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Bucky wiped the blade clean on the last attacker's pants as his doorbell went off. That would be Steve, right on time--and he wasn't ready yet. He already dreaded the earful he knew he was going to get about the mess, Steve's lecture about respecting his time wasn't going to be any fun, either.
He had to step over the bodies in the entryway to let Steve in.
Steve stood just inside the doorway and surveyed the carnage. He sighed that disappointed sigh and looked at Bucky. "You know, I'm used to this sort of thing from Natasha. Not you." He eyed the closest body. "Who are they? AIM? HYDRA?"
"Bratva." Bucky slipped his knife into the hidden ankle sheath, adjusted his pant leg, and started putting on his boots.
He could feel Steve's frown. "I've never heard of them."
Boots tied, Bucky stood up and chuckled. "You wouldn't." He pushed his hair out of his face, realized he'd smudged blood on his cheek, and scowled. "Russian Mafia." They hadn't bled on his pants, at least, so he didn't have to change those.
"What does the Russian mafia want with you?" There was unspoken fear in Steve's voice.
Bucky didn't owe anyone money, he hadn't accidentally fucked anyone's daughter or wife (that he knew of, but New York was a diverse place), and he hadn't botched a job. He shrugged. "To recruit me, obviously. Or kill me."
Steve sighed.
Bucky grinned. He clapped Steve's shoulder with his cleaner hand. "I'll go clean up and put on a shirt," he said. "You know where the guns are if any more of them show up." He started for his bedroom, picking his way around the puddles of blood and over the cooling bodies.
Steve fished his phone out of his pocket. "I'll call Fury."
Bucky was halfway through the living room. He was annoyed that he'd have to get a new area rug since one of the mafioso had bled all over it. Didn't anyone have any consideration anymore? That was just rude. He turned back to Steve.
"No."
Steve had already lifted the phone to his ear. "What? What do you mean no? You need a clean-up crew and to file the paperwork."
Bucky made a face. "Why should I have to file all the paperwork? They tried to kill me." He shook his head. "Leave them. This is just the first attempt. Maybe the bodies will scare off the next one."
Steve frowned. "You're just going to leave dead bodies all over your apartment." The way he said it made it sound like Bucky was going to leave moldy oranges in his fruit bowl when he added new fruit.
"Well, I was going to put a few of them out in the hall once I got a shirt on."
"Bucky, no."
He didn't think it was all that bad an idea. He ducked into his bedroom. He cleaned the blood off his hands and face in the bathroom, ran a brush through his hair, and found a clean t-shirt and his jacket on the pile of clothes on top of his dresser. The last thing he grabbed was his pack. As far as the casual observer--and Steve--was concerned, it was just a plain black backpack. The day had started with an assassination attempt so Bucky was pretty sure it was going to be one of those days. Steve wouldn't need to know what was really in the pack unless he needed anything from it.
A little recklessly, Bucky hoped he wouldn't have to use the backpack for anything but carrying his purchases.
He slung the bag over his shoulder as he left the bedroom. Steve was standing in the living room, looking at the bodies with that frown on his face. Bucky just shook his head, stepped over a puddle of congealing blood, checked that the slider to his balcony was locked--for all the good that did him--and started for the entryway. He grabbed the body closest to the door by the ankle and started dragging.
"You're really going to take him out there?"
"Yep."
Steve sighed. "What are your neighbors going to say?"
"Nothing." Bucky pulled the guy into the hall and left him in a heap right beside his door. "Most of 'em are too scared."
"You should have moved into the Tower."
Bucky made a face as he went back in after the second entryway body. "You're kidding."
"It's safer there."
"Not for me it isn't." Bucky grabbed the dead guy's wrists and hauled him into the hallway.
Steve followed. "What about your neighbors? Is it safe for them for you to be here?"
It wasn't, but Bucky couldn't live in Manhattan, in Stark's fancy skyscraper with a whole floor all to himself, surrounded every moment by reminders of what he'd done and what he did now. He liked Brooklyn. He liked living in a normal building with normal people. Until today, his presence hadn't endangered any of his neighbors.
He grunted, dumping the dead guy on top of the first. "I won't leave them here long enough to stink or anything," he grumbled. "Just long enough to get my message to the Bratva, okay? I'll call Fury's guys tomorrow."
"I wish you'd call them now."
"Wish in one hand and shit in the other, Steve." Bucky pulled his keys out of his pocket. "They tried to kill me before I even had my coffee this morning." He gave Steve and incredulous look. "Who does that? Who can't let a man have his coffee?"
Steve sighed. He stepped out of the apartment, into the hall, careful to avoid the streaks of blood and the corpses' arms. "Do you want me to buy you coffee, Buck?"
"Yes." Bucky shut his front door and locked it. "I've had a very difficult morning. I need one of those drinks with a name as long as my arm and more sugar than we got in two months back in '43." He pocketed his keys. "And one of those cheese things. A Danish."
Steve chuckled and shook his head. "What else are we doing today?"
"I have a list." Bucky fished a crumpled paper from his pocket and showed it to Steve. "Gun shop, hardware store, and sex shop."
"Sex shop."
Bucky nodded. "I need bondage tape."
"Bondage tape."
Sometimes Steve could be like a big blond parrot, Bucky thought. He shrugged. "It's better than electrical tape." It didn't mark up skin when his setup needed to look like an accident, it was strong, and it was reusable.
Steve made a face. "I thought you were getting stuff for work. I'm not going with you to restock your toy box or whatever you call it."
Bucky started down the stairs ahead of Steve. "My toy box is fine," he said. "It's all for work, buddy. I promise. I do need some really, really big butt--"
"I don't want to know!" Steve's voice echoed in the stairwell.
Bucky laughed.
*
The special ammunition and new tactical knives he'd ordered were in. He'd gotten new sharpening stones for his knives and a new diamond plate for his sharpening stones, too. The hardware store had the clamps he liked and the right rope back in stock. His pack was filling up, and while he hadn't been in danger of running out of anything mid-mission, it felt good to resupply on his own terms.
That expense account Fury had given him sure came in handy.
"I don't understand why you need the clamps," Steve was saying. "And why you didn't just get the duct tape at Ace if you were getting the rope."
"The clamps are for breaking small bones. Fingers, toes--"
Steve winced. "Oh."
Bucky didn't exactly forget that Steve pretended he didn't know what Bucky did for Fury, but he was usually better at not going into too many details. Steve needed plausible deniability, like he had during the war, but more than that, Bucky still found himself wanting to protect Steve from certain things. This certain thing just happened to be the reality of what he did for a living.
"And I told you," he went on, "I just don't like duct tape. Everyone's got their little quirks when it comes to the job. Like you and your guns now."
"But I'll use them," Steve pointed out. "I have them."
"And if I can't find good bondage tape, I'll use duct tape. But I won't like it." They'd reached the sex shop, and Bucky put his hand out to push open the door.
Steve hung back.
Bucky hid a smirk. "What's wrong?"
"Do you really need me to go in with you? I can go get us coffee. Or a hot dog."
"That's great." Bucky nodded. "Give the paps pictures of Captain America eating a hot dog in front of a sex shop. SHIELD PR will love that. You know they're already pissed about the rumors."
Steve chuckled. "'Captain America and Bucky Barnes: Secret Gay Lovers!' I liked that book. It was very creative."
Bucky laughed. "As long as we both know I'd top." He pushed on the door. "Come on. If you don't come in, how are you going to learn anything? Don't you want to keep Sharon interested?"
Steve looked wary. "I don't think I need to learn anything this place is going to teach me."
"You never know." Bucky started in. Steve could follow, or he'd go get a hot dog and give the paparazzi something interesting to print. "Sometimes they have workshops--"
"Bucky." Steve was considerably less amused than Bucky was.
He just grinned and went in.
He liked sex shops. Not just for the bondage tape--sometimes he bought restraint systems and spreader bars and more than once he'd found a good use for silicone-based personal lubricant in his professional life--but because of the joy. They were all so brightly-lit and garish these days. Bucky favored the more female-friendly shops, the ones with all the pink toys and lacy underthings and slickest lubes in front, and he'd never been disappointed by the clientele present. Not that he'd ever tried to pick up a girl in a sex shop. He had more class than that. But he didn't think there was any harm in enjoying the view.
The view today did not disappoint, and Bucky secretly congratulated himself on his excellent recon. Tori was behind the counter, as he'd hoped she would be, and she glanced up when he and Steve entered. He flashed her his best smile--
--only to be completely ignored in favor of Steve behind him. She gave Steve a long, long once-over and Bucky wanted to pout.
Steve, for all of his super-soldier situational awareness, was completely oblivious to Tori the Adorable Sex Shop Clerk. He stopped in front of a whole wall display of large, obscene toys (some weren't even shaped like the body part they were supposed to mimic), and frowned his frown of disapproval.
"What the hell?"
Bucky moved beside Steve and shook his head. "I don't need any of these." He flexed his left hand until he was sure Steve had glanced down. "I've already got the best one that isn't even on the market. You should read some of the stories they write about you and me and this arm. I think there's actually a video parody--"
Steve looked a little pale.
Bucky laughed and nudged him. "Come on. The tape's over here." He started for the restraints aisle.
Steve followed, his hands in his pockets, his eyes scanning the shop. "Do people really need all this stuff?"
Not for the first time, Bucky felt a twinge of sympathy for Sharon Carter. "Need?" he said. "No. Want? Yes." He glanced over his shoulder. "It makes everything a lot more fun. You know what 'fun' is, right? You'd have to wipe that frown off your face to have some, though."
Steve made a face at him. "How boring does it get that you need a..." Steve peered at the logo on a package as he passed. "...Ravenous Rabbit vibrator?"
"Not me. But I've got the wrong anatomy."
Steve looked vaguely uncomfortable.
Bucky laughed. "You can always turn your junk into one of those for Sharon." He pointed to a plastic jar turned on its side. "Grab a couple of those. My treat." He winked.
Steve rolled his eyes. "I'll pass, thanks."
"You're not still making that poor woman wait on you, are you? That's mean, Steve."
"I'm not making her wait," Steve huffed. "What difference does it make to you? Get your tape so we can go."
Steve's discomfort was never going to stop being funny. They stopped together in front of the shelves of tape and Bucky considered his options.
"I'm surprised you don't order this stuff special, Buck. You could probably get it in black with little red stars."
"Ha ha." It was Bucky's turn to roll his eyes. "Not everything has to be customized, Mr. Captain America Condoms."
Steve's cheeks went pink. "It's just the packaging, you know. The-- They're not, like, red, white, and blue or anything."
Bucky got the very unwanted mental image of Steve wearing nothing but a rubber that made his dick look like a Bomb Pop. He winced. "Oh." There were some things buddies just didn't need to think about each other.
"What?"
"Nothing." Bucky forced the image out of his head and reached for a thick roll of sturdy, plain black tape. Then he collected three more. For good measure, he got a slightly smaller roll of hot pink tape.
Steve raised an eyebrow when Bucky glanced at him.
Bucky grinned. "This one's for my toy box."
"Bucky..."
"I forgot I was out!"
Steve sighed. He looked pained. "Are you done? Can we go?"
"Soon." Bucky started around the end of the aisle. "I'm out of lube, too."
"What do you use lube...? Never mind. I don't want to know."
"It's not for work, either."
"Bucky..." There was the hint of a whine in Steve's voice.
"Not all of us are content with that crap you like from the grocery store, Steve." Without any irony or shame, he picked up the economy size bottle of Gun Oil and a travel size bottle of Pink. One of the lady agents had introduced him to it, and now he made sure he always had some on hand.
Steve scoffed. "Gun Oil? It's nice to see your sense of humor hasn't changed in seventy years."
"Some things are constant, pal."
He was just about to catch Tori's eye when, of course, the whole front of the store blew inward. Instead of catching her eye, he was ducking behind shelves of Kama Sutra books and rope-tying kits, trying to make his way through the smoke and heat to the cashier station.
It looked like the mob wasn't taking his first no for his final answer.
Steve threw his arm up reflexively, but it didn't do any good. Bucky heard him swearing over the ringing in his ears. The explosion had been close--probably on the sidewalk in front of the shop. He reached back to grab Steve by his sleeve and haul him along. They scurried behind the cashier station, where the salesgirl was waiting.
Shotgun aimed right at them.
Bucky gave her a wild grin. "Nice. Mine are bigger, though." He dropped his intended purchases and his pack and crouched near her legs. He started opening up the bag.
She was looking at him like she didn't trust him, and Bucky could hardly blame her. He hoped that would change soon.
"You should have checked that when you came in, you know," she said.
He did know. "Aw, sweetheart, you wouldn't have known what to do with it." He removed a couple of knives and strapped them to his thighs. Then he reached for the pieces of the first rocket-propelled grenade launcher.
Tori's eyes went wide as he started to assemble it.
He always did like to surprise a girl in good ways.
Steve, on the other hand... "Why the hell do you have one of those?"
"I don't." Bucky handed over the RPG-7V2, two rockets, a few frag grenades, and a shoulder holster with a Beretta M9. "I have two."
Steve took everything. He gave Bucky a hard look. "Who are we fighting?"
Bucky shrugged. "Same guys from this morning. Just shoot anyone speaking Russian who isn't me."
Steve was not amused.
Bucky assembled the second rocket launcher and loaded it while Steve draped the bandolier with the frag grenades across his chest and shrugged into the shoulder holster.
"What's our plan?" Steve asked.
Bucky hefted his RPG-7 onto his shoulder. "Well, I'm gonna shoot back now. You guys should cover your ears."
"Bucky, we need a plan."
He rolled his eyes. "I already told you my plan, Steve. Shoot anyone speaking Russian who isn't me."
While Steve huffed, Tori ducked her head, her shotgun cradled in her lap, and clamped her hands over her ears.
Bucky loved people who could take orders without asking stupid questions. He'd have said as much to Steve, but he could hear boots on debris, so he popped up behind the counter, aimed for the center of the hole they'd blown in the shop, and fired.
He was back down before the grenade went off, shrugging on his own shoulder holster and checking his sidearms.
Steve was giving him that look that was both grim and disapproving. "Do you always carry an armory when we go out?"
"Only when I think someone's trying to kill us." Bucky shoved his empty pack, the tape, and the lube toward Tori. He gave her his best smile. "You wanna hang on to this for me?"
"She needs to get somewhere safe!"
Bucky winked at her. "Behind me is the safest place you can be. I promise. Don't listen to Cap."
"Cap?" she repeated, glancing between him and Steve and back.
Steve gave her an annoyed look. "Yes."
"Captain America," Bucky explained.
"Then you're..."
He didn't like to rely on his fame, but if it didn't hurt, he didn't mind using what resources he had. He winked. "Yep." There came the sound of angry Russians shouting. "Give me a few minutes?"
Tori nodded.
Bucky really, really wanted to kiss her, or at least hug her, because she looked like she could use the reassurance (and because he wanted to), but he decided against either. The timing wasn't right. So he just smiled again, and drew one of his handguns, and he moved in a crouch until he was clear of their cover and he was as comfortable as he could be with the distance between the two of them.
Steve at least understood without having to be told that he should go the other way.
Bucky spared a moment to be irritated with Steve. He'd told him time and time again to carry the light shield generator--it wasn't like the thing took up much space--but did Steve listen? Nope. The man was too optimistic for his own good. Still.
Bucky was more of a realist.
And he wasn't anywhere near as diplomatic as Steve was.
" Ey nekrasivo! "
He was standing when the mobsters swung their weapons toward him. This group was even less artistic than the ones he'd dispatched earlier. Bucky was disappointed. If they were making a case for working for them, they were doing a shitty job. He was offended on a professional level.
On a personal level, it ranked as only mildly irritating.
He fired two headshots for two kills, stepped to the side, fired again, and notched another kill. He was bored. This was boring. Even with the smoke and the sting in his eyes from the acrid smell of burning plastic, his vision wasn't impaired.
He slipped behind a spinning rack of girly magazines and watched as the two coming toward him expected him to appear on the other side. Maybe he wasn't dealing with professionals. He felt a twinge of guilt at eliminating amateurs.
The guilt dissipated when one of them fired at the rack and girly magazines exploded around him in a shower of glossy fragments. If they were amateurs, they were stupid amateurs. Bucky dropped to a knee, leaned out, fired three shots, and whirled behind another spinning rack as he listened to the sound of bodies dropping like sacks of meat.
They weren't even challenging him.
Watching the next guy take a dildo to the head, though, that was worth it. Bucky almost snickered as it flopped across the guy's face. Steve had clearly decided that the biggest, meanest-looking toys were the best weapons, better even than the ones Bucky had given him. Oh, Bucky would never let him live that down.
From his new vantage point, Bucky had a clear shot to the car the mobsters were in. While Steve kept the ones in the shop distracted with flying penises, Bucky calculated the estimated collateral damage, watched one of the Russians shoot a woman trying to get out of his way, and decided that some flaming debris were better than more dead civilians. Bucky holstered his sidearm, loaded the RPG with a rocket, and lifted the launcher.
The car exploded.
That was when Bucky heard the sirens.
He called across the shop to Steve, "No survivors!" Because it was a lot easier to send the message he wanted to send when none of the messengers returned.
Steve's head popped up between the racks of shelves on the other side of the store. It was kind of funny that even in the middle of a firefight--in Steve's case, in a shower of plastic cocks--Steve could disapprove so hard.
Bucky took out the shooter aiming at Steve before the Russian could fire; he took out his backup, too, then had to re-holster his weapon or reload. Holstering was easier.
Steve could disapprove all he wanted. This wasn't a SHIELD mission, this was an attack on him personally, and he could deal with it exactly as he saw fit. And that meant no survivors.
The final attacker stepped into the shop, finding his footing among the debris. Bucky drew the holdout pistol from the holster under his shirt at the small of his back and took out the big guy's kneecaps. He fell and Bucky was on him, gun back in its place and knife in hand.
"No," Bucky said, grabbing the guy's hair. For good measure, he said it a few more times in a few more languages.
"You're crazy," the man said. Pain had drained the blood from his face.
"That's why you wanted me."
"They won't stop until you're dead."
"What, again?" Disgusted, Bucky just slit his throat. He wiped the blade off on the back of the guy's suit jacket and turned.
Steve and Tori were staring at him. Steve was frowning--of course he was frowning, Bucky was pretty sure his face was stuck like that--and Tori... well. Bucky grinned at her.
"Sorry for the mess."
She tucked the shotgun back into place beneath the counter and laid his backpack next to the register. A small smile played at her lips as she shrugged. "We're in New York. The boss has superhero insurance."
Bucky looked around at the ruined shop. "This, uh, wasn't exactly superhero business," he admitted.
He was wondering how to explain it--and what he'd even have to explain--when shadows fell around him. He turned to find a SHIELD cleanup crew swarming the sidewalk in front of the shop, putting up barricades and unloading equipment.
And Nick Fury stood in the center of the shop front, hands on his hips and expression on his face that was part amusement, part disapproval.
"Really, Barnes?"
Bucky shrugged. "They made me an offer I had to refuse."
Tori snickered.
Bucky threw Steve an annoyed look. "You haven't even watched The Godfather yet?"
Steve just frowned.
Bucky couldn't take any more of Steve. How could the guy have been awake for three years and not see The Godfather movies? How could they be friends if he hadn't? He picked his way through the debris to the cashier station, fishing his wallet out of his back pocket. He handed several bills across to Tori.
"That should cover what I want. Whatever's left is yours."
She looked at the money in her hand and then at him. She pursed her lips. "A tip? That's it? Don't you want my number?"
He grinned.
*
It took the rest of the day to clean up the mess the Bratva had made, and then to explain to SHIELD why they'd made such a mess. By the time he got off the helicarrier and back on solid ground, it was well past sunset and he was famished.
That was twice those goons had made him miss a meal. Even the Nazis had let him eat.
Of course, he called Tori.
She didn't complain about the crap diner or the food. In fact, she ordered the same thing he did: pancakes and coffee and a slice of pie. Bucky fell a little bit for her then. He told her what he could about the day's events.
He liked that she seemed more amused than anything else about it.
"You know, if you wanted to get my attention, you could have just said hello."
Bucky smiled at her. "Where's the fun in that?"
She didn't even make him come up with a clever reason to invite her up to his place.
SHIELD had slacked, he realized as soon as they stepped onto the landing for his floor. He sighed and hitched his pack higher on his shoulder.
"What's wrong?" Her fingers brushed the small of his back as she tried to peer around him.
Bucky shook his head. "Someone at work didn't do their job."
He glanced down in time to catch the smile curving her lips.
"Is that supposed to be like mounting your enemies' heads on spikes or something?"
Surprised laughter burst from him. "Something like that." He reached back for her hand.
She linked her fingers with his. "Doesn't seem to have worked."
He shrugged. "I don't think they bothered to check here before they followed me to your store." His keys jangled in his hand. "The inside isn't much better," he warned. "We can go somewhere else if you want."
She shook her head. "I want to see. How many were there?"
"Six." Bucky let them into his apartment. "Watch where you step. I don't want you to get blood on your pretty shoes."
She gave him a brilliant smile as she edged past him. When she glanced ahead, toward the living room, she laughed. "Is there any room that's safe?"
Bucky shut the door. "The bedroom." He grinned.
Tori laughed again and looked pointedly at his backpack. "Well, have I told you yet that pink is my favorite color?"
Bucky's grin widened. "Yeah?"
"Oh, yeah." She started ahead, into the living room, stepping carefully around pools of blood and cold bodies. "I hope you're not too tired."
Bucky followed her. "If I am, you can be on top."