Steve pulls back the charging handle of the semi-automatic and fires three quick shots. He's glad he has ear protection on, because even with it his sensitive hearing makes him wince with pain.

Then he frowns. Only one bullet hole had appeared.

He hears snickers and he looks back. The other guys are hiding amused facial expressions and he stands, handing the rifle back.

When he moves next to Bucky, he sighs, whispering quietly, "I didn't think I'd do that badly."

"Your first shot was almost a bullseye." Bucky whispers back, "that's good."

"Yeah, but my other two missed."

Bucky shrugs, "dunno, we can practice lat—"

"Barnes!" The sergeant calls, "you're up!"

He steps forward, accepting the rifle and he shoots, creating a triangle in the bullseye section.

Quiet whispers and Steve's eyes widen. When his turn is over, Steve raises an eyebrow, "damn."

Bucky grins, "always knew I could whoop Clint if I wanted."

Steve laughs quietly as someone else is being instructed on rifle safety. "I bet he's running circles around his other recruits.

Bucky nods, "probably is."

—

Clint passes with flying colors. Although it's not described that way. He just assigns that descriptor to himself. He aced the whole program. Maybe partially to spite his asshole dad, but mostly because he could. It felt natural. Like he was sorta born for the stress and the strategy and the teamwork.

So on graduation day, when Howard is clapping him on the back and Sam is shaking his hand and his step mom Melissa is trying not to cry proud tears, he wonders if it's enough. He proved himself. He should stick with the army. But then the man appears in the crowd.

The guy.

Castle.

And the way the guy grins at him and gives a differential nod makes Clint's adrenaline shoot up. And he knows he won't be happy with the question mark. He wants to know. He wants to be a part of that guy's team.

—

"Man," Sam says sadly on the other end, "I was really hoping to get to see you this holiday. Are you sure? Your touring schedule is set in stone?"

Natasha sighs, "Yeah, they announced it a week ago and I kept hoping it might shift, but we're not leaving the European continent."

"That's too bad…" Sam sounds genuinely disappointed and it makes her throat even tighter. This was the first Christmas of her whole life that she wouldn't have some family around. "We'll be sure to send a box your way. Your address still the one you sent me?"

"Yeah," she looks around her small apartment. Her apartment mate has headphones in while cooking, "I haven't moved."

"Keep your chin up, kiddo." Sam says, guessing at her melancholic mood, "We'll get you home soon enough."

Her voice is quiet as the lights of the city flicker through her windows, "I hope so."

—-

"Not only am I incredibly impressed," his dad is saying as he holds up the blueprints to the light, "I'm slightly worried you're trying to take my job."

Tony laughs, "nah, just had a good idea."

"This is some idea." He shuffles through the different sketches and renderings, "this would probably take a year to even get patents for before we get manufacturing started. And then a year or so after that." His dad raises his head and grins at him, "this would be some massive undertaking, but hell if I don't think every branch would buy multiple."

Tony's shrug is punctuated by a prideful grin, "well, I figure they're fighting their way, I'm fighting mine."

His dad looks at the final design and shakes it at him, "what do you want to call it?"

Tony laughs, "I get to choose the name?"

"Your design, your specs, your name."

"Hm…." Tony thinks for a few minutes, "I don't know yet. I want a good name. Can that part come later?"

"Oh yeah," His dad responds, flipping a few buttons to get the spectrometer up to speed, "you tell me when you figure one out."

"Will do."

—

Damn, it felt good to be the best at something.

Not that Bucky had ever been 'behind' on anything. His grades were perfectly decent, and his athleticism was high. But there was always someone who beat him. Tony was smarter, Clint was more accurate and (he'd never admit this outloud but Clint was funnier), Natasha had a way about everything, and even Steve could draw, paint and plan in ways that had Bucky's head spinning.

But here, here he excelled. Sharpshooting came to him as naturally as breathing. Running, working out, training? He was fit as a fiddle. First place in all the courses, all the trainings.

They've moved into the last third of their basic and Bucky is starting to see the separation. There are the ones who the sergeants pay basically no mind to as long as they follow orders and then there are the ones who move to the front of the group quickly, the sergeants taking notice of and pulling for more specialized courses.

He's one of those.

Then there's the ones who the sergeants take notice of and reprimand often.

And that's Steve.

"Rogers!" He hears the shout and he inwardly groans. "What happened to your orders!"

"Sir, yes sir." Steve always replies, "I had a different strategy."

The sergeant, who has gone from being slightly annoyed to looking like he wants to strangle Steve on a daily basis is somehow still incredibly patient. "Oh? And what the hell is that?"

Steve explains his thought process and he pauses. "Doesn't that make more sense?"

The group is incredibly silent. Somehow only Steve could piss off and impress the man. "How about the next time you decide to disobey orders, you check with me first." The man says with a flat tone, but there's a gleam of mirth in his eyes. "That will be 50 pushups. Drop."

Steve doesn't hesitate, dropping onto his hands and beginning the count.

No one else speaks. Everyone, including the sergeant, knows that Steve's strategy does make more sense. Which is why he's only getting 50 pushups. Bucky's just glad the sergeant has some sort of warring soft spot for Steve or else he'd be running laps and doing push-ups all day everyday.

Steve has stopped dropping weight, even starting to gain a bit with the supplements. It's difficult because they're working out all the time, but Bucky is still relieved with the way things are progressing. He wears ear plugs a lot, not that people notice because he can still hear perfectly fine, it's just less sensitive that way. Steve seems at ease, calm about most things, and taking all the reprimands in stride. It never stops him from speaking out though.

And that's something Bucky knows will get them in trouble one day.

—-

Clint signs on the dotted line.

"Congrats kid." Captain Castle says with a smirk, "you just signed up to change the world."

He looks at the name and the contract and the room around him, "how'd the army even agree to this?"

"Not to offend the grunts but the army can take a flying suck at the moon, can't they Morita?" A smaller man in the back, fiddling with a radio, holds up a middle finger and Castle laughs, "exactly."

"So…" Clint asks with a slow glance around the room covered with geographical and topography maps. "What comes next?"

Castle picks up a pen and flicks it at him, he lifts the clipboard, hearing the pen clatter off the back of it and hit the desk. When there are no more onslaughts, he lowers the clipboard and glares.

Castle laughs, "now… you train with us."

—-

"Rogers!"

Sometimes Steve forgets he has a first name with how often they shout his last, but he can't help it. When he sees a situation pointed south, he can't ignore it. Some of their procedures, courses, trainings seem outdated or just plain… ineffective. Not that he uses those phrases specifically.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

It's another common question he gets.

He's had his sketchbook confiscated, his few reading books, his free time is spent on mess or bathroom duty.

Worst of all was when all the recruits got a 5 minute phone call home.

But he didn't.

Bucky had called his parents and had quickly added a "tell Sam Steve is fine and he says 'hi' and that he loves all the kids. And maybe if he can get ahold of Carter to tell her he misses and loves her too, can you? Yeah, thanks."

Precious seconds of Bucky's phone call had been spent on him, and he was grateful. But he didn't want that to happen again. So he tried. He really really tried to not step on more toes.

"Rogers, an extra mile, now!"

He winces. He is trying.

—-

Natasha narrows her eyes at one of the dancers. A tall blonde named Whitney.

They flitted about and vied for dominance on stage. Her red hair flashed against the blonde and they glared at each other almost the entire practice.

"Ladies." Their instructor called, "it's a dance. Not a fight. Add grace, please."

Whitney just rolled her eyes but Natasha took a deep breath. She's already earned her place, she doesn't need to fight to belong anymore. Yelena had told her not to be such a brick wall in a new place and that was proving difficult.

They run through their segment a few more times before calling it quits. She checks her phone for messages and has only a few from Yelena and an email from Howard asking if she has everything she needs.

She emails back informing him that she does, but could he possibly pick up some presents for her if she sent him a list and some money? It's still a ways till Christmas but she wants to be prepared.

He emails back shortly after asking for the list and telling her that if she sends money, he would personally quadruple it and send it right back where the sun doesn't shine.

She laughs and types it up. Before hitting send she adds one last thing,

I don't know if your money reaches as far as wherever they might be once they've (hopefully) graduated and been sent, but these next few items… If they could be shipped to wherever they might be I would appreciate it.

Thanks,

Nat

—

Clint wipes the sweat off his forehead before wiping the blood from his lip.

"Come on, little hawk, didn't see that coming?"

"Shut the hell up, Blaze." Clint retorts, "you're really starting to piss me off."

Castle laughs in the background, "starting?"

"I'm a patient guy." Clint says with a smirk, "I know when I should strike."

Johnny Blaze, another newish member to the team makes a face of mocking sympathy, "oh yeah? Is that before or after I've won the fight?"

Clint narrows his eyes and smiles, "just you wait." Then he hurls the sand he'd grabbed from the ground, making Johnny cry out in surprise and scrape at his face as Clint slams into him, knocking him to ground and pinning him. "Yield!" Clint commands.

Johnny's eyes are still screwed shut and he's blindly trying to tear at Clint's hand pinning him down. But he can't get free and after a minute, Castle whistles.

"You lost, Blaze." Castle calls from the side. "Morita, mark down his loss." The man makes a hash mark near Blaze's name on the large chalkboard they'd dragged outside. Clint releases the guy's limbs and stands, backing away.

Clint has the least hash marks other than Castle. That man can put Clint's ass in the dirt faster than he can blink.

"Good work." Castle says with a grin, "but that's dirty fighting. Save that for the real enemies. Scratched corneas are going to cost us. Blaze, go dunk your head. Morita, get the codes ready for our next section. Barton, go shower. Be back in 30."

He nods and heads to his small room. He showers and cleans up, and as he's changing he hears his cell ring. A small luxury he'd been given back after signing on and completing their first set of challenges, "Torture Week" they'd called it. And it had been hellish, but Clint had never given up on something just because it was hard.

"So," Clint asks Morita, "how long ago was this team formed?"

The guy scratches at his beard and yawns, tipping back in his chair, "like 19 months ago. Castle got permission to form a squad based off of his kill record."

Clint eyes the man who stands on the phone in the corner talking to someone, "what's his kill record?"

Morita's lips form a grin of disbelief, "man, I'm telling you that you don't want to know. Scared the hell outta me when I hacked in and found his records."

"Hacker, huh?"

"That's what got me on Castle's radar at first. "I was screwing with the firewalls because one of my commanding officers was being shady as shit, so I wanted proof. Next thing I know I'm being tapped for this squad."

"Yeah, but what does this squad do?"

Morita yawns again, "whatever needs doing."

Clint definitely has more questions about that statement but his line of thought gets derailed by Castle hanging up the phone and turning towards them. He whistles and grins, "my little bird has whispered in my ear again."

"Damn." Morita whistles, "so soon?"

Castle nods, "yep, and this is a twofer, but for very different reasons. G Date is set for soon though, so we're going to have to take a pause here."

Morita flicks a hand towards Clint, "but he just got here two weeks ago."

"He's a patient man," Frank grins, "right?"

Clint nods, "right."

"You guys sit tight, run through the generic basics. I'll be back in three days."

Morita gives a salute and Castle waves as he steps out of the door.

"What bird?" Clint asks once he's gone, "what's a twofer?"

"We've got friendlies in every branch." Morita explains as he leans forward and begins clacking on his keyboard, "people who watch for unique recruits. We send them a list of characteristics we're looking for, or skills, and they send us names. Then we send inquiries and we get more details. Then we get full rap sheets. If we like what we see, we go after them. The earlier we catch the recruit, the better."

Clint blinks, "like me?"

Morita nods, an eyebrow raising, "what you thought your name just came to us in a dream?"

"Never thought about it."

"We've been looking for a couple-a sharp shooters, strategists, hand to hand, then also munitions experts and engineers, mechanical and electrical. We're still in the building blocks of this team. Frank's been throwing the net far and wide."

"How many are on the team?"

"Right now?" He thinks and taps at his space bar, "6 I think. "Castle, me, Blaze, you, Logan, Spector. The two who aren't here are out doing contract jobs, getting us connections. Probably won't see them much unless it's a big fight."

"Define fight."

Morita spins slowly in his chair, "you know the rules and regulations in war and politics? Things the countries shouldn't, couldn't, wouldn't do?"

His brow furrows, "like the Geneva Convention?"

Morita waves his hand, "more like sometimes there's something that needs doing that the government can't give official approval for without pissing off a lot of countries or people. So we do it. And we do it quietly. And without anyone seeing our faces or knowing we were there."

Clint's eyes narrow, "so if shit hits the fan, we take the blame since no one 'officially' sent us."

"Par for the course." Morita shrugs, "pays well. And if we go down swinging doing the right thing? Then hey, what's the problem with that? Didn't you read your contract?"

"Yes."

"Then why are you acting surprised?"

"Don't bullshit me, Morita, you know this wasn't worded in it."

Morita pauses and then a slow grin crosses his face, "just checking. Most idiots don't even read the fine print."

"I read it all."

Morita's face gets serious, "then you know we don't take what we do lightly. We don't go in guns blazing. And we don't go where we don't think we should go. That's why we're pulling together the best team so that we use all our brain cells. We don't make rash decisions. When the contracts and the bids and the jobs start coming through, we pick the fights actually worth fighting. No fame or fortune or glory. This isn't the thrill of the hunt. Just hard work that hopefully saves lives. Understood?"

"Understood."

—-

"Shit!" Steve curses, a relatively new habit that has Bucky always pursing his lips in amusement. "I swear I'm aiming at the same place!" He yanks off his ear muffs and rips off the safety goggles.

Bucky squints at the target and then shrugs, "I don't know, I'm watching you, it doesn't look like the recoil is throwing your aim off, you're following proper technique."

Steve sets the rifle down and shakes his head, "I'm going to fail the course if I can't figure out what I'm doing wrong.

"You're not going to fail." Bucky reassures him, "you've been doing well in everything else."

Steve glares at him, "they're pissed at me all the time."

"Maybe if you—"

"Don't." Steve snaps, "don't."

"You're constantly correcting them, Steve. This isn't a group session, it's the army. You're pissing them off."

"Okay, then why haven't they kicked me out?"

"Because you're too good." A voice calls from a distance. They both whip sideways. Turning to find a man standing far off who grins at them, "Howdy-doo, boys."

The man is in a Captain's uniform. So they both salute and he returns it.

"Name's Frank Castle. How are you two doing?"

They blink at each other, and then towards the man. "Fine." Bucky responds. "We reserved the range, we're here with permission."

The man laughs, "don't you worry your pretty little head about that." He waves at them to relax, "at ease."

Steve watches the man as he steps forward and then silently walks all the way to the target, his fingers ghosting over the hole Steve had made. "Impressive."

Both he and Bucky exude confusion, "what?"

"Hitting the exact same spot three times in a row is very impressive." He points at Bucky, "but I was told you were the sharpshooter."

Steve's mind fritzes. "Wait what?"

The man points to the target, "I just watched you. You shot three bullets, dead center, same spot. Not many people can do that."

He and Bucky turn to each other slowly and their eyes grow wide.

"Oh—" Steve breathes out as Bucky slaps a hand to his forehead.

"Holy shit!"

The man walks back towards them, "I'm here with a proposition."

Bucky is shaking his head, "what proposition?"

"You both have just another two weeks till you graduate right?"

They nod.

He points to Bucky and then to him. "I'm going to be there, at that graduation, and it will take some finagling. I'm really starting to piss some people off, but such is life. When you graduate, instead of fulfilling your army contracts, you'll be coming to work for me. Or I hope you choose to."

Bucky's eyebrows are pulled down, "and who are you?"

"Captain Frank Castle. Marine. But—" he winks, "our team isn't formally under one branch."

Steve gestures to his clearly army uniform, "who are you under?"

"Just the good ol' U. S. Of A."

"What the hell does that mean?"

He points at Bucky, "Means what it means, soldier." Then he waves a hand at both of them. "You'll be seeing me. Good luck on your graduations. And Steve—-" he grins at him, "don't stop pissing people off." Then he's striding away leaving them staring at each other in confusion.

—-

Bucky watches Steve process that information the rest of the day. He was hitting the same spot.

Bucky tries not to feel a tad jealous of the fact. Instead of Steve struggling, now he knew he was excelling.

It's fine. Totally fine.

"Well, hello there!" He looks up to see a guy picking a piece of paper or something off the ground. "Damn, she's hot!"

Bucky's about to ignore their rude commentary when the guy flashes the picture around and he catches sight of red lips.

Oh shiiiit.

He looks to Steve's bunk but he's not there, probably in the showers. That's the photo he keeps of Peggy in his boots. Where no one even knew it existed except Bucky. He's got one of Nat.

How the hell did it end up on the floor?

"Who's girl?" The guy asks, "Anyone claim this one or can I keep her?"

Bucky wrinkles his nose and wants to slap the guy upside the head, but he stays quiet. Personal effects like that weren't allowed. Everything they'd had with them had been put in a box or cataloged for them to keep in their trunk. The fact that Steve had been allowed a sketchbook for three weeks had been a modern marvel. Bucky eventually realized they thought it was a book or journal at first. Then they realized it wasn't and it was gone.

Having that photo that the Drill Sergeant didn't know about would lead to trouble. And Steve was already in enough.

Speaking of Steve, he walks into the room and his gaze is still far away. He was probably so preoccupied earlier that he'd pulled his boots off too roughly before heading to the showers.

"PT at 5am boys!" The Drill sergeant's voice appears in the hallway.

They all stand at attention, and the man enters.

Once he's gone, the boys settle in and Bucky feels torn.

"Come on," the guy says with a low chuckle, "she has to belong to one of you." He waves the picture around and Bucky winces as Steve's eyes grow wide. Even with the proof in front of his face, Bucky watches as he checks his boots and pinches the bridge of his nose.

Thankfully this is not one of the worst guys in the bunk, so Steve stands and steps forward, "that picture is mine."

Silence follows before a few snorts of disbelief. The guy blinks at him, "what?"

"That is my picture, can I please have it back?" Steve holds out his hand and the guy furrows his brow, "you have a girlfriend?"

Steve blinks, "yes. I do." He gestures again with his hand, his eyes flicking to the door as if worried the sergeant might reappear. "Please can I have it back?"

"I don't believe you," the guy says, his tone not mean, just hesitant, "what's her name."

Before Steve can answer, one of the more obnoxious recruits butts in, "push-lease, that's not his girl. That's a google image that probably kept him busy one night, don't be a liar, Rogers."

And Bucky wishes Carter was here to punch this asshole too.

"Listen," Steve snaps, "I'm as shocked as you all that she wanted to date me too, but she did, and that picture is mine, so please—"

"Prove it."

Steve huffs, "how the hell am I supposed to prove it!"

"You guys done it yet?"

Steve throws up his hands, "I'm not having this conversation, please can I have my photo back." When the guy doesn't, Steve waves his arm in the room, "no one else is claiming it, right? Therefore, it's mine. Can you please—" he holds out his hand, and for the first time that Bucky can ever remember Steve turns to him and has a half pleading half exasperated expression, and he asks for help, "can you please tell them that the photo is mine?"

All eyes swivel towards him and he nods, "yep, that's one Peggy Carter, girlfriend of Steve since he was a junior in highschool."

Disbelief turns to surprise and the guy slowly hands Steve the photo back. Steve very carefully places it in his boot and lets out a sigh of relief.

And Bucky thinks that will be that.

But it's not.

Steve's speed and endurance is growing. Bucky has noticed an uptake in his skills all around. Now they race together, at the front of the pack, Steve seeming to have an easier time with outpacing the others and keeping up with Bucky.

When they finish, the Drill Sergeant records their times and then they move on to the next course as the others finish up.

Steve and he go head to head, jumping, sliding, and climbing as fast as they can. He feels the same grin on his face as they both egg each other on, pushing harder, running faster. They slide to a stop at the same time and Steve is grinning at him, barely out of breath. "Damn." Bucky snaps, "I need Howard to give me some of the same juice he gave you."

Steve laughs, and shakes his head, "I'm not complaining that's for sure."

The Drill sergeant rounds everyone up as they finish and he points to them two, "you all should be as motivated and efficient as these two." He nods, "soldiers who—" a snort of derision from one of the other recruits at attention makes the sergeant stop in his tracks. "Someone have something they'd like to say?"

And it's the same brat, who accused Steve of googling Peggy, from last night that speaks, "hiding personal effects is the mark of a good soldier?"

Bucky feels Steve go rigid. And the sergeant seems torn for a moment, "excuse me, private?"

"Rogers is hiding a photo in his boot. Flaunted it. Practically spit in the face of your authority."

Bucky can feel his own blood starting to boil.

"Sir, no sir." Steve grits out.

"So you don't have a picture in your boot?"

Shit.

"I do, sir." Steve admits, "but I did not flaunt—"

"Remove your boots."

Bucky stands still but he's almost shaking with rage.

Steve crouches down and yanks off his boots. He doesn't try to hide the photo. He hands it over.

The sergeant looks at it. And Bucky swears there's a moment of sympathy before he tears the photo in two and throws the pieces. Steve's eyes follow them and his jaw is so tight Bucky's worried it might crack.

"This is an army." The sergeant says, "not a storage locker. Don't keep your shit here. And for hiding it, you'll need to repeat this morning's run three times. And tomorrow for the gas chamber you'll be first in and last out."

"Sir, yes, sir." Steve grits out.

The private that snitched is grinning.

Bucky doesn't like that.

—-

*A/N - If I used Morita in a chapter before before this…. no i didn't. after 67 chapters of this particular two part story it starts to get hazy. So forgive me if I already have, but Morita is here to stay in this capacity! I hope you're enjoying, thank you to all of you who take time to comment, means the world!