Work Text:
Bucky scanned the room, outwardly casual as he assessed the exits and other possible escape routes. The windows at the far end of the hall would be the most expedient, but hardly inconspicuous. Going out the way they’d come in would be tricky, but could be necessary if they attracted the wrong attention. He was two-thirds into constructing a plan involving the dumbwaiter and a violent distraction when Natasha dropped down in front of him, smooth and silent enough to startle a less paranoid man.
“Hello, James. Enjoying the party?”
Bucky rolled his eyes and shifted so she was no longer blocking his sightline. He spoke quietly out of the side of his mouth, barely noticeable to any onlookers.
“Did you get the files?” He could see her smirk as she nodded once, sharp eyes already scanning the guests for any suspicious activity, although her bar for suspicious behaviour was considerably lower even than his. Time to get out of here before she found a cause more Nat-worthy than the one they were currently being paid to avenge.
“Okay, you take the terrace, I'll go the back way, meet at the end of the drive.” He touched a finger to his ear. “Sam, are we clear?”
“Oh, you're good,” Sam's disembodied voice crackled in his ear, “As long as you're in the mood to go through five angry guys with guns.”
Bucky groaned and quickly re-evaluated. He'd dismissed the kitchens as too busy and labyrinthine to be viable, but he remembered there had only been the one guard at the eastern gate. He gestured discreetly to Nat, who had already acquired a tray of empty champagne glasses and headed towards the service entrance without so much as glancing at him. He waited a minute before following, circuiting conversations on international tax loopholes and the best tropical islands on which to hoard your ill-gotten billions, until he was near enough to slip through the swinging door, unnoticed.
The frantic bustle of the kitchens was almost a blessing after the performative grace of the gala behind him. No one paid Bucky any attention as he pushed through the throng, too intently focused on their own culinary tasks to care about anything that didn't have an unpronounceable and probably made up French name. He narrowly avoided tipping a large bottle of oil into an elaborate dessert, righting it with a deft hand before ducking around the corner, past the walk-in pantry and out the side door that was usually used for deliveries, judging by the crates piled up against the outside wall.
Nat was nowhere to be seen, but most likely she was already at the meeting point, guided by Sam and his hacked CCTV. Bucky made for the gate that he knew was on the other side of the twelve-car garage, keeping close to the wall and what little shadow there was in the glare of the bright May afternoon.
He paused at the final corner, listening for the guard. Hearing nothing but the shrill chirp of birds and the apathetic wind nudging the trees, he leaned cautiously forward to confirm. Sure enough, the gate was unmanned, only a few quick strides away. He was reaching for the latch when he heard a soft movement behind him and reacted on instinct, elbow connecting with a solid body before he twisted around, using the momentum to grab the guy's arm and lock it behind his back, his own arm tight around the guy's neck.
“Buck,” Steve gasped, “only me.”
“Jesus, Steve, do you have no survival instincts? Why would you jump me like that?” He dropped Steve's arm and pulled open the gate, raising his eyebrows as Steve stopped to catch his breath. “You need to get back to the gym, old man.”
“Shut up, I just got attacked by a trained assassin.”
“I prefer extreme problem solver, thanks.”
“How very pedestrian,” Steve sighed, following him through the gate and smoothing out the scuffs on the ground as Bucky closed the latch. “Sam's got the van waiting, you guys got what we needed?”
Bucky took a moment to picture the faces of the Foundation executives when the feds arrived, armed with a warrant and enough evidence to put them all away for a combined 70 years, at least. Embezzling from charities is low enough on the scale of shitty life choices, but embezzling coupled with extortion of innocent families? That took some serious effort, and Bucky liked to reward hard work.
“Yeah, those bastards are gonna get what's coming to them.”
*
Bucky collapsed into the back of the van, which Sam had thoughtfully driven an extra half mile from the designated rendezvous to avoid an enthusiastic traffic warden, resulting in Bucky and Steve having to cross a goddamn river to avoid the loud-mouthed thugs who were by now well aware of what had gone down behind the scenes at their fancy party and were gratifyingly pissed about it. It took him a second to realise that there were only four of them in the van, Sam driving, with Nat riding shotgun, he and Steve in the back.
“Where's Tony?” Bucky asked, trying to work out where he’d last seen him and who he might have been talking to. Steve's mouth tightened.
“He found alternative transportation.” By the look on Steve's face, Tony was in for one hell of a lecture whenever he did decide to show up. Nat chuckled from the front seat.
“Our esteemed colleague, Mr. Tony Stark, was escorted from the Fillbrooke Foundation Inaugural Gala by renowned businessman and philanthropist, like that's not an oxymoron, Robert Fillbrooke.” She twisted in her seat so she could see Steve's face as she continued. “Which I'm sure is very irresponsible and could scupper our whole operation, and is definitely not making any senior member of this team the least bit jealous.”
Bucky could almost feel Steve gritting his teeth as he bit out, “It is very irresponsible, he’s thrown the whole plan out of the window, not to mention risked exposing his true identity. His accents always slip when he's drunk and he wasn't exactly holding back in that respect.” Steve's fists were clenched on his thighs. The poor guy needed a Xanax.
“He'll be fine,” Bucky said, trying to diffuse some of Steve's stress. “Sure, they know all their incriminating documents are missing, but they don't know that we're the ones who took them. It would have looked suspicious if Tony had made excuses.”
Sam coughed lightly. “Yeah, that's not quite the whole story. Is it, Steve?”
Steve looked uncomfortable, eyes downcast as he mumbled, “We had words. I only suggested that he tone it down a bit with Mr. Fillbrooke, you know, keep him distracted and where we'd have eyes on him. But you know Tony, he took that as a cue to amp things up. We got everything we needed and then he just, kept drinking, and flirting.” Steve's mouth twisted, his cheeks red.
“Don't stop there, Cap, you're just getting to the good bit,” Sam prompted, meeting Bucky's eye in the mirror. “This played out marvellously on the cameras, by the way. If I hadn’t been busy emptying Fillbrooke’s accounts and watching all your backs, I would’ve cracked out the popcorn.”
Steve groaned and put his head in his hands. “Can we please just get back to the office and finish the job? We are on an actual schedule here.”
“We’re not gonna get there any faster sitting in silence,” Bucky pointed out, ever so helpful. “And if you won't tell me, I'll just have to get Sam to play me the tapes.”
Not lifting his head from where it was still buried in his hands, Steve said, “I told him we were ready to leave, that you and Nat had it covered. He said he was going to stay and that I could do as I pleased, not his exact words, but that was the general message. As if I was just going to leave him unsupervised when we're in the middle of a case and he's in that kind of mood.”
“Rogers, you're stalling.” Natasha was hanging over her seat now, clearing enjoying this. “Cut to the good bit.” She looked over at Bucky. “Fillbrooke was getting handsy, Stevie here did not take it well.”
“Oh, Steve, tell me you didn't.” Bucky had to bite the inside of his cheek not to laugh when Steve looked up, so earnest and ashamed.
“I was trying to save the job, he could have gotten us all caught,” he insisted, “If Fillbrooke had just kept out of it, instead of getting all... familiar and defensive, if Tony would have just listened.”
Natasha took pity on him.
“What he's trying to say is, yes, Barnes, he punched the mark. In fact, he dropped the poor guy with one blow and left him black-eyed on the floor in Tony's arms. Does that about cover it, Steve?”
“Just about,” Steve sighed.
“So,” Bucky mused as he tried to process this, “This might not be the cleanest job we've ever pulled, but we did get the files we needed, and with any luck, they'll assume you were too busy running through the ten duel commandments to have had anything to do with it. Now we just wait for Tony to surface, deliver the files to the client and watch the Fillbrooke Foundation come crashing down.”
Steve leaned his head back against the seat and exhaled. “You make it sound so simple.”
*
They were wrapping up their meeting with the client when Tony finally walked in. He wore his usual smug expression, but there was a tightness around his eyes that betrayed his uncertainty and he wouldn't meet Steve's eyes as he walked past him to show the teary young woman out.
“We'll be in touch as soon as the money’s cleared, and if there's ever anything else you need from us, you know where we are.”
“Thank you, thank you, Mr. Rogers, I am beyond indebted to you. And your team. I can't imagine how you pulled this off, but I am so very, very grateful. What you have done for me, for my family, it is more than I could ever repay.”
“Don't you worry, Miss Carsdale, we'll be getting all the payment we need from Mr. Fillbrooke.” His eyes cut to Tony, a sharp and momentary glare, before snapping back to his usual soft charm. “They'll all get their due, all you have to do is live a good life.”
Miss Carsdale smiled and nodded, resolute and hopeful. As the door swung closed behind her, Steve turned and looked at Tony, neither of them speaking for a full minute. Steve cracked first, of course.
“I'm sorry, Tony. I behaved poorly. I shouldn't have let my personal… issues cloud my judgment on a job. It won't happen again.”
Tony’s face was unreadable, but he huffed out a breath and said, “Me too.”
The awkward silence resumed, Sam catching Bucky’s eye and raising his eyebrows ever so slightly, message clear. Bucky grabbed Nat, who was spinning in her chair, apparently unbothered by the heavy tension in the room, and the three of them exited seemingly unnoticed.
*
In their haste to leave, Bucky had left his jacket in the conference room. They'd passed a few hours in their regular bar, Nat drinking Sam literally under the table and frightening away anyone who came near them without an alcoholic offering, and then he'd helped her carry a very sleepy Sam to a cab. Bucky had chosen to walk, the office only a small detour and the night clear and warm.
He could see from the street that a light was still on inside and he moved quietly through the building, not wanting to wake Steve if he’d fallen asleep on his ratty work couch again. He found his jacket, dug a few snacks out of his desk for the remainder of the walk, and was on his way out when he heard the soft click of the kitchen door. Stepping back into the shadow, he watched as Tony made his way across to Steve’s office, two steaming mugs in his hands and a bag of mini marshmallows that had to belong to Sam wedged under his arm.
Bucky crept quietly to the door, determined not to disturb whatever propitious peace was being built here. With one eye on the doorway to Steve’s office, he could see Steve wrap a hand around his mug, looking up at Tony with a soft smile on his face. He was fairly sure they wouldn’t have noticed if he slammed the door behind him, but he let it fall softly closed, feeling like an intruder and wary of being caught. As he headed down the stairs, he pulled out his phone to text Nat, making plans for the next day that would keep them far away from the office and hopefully give their employers a little more time to work things out.