So I've got a lot on my plate at the moment - this, school, sports, my other writing - and therefore I'm going to be taking a short break from writing this to get back on track. I will not be posting a chapter next week, but if all goes well I will be back the week after. At the latest I will be posting again in January. Thank you for understanding!
16
Bucky finally remembers to return the pie container to the Gomez family, though he is a day later than he wanted to be. Lacy greets him at the door, saying that Keno is at work and that Ian is out shopping. As they talk, Bucky watches Oreo slowly approach the doorway. The cat stares at Bucky. He does not blink. Bucky has to focus on keeping his attention on Lacy instead of the cat, which is stupid because the harmless creature doesn't even come up to his knee.
When the tiny animal tries to squeeze past both Lacy and Bucky to escape into the hallway, Bucky blocks it with his foot without breaking eye contact with Lacy.
Oreo meows.
"Oreo! You know you can't just walk out there." Lacy bends down and scoops up the animal. "I'm sorry, Mr. Buchanan."
"At least he hasn't snuck over to my room again," Bucky says.
"Yeah, that's true." Lacy glances at the pink watch strapped onto her wrist. "Oh…I gotta go do my homework. Thank you for giving the thing back!"
"'Course. See you later."
When noon rolls around, Steve shows up right on time for what Bucky is pretty sure is the first time in his life. Bucky opens the door before Steve can knock and lets him in.
"Hey, Buck," Steve says.
"Hey."
"You…feeling all right?"
Other than feeling a little more tired than usual, he is fine. "Yes." Bucky watches Steve's face. "And you?"
There. Surprise. And Steve breaks eye contact when he answers. "You know I'm fine."
"No, I don't."
Steve hadn't expected to be called out. Bucky watches him fumble for something to say and soon takes pity on him.
"You up for a walk?" he asks before Steve can dig himself into a hole. He just got here, after all. Bucky can wait to nag.
"I doubt the Winter Soldier ever nagged anyone," James muses. Bucky ignores him.
"That sounds nice. Do you have the clothes for it? It's a little chilly out."
"Aw," James says. "He's worried about you. That's cute. But you're not the one who had to worry about pneumonia."
"I recall that you were the one who had to worry about weather," Bucky says. "Yes, Steve, I have the clothes for it. Natasha took me shopping the other day."
"Natasha?" Steve repeats, one of his eyebrows shooting up.
"Yes, Natasha."
"Wow. Um. That was nice of her."
"Yes, it was. I'm going to grab a jacket. Do you need anything? I have water and snacks in the kitchen."
"I could use some water," Steve says.
"Glasses are in the cabinet above and to the right of the sink."
Bucky ends up grabbing a jacket, two pairs of mittens, and a scarf from his room. For all her sly smiles and misleading words, Natasha has helped him. Because of her assistance, he can now spend time with Steve outside the confines of his apartment without worrying about cold.
"You're looking…cozy," Steve says when he sees Bucky.
"Thanks. Central Park?"
"That's a long ways from here."
Bucky pauses at the doorway. His brain cycles through several interpretations of Steve's tone, each one more negative than the last. "Is that a problem?"
"No, no. Not at all. I just. Want to make sure you're up for it."
He is a goddamn super assassin, he can walk around New York without collapsing like some simple civvie.
"Jeez, Buck, you don't need to glare."
Somehow, they make it out of the apartment without Bucky giving into the urge to grab Steve and shake him until the idea that Bucky is not made of glass finally sticks in his stupidly large head. It's a minor miracle.
The weather is also a minor miracle. Despite the storms and general damp of the past couple of days that had clung to every surface as a miserable second skin, the sky today is painfully blue. Only a few clouds scuttle across the world's ceiling, and while the air is chilly enough to bite, Bucky's clothes keep him from feeling discomfort.
He and Steve set off at a slow pace. There is no need to rush; from what Bucky can infer from his prior and newly acquired knowledge of Steve, he will have cleared his entire schedule for exactly this moment. James is absent, left behind in the quiet and comfort of the apartment. Outside are people and cars and buildings and shadows and vantage points. Bucky must keep his attention on all of them. It is an action not unlike flexing a muscle that has gone unused for a long period of time. It feels familiar, a gradual unfurling of instinct and memory that leads to him angling both himself and Steve around corners and on slightly more crowded sidewalks.
Steve is aware of what Bucky is doing, that much is clear. But all he does is softly bump Bucky's shoulder.
After a few more steps, Bucky thinks that Steve is doing just as much observing as he is. Which is why, when Bucky hears the sounds seconds later, he does not have to check whether Steve heard them as well.
They make it to the alley at the same time. Steve takes point and Bucky trails slightly behind, falling into the pattern he can't recall learning.
"—go! Bast—mmph!"
Steve picks up the pace and then stops just long enough for Bucky to get to his side. Then they are both marching forward.
Five targets, one victim.
The targets are white, male, approximately twenty to thirty years of age. Clothing is relatively clean, none have firearms but Bucky can see small knives. Bucky designates the targets One through Five; One and Two are holding the victim against the wall while Three is jamming a hand over her mouth. Four and Five are watching with ugly looks on their faces.
Bucky knows that look as well as he knows the helpless fear in the woman's eyes.
She sees Steve and Bucky before the targets do and begins to thrash, her fear turning to desperate anger. Bucky can see bruising and scratches on her skin from her earlier struggles; the scent of blood tinges the air.
Four and Five finally grow sets of ears and realize that they are not alone in the alley anymore. Steve doesn't give them the chance to process what has changed; he takes them both by the chests and pushes them against the wall. He isn't gentle, but Bucky notes that their heads do not smack the brick. While Steve gets the story, Bucky goes to help the victim.
It's easy to pull Three away. The victim releases a gasp when her mouth is freed and promptly bites Two's arm, making him hiss and pull away. That leaves One alone, and Bucky grabs him before he can do anything and shoves him over to where Two and Three have regrouped. Two is holding his arm and muttering curses.
"So she said you could," Bucky hears Steve saying.
"Yeah. She—she said she likes it rough."
"She said that."
"Yes."
"Exactly that."
"Yeah, man, what's your problem?"
One, Two, and Three are rallying while Four continues to bullshit his way into an early grave. The victim has moved to a relatively safe distance and is watching with her phone out, her hand hovering over the screen. Bucky makes eye contact.
"Do not call the authorities. We will contact them afterwards. We can handle ourselves."
She does not look convinced. Steve picks that moment to drop dumbass number Four with a punch to his jaw. The brawny idiot collapses to the ground in a messy pile of limbs. Five stares while the other three freeze. The victim has her mouth hanging open.
"Life lesson, punk," Steve says with fury simmering behind his words, "when a woman tells you to stop, you stop. Whether there's someone to bash your face in afterwards or not."
He does not seem to care that Four is unconscious; the other punks hear him. They will pass on the message—once they wake up, of course. Neither Bucky nor Steve is going to let them leave this alley with their senses intact.
"Nothing like violence to pick up your day," James says. He is leaning against a nearby wall, watching with an open expression. "When's the last time you 'n Steve got in a good alley brawl?"
It's been a while.
He would comment on that to Steve, but One, Two, and Three have recovered. Two and Three pull out knives. One raises his fists; he seems to have some semblance of training, but his posture speaks of inexperience.
Shame.
In a fight, there is always a rhythm to attack and defense. If Bucky follows the rhythm this alley conflict has set, the idiots will strike first. They will miss, and Bucky will counter. Bucky will not miss. But Bucky can change this rhythm and save everyone some time. Waiting would be inefficient.
Movement catches Bucky's eye; James had flinched when Bucky thought the word "inefficient."
There. Again.
"Stop that," James says. "Just fight them, already."
Fine.
Instead of waiting for the three brutes to get over their indecision—Two is still bleeding from where the victim bit him, an injury that has loosened his grip on his knife—Bucky makes the first move. He steps forward and knocks the knife right out of Two's hand with a sharp strike, catches the weapon, and then ducks under Three's swipe. Two aims a kick at Bucky but Bucky spins around him and hits him hard in the stomach. One tries to hit Bucky with a kick but has the misfortune of hitting Bucky's metal arm, which leads to cursing. While One hops back, Bucky takes Three's legs out from under him and then gets space to assess the fight.
Two is clutching his wrist and bent double with his teeth gritted in pain. One is standing with most of his weight on his left foot, and Three is groaning on the ground. He must have gotten the wind knocked out of him when he fell.
Bucky rolls his shoulders and then glances at the knife in his hand. It's poorly maintained; nicks spot the edge and rust has begun to take hold on the cheap metal. Bucky curls his lip and drops it. He is a better weapon than that with only his fists.
This time, he goes in with the intent to finish the fight. Three doesn't have the time to stand up; Bucky knocks Two out with a sharp cuff to his temple, the man's injured hand too slow to bring the knife up in time. Bucky whirls around Three's punch and shoves him over One, sending them both to the ground. Two brand-spanking-new boots to the head and they're out cold.
Bucky senses someone's eyes on him and turns to see Steve staring.
"They're alive," Bucky says.
"I know, Buck."
Then why are you looking at me like that.
The victim is still staring. While Bucky drags the knuckleheads into a makeshift pile—Steve had sent the other two to dreamland while Bucky had been fighting—Steve walks over to her and begins speaking to her in low, gentle tones.
"She's in shock," James comments.
Understandable. She also has a white-knuckled grip on her phone and seems unaware of the blood coagulating on her clothing. Bucky finishes tying the attackers' limbs up with their belts and shoelaces right as Steve walks the victim over.
"Buck, this is Karen."
Bucky glances at James, who pantomimes shaking her hand. Bucky sticks out his right hand. "Nice to meet you."
Karen shakes his hand after hesitating for a moment and then nods. Her hand is very cold.
"The authorities will be here in a couple more minutes," Steve says. "Bucky and I are going to stay with you until then."
They find somewhat comfortable seats among the trash in the alleyway. By the time the ambulance and police cars arrive, Karen has begun to shake, her mind and body finally catching up to the situation.
"If you need anything," Steve starts before the paramedics can hustle Karen away. He hands her a small slip of paper with what Bucky recognizes as his number scrawled across it. "Just call."
Karen nods—at least, Bucky thinks the jerky motion is a nod. Bucky melts into the background until Steve is done dealing with the authorities. He overhears Karen stammering about family in town to an officer and then switches his attention to Steve.
"Guess our walk didn't go as planned," Steve says. "What were those idiots thinking?"
"Some things don't change," Bucky says, quoting James from one of their many conversations about the past—conversations that usually end in headaches and frustration. Bucky knows that, right now, he is not as present in the world as he wants to be; his head keeps going back to the fight, picking apart each of his moves and finding all the missed opportunities even though Bucky had not been trying to kill anyone.
He spends half a block trying to force his brain out of the loop, but the problem is not that he is cataloguing his performance, it's that he can't justify to himself why he should not be doing that. And it doesn't help that Steve is striding beside him, all confidence and energy and frown lines that make Bucky think correction even though it's Steve.
Steve is not a correction officer. Steve is not a handler. Steve is his fucking best friend, the guy that knocked the Winter Soldier loose and let Bucky Barnes claw his way out.
Well. Let what was left of Bucky Barnes mix with the Winter Soldier.
Because that's what he's supposed to be, right? Some kind of combination of two unlike halves, a broken whole taped together as though that will hide the cracks. If he thinks about it too much, his head starts to pound. So he stops, shoving all those feelings into the part of his head that can let Bucky ignore them.
"You still wanna go to the park?" Steve asks after another block. Bucky blows out a breath, watching it mist in the air.
"Yeah. Gotta work off some energy, anyway."
They settle into an easy silence. Bucky focuses on the way the chill nips at his nose instead of the Box of Bad Things overflowing in the back of his mind.
He'll have to deal with that eventually. Just…not now. Not with Steve at his side.
Not now.
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