus, Soldier. Let it go."
"I'm plenty focused." Bucky growled as he scaled a drainpipe up a building to start his quest.
"Wilson, you got eyes on him?" Steve worried.
"Eyes on."
"Where is he?"
Natasha stared at him.
"No can do, Nomad. You know the rules."
"Steve …we can't talk about his location, remember?" Natasha covered the comm mic.
"Right…right…I should've gone with him." He worried some more.
,
Bucky sprinted across the first roof; vaulted to the next one; landed in a tuck and role; on his feet and sprinting to the next jump. He skidded down into a crouch just before getting to the roof with the glass skylight; his target location. The clear night air calmed his pounding heart.
"Bingo…there it is."
He shut his eyes briefly to adjust then searched for the faint blip of green on the surveillance cameras. "Gotcha. One, two, three." He stared at their slow traversing pattern.
"Timing is everything, Soldier."
Bucky rose from the crouch like a sprinter ready for the gun. The closest camera swung away, he followed its arc; his body propelled forward by powerful coiled muscles. He landed in a roll that left him sprawled in the shadow of an air conditioning unit. Out of sight of the camera.
"Nice landing…klutz."
"Nooo...I meant to do that."
He scrambled to press his back against the unit and ready the weapon. He pulled the GPS laser pistol from the holster; a state of the art tagging system.
"Nothing like it on the market, or off the market for that matter. Gathers audio, video, GPS." Fury had boasted. "Barnes, no killing, no fighting. Information only. We track them, this will give us a window into their operations just like having someone on the inside. We can get through doors that we could otherwise never touch."
Bucky liked the plan but was skeptical of the device. "They'll feel it. I'll shoot them, they'll look right at me. They'll detect it; there's software to detect trackers ya know."
He refused categorically to allow anyone to tag him with it.
"Just try it out." Sharon had said with a lot more malice than he was willing to trust.
He tested it on Sam instead.
"He still doesn't know does he?"
Bucky smirked. "Nope."
The plan: tag the top two operatives quickly and move on. Rossignol and his right hand man.
Bucky cracked his neck; wiggled his fingers. A quick shake of the hair out of his face reminded him of the quinjet prep: "No Romanova…no scrunchies….I'm the Winter Soldier…he does not use scrunchies!"
He stared at the camera that covered the skylight; it swung left; away from him; he rolled to his feet and advanced. He had a glass cutter but as he had predicted; it was open; warm nights on the top floor of a building in the heart of the city.
The room below was non-descript; the important part were the players. Timing was paramount; the nightly money count; 9pm sharp. The Soldier was ready; so was Bucky; he'd waited a very long time for this.
The first target arrived: Rossignol's second in command, a squat man with too much belly and not enough hair….on his head anyway.
"How do you know that Soldier?"
"Shit…get out of my head."
Bucky waited for the second target; no sense hitting one without the other. The camera began its swing back towards him; he threw himself flat against the base of the skylight; "One thousand one, one thousand two…" The camera's eye passed over his shadow; he crouched again.
Now both targets were in view.
He held his breath; blinked to settle his vision; brought Rossignol into his sights; and gently, lovingly, squeezed the trigger.
Holding a gun was as natural to Bucky as breathing. He didn't realize until this moment how much he missed it.
"It doesn't shoot bullets."
"So what….it's still a gun."
The laser registered its mark with a tiny green light blip. A successful hit according to manufacturers specs. He turned his attention to the short fat man and pulled the trigger; another green light. He scrambled to the shadows of the AC unit and sucked in air.
The small data tracker on his right wrist blinked two green dots. Success.
Bucky felt a rush of satisfaction; a job well done….so far. Not the kind of weighted satisfaction of the Soldier's work. This was different, lighter, better.
His fingers brushed unconsciously against the gold-colored cord tucked beneath his sleeve.
"Phase one is a success. We have data coming in." Sharon's voice jarred their ears.
"Is he clear?" Steve asked.
"Negative." Sam's whispered response.
"Then it's not a success, until he's clear." Steve tersely added.
"He's moving now. Heading for the planned exit."
Sam's narrative was doing the job; keep Steve in check.
"Don't let me see you Steve. Don't interfere." Bucky had been clear.
"How about I narrate your progress for him?" Bucky squinted at Wilson. Not quite trusting the offer but ultimately accepting the compromise.
The team had the plan memorized, down to every detail. Despite Bucky's contention that he "only wrecked shit" and that his help in planning "wasn't allowed" he'd obviously been paying attention all those years of being the Hand of Hydra. The plan was nearly flawless.
Ultimately, Steve had final approval though; that was the stipulation he had set with Fury. "I get the last word."
Sharon didn't know.
Even Bucky didn't know; Steve was determined he'd protect him one way or another.
Steve and Natasha came ashore at a small fishing pier near the initial point of contact for Bucky. They would parallel his path on the rooftops; covering his six from the alleys and streets. They paused two blocks from the target building when Sam reported on Bucky's turn for the exit route.
"Ok, first one down; Steve." Natasha whispered. "He'll be fine now. I'll head for phase two." She squeezed his arm.
He nodded and headed in the direction he knew Bucky would take for his next target.
Sam's voice cut in "He's got two bogies on his tail."
Steve froze. "What? Is he on the comm? Tell him?"
Natasha checked the comm link; Bucky's was on but "It's muted."
Steve recalled Bucky's new set of rules, "No comm in my ear! I got more than enough voices in my head I don't need all of you yapping away. Especially that woman working with Fury."
Steve glared up as he raced towards the target's building. "Damn it. Talk to me Wilson."
"Two armed men; on the roof."
Steve slid to a halt at the location.
"They haven't seen him yet."
He jumped to grab the ladder.
"He's pulled back; looks like he knows they're there."
He raced up the rungs….heart pounding; Bucky was up there; right up there on that roof, facing armed men and Steve wasn't there; couldn't protect him. "Why did I agree to this stupid plan?"
"Sam…status…" Steve was nearly at the top.
"Wait!"
Steve froze.
"He's good. They're down. He took them down."
He sighed.
"Ahh Nomad…get out of there. He's gonna be pissed if he sees you."
Steve slid then tumbled down the ladder to retreat just seconds before Bucky looked down.
His exit was nearly complete when the rooftop door opened and two of Rossignol's soldiers crept out. They were heavily armed. He felt rather than heard them arrive.
"This was not part of the plan. They're early. Or you're late."
"Nooo. I am not late. They are an unforeseen complication." Bucky complained as he ducked behind an air vent.
"No killing. No fighting. No evidence of being here. No damn time for this."
He wagged his head side to side in resignation and dug out the stun discs that Natasha had forced him to take. "I don't want these sissy stupid stun discs." He had protested vigorously when she shoved them in his pocket while he was puking.
"You never know when they'll come in handy. Now that you've gone non-lethal."
He growled as he fiddled with them. The soldiers advanced; nearly at his shoulder; he pulled back to the far side of the vent; they passed him.
"Here goes…these stupid things better work."
Seconds later he was staring at two quivering piles of humanity; alive but out of commission.
"She'll never let you live that down."
"She'll never know, pal. I ain't telling her and neither are you."
Bucky didn't factor in Sam's spying from the air.
He slid down the fire escape ladder; "What was that about anyway, they were early."
"Are you being paranoid? Or is that a real question?"
Fury updated the team. "Alright people; we've acquired our data points; our person is out. Now on to phase two."
The next target on Bucky's list was O'Rourke a high profile businessperson; looked every bit like a respected Bostonian. He actually fronted a protection agency; that was the polite euphemism. He commanded an army; thugs; mercenaries; his protection went far beyond the locals and extended worldwide. No job was too dirty if the money was right. He was on Hydra's payroll as a contractor. No "Hail, Hydra" for him. Only "Hail, Hydra's cash."
"You worked for this one a few times, Soldier. You got your hands dirty, red dirty for this one."
Bucky stumbled as he ran the alleyways heading for the next hit location.
"Be quiet…I know what I did. Working on it." He muttered.
Getting to this man would be a challenge. He lived in a high rise; security on security. The man wasn't just a fat slob sending men into war; he was a combatant; fit, dangerous in his own right. Bucky knew first hand how dangerous. Had the scars to remind him. O'Rourke rolled high; big money charity events; jetting off all over the world. A collector of all things rare and endangered; white rhino; ivory; narwhal tusks. "He'd mount a unicorn head if they actually existed." Bucky groaned as he recalled the man's laughter; he was always laughing; a big expansive, deceptive laugh…until he entered the underground.
"Shit got real then." He told the Voice who wasn't listening.
"He's approaching the second target." Sam narrated.
Natasha parked herself on the west side of a small green expanse in the middle of the city. "In position."
Steve took the east vantage point. "Ready."
Bucky was stalking forward in the shadows of the winding alleys and back streets that defined Boston. It was oddly disconcerting that the humanity of the city never even noticed him. Armed to the teeth, dressed all in black; metal arm. "Weird." He thought absently.
The target location was a park.
O'Rourke was a smart man; well versed in espionage, warfare and how to survive. And he had a healthy dose of paranoia…a lot like Bucky. He wouldn't be tagged easily; and infiltrating the building without weeks of reconnaissance was out of the question.
"So play to the man's weakness." Bucky had advised when everyone scratched their heads. He didn't want to think about his own weaknesses.
He had information no one else did. O'Rourke; big, tough, killer of men, cruel and exacting; had a weakness. Dogs. He loved his dogs, more than he loved any other human on the planet.
The Soldier saw this. Bucky remembered it. The man let his guard down in front of the Soldier; most of these targets made that mistake; they didn't think of him as human; so why hide. The Soldier saw it all.
Bucky had a twinge of regret….about the dogs.
Every night, 10pm O'Rourke's maid would walk the dogs. Like clockwork, they exited the building and headed for the park. All seasons, all weather, all years. Always the same.
"Rituals. That's what does a man in. Being predictable." Bucky told the Voice.
"Well that and stupidity, laziness, emotions, love…"
"Enough."
Bucky watched from the shadows. He knew Romanova was to his left; guessed that Steve was on his right because no matter how he protested he knew "Rogers won't let me outta his sight."
When the maid arrived at the park; Bucky blew the dog whistle and trotted away towards a side street. The dogs scrambled, barked, whined; Bucky kept moving, deep in the shadows; calling those damn dogs with the silent whistle. They broke free and headed straight for him.
He ran, drawing them out of the sightlines of the park and the maid. He rounded a corner and flattened against the wall. Soon he was staring down at two yapping fuzzballs jumping all over his legs. He grimaced stiffly as they pinned him there.
"Dodger…you're afraid of dogs?" He could hear the amusement in Romanova's voice as she joined him.
He glared at her.
"Ok…moving on…I got 'em." She picked up the leashes and headed away from the park.
He tagged the maid as she passed his vantage point in a darkened doorway. He didn't feel guilty about it; she wasn't actually the maid; she was O'Rourke's sister, lover, and partner in a rancid side business involving synthetic drugs and prostitution.
Soldier, you could write a book. It'd be a best seller for all the dirt you know.
Bucky sighed in exasperation.
She made the call to O'Rourke as predicted, Bucky only needed to wait.
10:30pm A fit looking man in two hundred dollar jeans and Gucci shoes started screaming at the woman.
"Right on time, pal."
He moved from the doorway.
O'Rourke called for his dogs.
The Soldier strode forward, steady pace, no flinching, no caution, no hesitation.
Romanova's voice lilted in the background "Are these your little babies?"
Barking, whining dogs; the Soldier growled; Bucky shook off clinging images.
He was nearly 15 feet away.
"Too close, Soldier. He'll see you."
"I got this."
Bucky raised his arm, aimed coldly and fired. He ducked behind a tree just as O'Rourke looked his way.
"Green for go. Two more down." He glanced at the data on his wrist, then checked on Romanova. She was jogging away from the targets and dogs; waving like an idiot. "Have a great night you two."
Bucky would have laughed if the flood of memories weren't overwhelming him.
"Clear. Both are clear." Sam's reassuring voice helped calm Steve's nerves.
"That was close, too close…he nearly walked right up to that target."
"Nat…how'd he look when you saw him? Was he….ok?"
"Nomad…stop talking! Meet me at the next rendezvous."
"We have data on four subjects. Good job everyone." Sharon actually sounded satisfied.
"One more target to go."
The third target, Ellingwood. A career Hydra operative so entrenched in the community she operated her businesses with the Hydra logo clearly plastered all over it. Even the Soldier wondered about that kind of arrogance. Or confidence.
Her principle front was a dance club. Her real business was trafficking in people. All shapes and sizes; and ages.
Hydra wasn't always into people traffic; too much overhead. However, her 'in your face' approach brought in the new recruits; young and impressionable; easy to manipulate. She brought in the disenfranchised; the ones that saw the 'other' as the enemy. Her door was always open to those who only wanted to hate. She fed the manpower pipeline that Hydra needed for its scut work. Mindless sheep were always needed.
Bucky was deep in thought as he traversed the streets making his way to Ellingwood. He was caught up in his own waking nightmares. He didn't seem to notice the van pull up next to him; the door swinging open; the three armed men blocking his path.
"Soldier..remember the Widow's chopper…you're not actually going to fall for that again are you?"
"No. I am not." Bucky growled; he reached behind him for the two blades tucked at the small of his back, widened his stance and took one step back to balance.
"I hope you're up for this." He murmured "'cuz I am very cranky and on a really tight schedule."
"Shit he's in trouble again." Sam's words startled Steve.
"Where is he?" Steve demanded.
"Four blocks to your left."
Steve headed out at a run. Natasha backtracked and followed him.
His attackers weren't idiots. They had no intention of fighting him head on. Bucky spotted the tranquilizer gun within seconds.
"Way too many tranq darts in my lifetime."
A roundhouse kick sent the dart gun flying as the second man fired a tazer. It lodged in his side; the shock mostly deterred by the Kevlar vest.
"Well that was helpful." He didn't relish the thought of any more shocks to his already scrambled brain; the last episodes with the old Widow were quite enough. He ripped the tazer points from his side and tossed it; he ignored the cramps wracking his belly. He did not ignore how pissed it made him.
The third man ran forward and slammed into his side; knocking him off balance briefly. Bucky's knife raked across his back. No effect.
"Everybody's got Kevlar these days."
Bucky drove a knee into the man's chest and jammed the knife into his vulnerable armpit. He kneed him again to shake him off.
He felt a violent tug backwards around his neck. A garrote was tightly closing with decisive leverage.
"Shit. This is it."
But there was a particular feature that Romanova had added to his uniform…as a joke….a Kevlar throat guard. He choked out a laugh as the man hauled down and back.
Bucky threw himself backwards to land full force on top of his attacker. He heard a loud "Oofff" as the man went limp.
"Thanks Romanova."
Bucky rolled up from the ground in a perfect kick up to face his last attacker.
"Ok..so I'm on a schedule here. Two down…one to go. You can leave now and let me finish my job or I can beat the crap out of you. What's it gonna be?"
The man stood ready to fight; then relaxed his stance.
"Come on…I have a schedule."
The man smiled. "Seventeen. Longing. One."
Bucky's head shook in a way it hadn't in several weeks. A flash of pain seared through his head. He vaguely thought "The words….out of order."
Heat roared up from his belly. He staggered back a step and swallowed hard. "Mother? Help me."
He didn't slip away though. It was painful; frightening. Sounds and movement slowed down.
The man was closer now; right next to him. The knife rose, stabbing but the man pushed his hand away easily.
"No….not again."
Someone grabbed his collar; yanked hard, shaking him.
"Wake up, Soldier! Child, wake up!"
Slowly blinking he focused in time to see a needle hovering close to his neck.
"What the fu…" Speaking hurt his brain. But something moved his arm.
A distant scream startled him.
A warm sensation on his metal fingers caught his attention; it was covered in blood. There was a man writhing in pain at his feet.
Bucky staggered back; then away; towards his next target.
Steve and Natasha skidded to a halt at the last spot where Sam saw Bucky.
A pool of blood, a crushed hypodermic needle and one of Bucky's knives.
"Wilson. Location."
"He's on the move. Heading for the next target."
"Injured?"
"Not that I could see. But maybe drugged? He staggered."
"Steve..look at this." Natasha held up the knife. She slipped it in her boot.
"Sam, could you see who attacked him?"
"Three bad guys in an unmarked black van. I relayed the license plate to Sharon."
"He's almost at target three. Better get moving."
Steve switched off his comm as they ran to catch up to Bucky.
"Nat…something's wrong."
"I hear you. Two soldiers making early rounds is one thing. This is another."
"These guys knew he would be here. Knew where to find him."
"Steve. A text from Sam; tranquilizer gun, stun gun…drugs? They knew who they were dealing with…not random."
"Shit. We've got a mole."