Chapter Text
It was all over the news.
A man, a prominent but benevolent lawyer, had been taken hostage. By who no one could say, except that he was tall, dark-haired, had a cybernetic arm. He had dragged the lawyer from his office, one arm around his neck and metal arm free to push aside anyone who tried to stop them; when the police caught wind of the situation they attempted to surround him but he took off down a side alley and was lost within minutes.
Later the police received calls from an ailing security guard about the abandoned theatre he was guarding, and how it had just been broken into by two men – one in a suit, scared and pleading, and the other who had torn the door off its double-deadlocked hinges. It was the same man, had to be. Police encircled the theatre and waited.
Steve Rogers first saw the story as he passed an electronics superstore, television screens in the window all showing the same footage from a helicopter circling the theatre far above the city, and then again as he passed a couple hunched over a tablet at a bus stop; he pulled out his phone, quickly opening it to the news. They had released CCTV footage of the suspect and the victim, imploring people with any knowledge of the suspect's identity to come forwards.
Bucky.
He got out of a cab a few blocks away from the theatre and walked the rest of the distance. It was surrounded by police but getting in was no trouble – up the fire escape of a neighbouring building, in through a broken window long ago boarded over. He found himself in a room which used to be the bar's storeroom, full of dust and old boxes and empty bottles. He walked silently through, leaving a trail in the dust, and carefully opened the door. The bar was as empty as the storeroom had been. He made his way down the stairs.
In the atrium was the first time Steve heard the lawyer scream. It was an awful sound which made him flinch, but he set his jaw and walked towards the doors through which the sound had come, the doors to the main theatre itself. They opened out onto the back of the room, high up and away from the stage, and in the half-light which filled the theatre he could see the lawyer kneeling on the stage. They must have come in through a stage exit. He crouched down low, behind the top row of seating, and waited.
It wasn't long before Bucky reappeared – it was his metal arm Steve saw first, glinting in the light which flooded in through another broken window somewhere behind the stage, then his bedraggled clothes, his army boots, his too-long hair. The light settled on the stage like a spotlight, highlighting the lawyer, casting a long shadow down the stage and onto the seats at the very front of the theatre. The air was quiet, still, shifting only around Bucky as he moved through the thick layer of dust which adorned the stage, leaving a clear set of footprints. Steve waited.
The Winter Soldier surveyed the room, like an actor taking in the audience, as he took another step closer to the man on the floor. His attention now undivided he pulled a knife from inside his threadbare jacket, watching the light reflect off it, casting speckles of light onto the floor which he watched, too, with the same stiff silence which he embodied.
“You are my mission.” He muttered, raising the knife against the lawyer.
“Bucky!” Steve called out, standing up from behind his hiding place, moving into full view and beginning to walk down one of the many aisles which separated the blocks of seats. Bucky stopped, arm raised in attack but eyes cautious, as he turned to look at the source of the noise. Steve walked slowly, hands spread wide in a show of surrender, a gentle smile on his face.
“You.” Bucky growled, jumping from the stage to the floor with a metallic thud as his iron fist hit the wooden floorboards. He straightened up, knife still held tightly in his gloved hand, taking strong strides towards Steve up the sloped aisle.
“Yeah, Buck, it's me.” Steve said, as softly as he could. Mere steps from each other now Bucky raised the knife, ready to attack, but Steve remained passive.
“I am not your Bucky.” The Winter Soldier lunged at Steve, knife held firmly in his hand but angled down away from Steve, towards the floor, as Steve's feet immediately moved into a defensive position as he blocked the punch that came. The lawyer scrambled to his feet and started running just in time for Steve to shout GO!, blocking another hit, this time to his stomach, as he did so.
“Don't make me do this.” Warned Steve, hand up ready to grip the wrist that held the knife. Bucky's eyes narrowed as he took half a step backwards, then took a full step forwards as he angled the knife towards Steve's face, arm coming down with full force; Steve grabbed his wrist and twisted, at the same time kicking the Winter Soldier's legs out from underneath him. The man collapsed on his back, winded. He didn't make a move to get up.
Steve crouched next to him, plucking the knife from his lax hand and throwing it as far away as he could down towards the stage. Bucky's breathing was deep as he struggled to regain his breath, tears in his eyes from where he had landed with force, but immediately those tears became real as he lifted a hand to his face to hide behind. Steve put a hand on his shoulder.
“Help me.” Bucky managed, between sobs, cybernetic arm clasping at Steve's shirt and bringing him in close. Steve put one hand under Bucky's back and lifted him up to sitting, his face streaked with dirt and tears both fresh and long since cried. He embraced his friend, pulling him into a hug which Bucky was hesitant to return but when he did so he did so with full intent, holding onto Steve so tightly he might never have let go.
“I will, Buck. I will.”