WHO: Sharon (not-so-Carter), Bucky Barnes (not-so-Winter-Soldier), Natasha Romanoff (Definitely-Black-Widow) WHEN: Today WHERE: One of the residential corridors. WHAT: Sharon spots a familiar face, and tries to take him down. Natasha comes to Bucky's rescue.
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The weight of a metal arm would probably never really feel natural, Bucky had decided. You body adjusted as it needed to, and your balance shifted to account for the additional pull, but it acceptance of a new normal didn’t mean it was a seamless transition. Natasha was right; he thought too much about it. It was a weapon in its own right, and he had to mentally check himself that it wasn’t always just a tool of destruction.
After all, he had his mind. He was in control of this. He didn’t have to be that man who had torn a bloody line down through history.
If he wanted it to be just an arm, it would be just an arm.
Only the sound of someone approaching made him look up, leaving off on that particular thought as he let his eyes wander ahead to see if he could make out who was coming.
Sharon Whitman had a map in her hand and was quietly surveying the area while pretending to be a hapless new arrival. It wasn't too far off the mark, but Aunt Peggy always taunt her to play things close to the chest until you were sure of yourself. (And sometimes, you had to make assumptions before you were certain, but that was a whole other point.) To really get the sense that what they were telling her was true, she needed to see the place and then she needed to head outside to see the damage they said had been done to the planet.
The glint of something metal caught her attention. Probably just an electrical pipe or something else, but when it moved — perpetual motion; someone walking — Sharon Carter glanced over. That was when her back bristled and she immediately reached for the gun she had hidden in an ankle holster. It wasn't particularly subtle, but then again, the Winter Soldier wasn't really known for his own subtly.
The gun came up, leveled at him. She'd had a lot more practice since she'd failed to hit Rumlow. Every day, she spent more and more time in the shooting range. It was the only real way she could cope with the loss of her job, the loss of her Aunt Peggy (who thought of her as a child sometimes — and others didn't recognize her at all), and the loss of the stability she thought she'd been helping to bring the world.
"Stop right there." She'd seen more than enough pictures of him on the news now, after that shitshow in the DC streets. Twitter and Facebook were a covert agent's favorite pick-up spot. Sharon knew she was out of her depth, but then someone had to alert the public. "Down. On the ground. Now."
“Hey --” She was fast with that gun, but Bucky had ran through these scenarios in his head. Not everyone who came through was going to know the difference, and that was understandable. He chose to have the arm attached. Function or not, it was a symbol of something else to a helluva lot more people.
His mind whirred through the options. Putting his hands up left him wide open, and he was dead sure that there were people who would take that shot if they were able to get it. He could try to disarm the gun from her hands, but that would just prove he was a hostile. Time was ticking, and he had to go with gut instinct.
The metal hand went for the gun, Bucky himself focused on getting that out of the picture first. He could explain after he was sure he wasn’t going to get blasted at point-blank.
That's what she'd been afraid of, that metal hand. She'd never had the misfortune to run into it before, but she had been hit with the butt of a gun, a tire iron, and a pair of metal staves. The only thing that really could compare was the tire iron, and that had been against her knee. The gun was small, something lightweight enough to fit in an ankle holster. His hand was like a vice clamping down on her fingers.
Her knuckles eventually gave in and Sharon jerked her arm away in a spin. The spin gave her momentum for the sweeping leg kick that she hoped would at least make him pause long enough for her to find a way to get the gun out of his hand.
This was going to make for some explanation in the aftermath, but when the woman let the gun drop, Bucky knew that there was going to be a swift follow-up. He wasn’t wrong. He was just a little too slow off the mark to avoid the brunt of the kick, which knocked him clear down. Still, his grip didn’t break on the gun, and he wrestled with it for a brief second before the ammo was released -- small, metallic pings echoing as each shell hit the ground. He knew it was worth the risk that she’d probably have another advance and attack lined up in those precious spent seconds, but at least it wouldn’t be a bullet.
Hopefully it wouldn’t be a bullet.
The ankle holster had been all she had on her so that no one could peg her for being armed. There were a few knives, but range was really what she needed against him. This was getting worse by the second. She hadn't counted on him dumping the bullets from her gun, except maybe into her, and that gave her some brief respite to regroup.
She put her foot on his chest, reaching behind her to get one of those knives. "Stay down."
"Agent Thirteen."
Sharon recognized that voice, but she refused to take her eyes off the Winter Soldier. "Are you going to just stand there, or help me out here, Romanoff?"
The redhead came into view. She sported something between a frown and concern, and Sharon couldn't quite read for who. "Stand down, Sharon."
"We've been looking for this asshole everywhere. He went AWOL when the helicarriers went down."
"Not the same guy." A brief pause in which Natasha glanced upward. "Okay, same guy, different part of the timeline. He's from 1945. Before all of that."
Sharon looked suspicious.
Bucky let his head drop back against the cool, stone floor. This wasn’t the ideal save, but at least Natasha found her way over before anyone drew blood -- by accident or by intent. He tilted his head to glimpse her striding over, but remained quiet while the two exchanged lines. If nothing else, it told him that they were familiar. Agent Thirteen sounded an awful like like the blonde had plenty of training to explain those surefooted moves, too.
“Guessing you two didn’t meet in college,” he attempted, hoping that this Agent Thirteen might relent enough to pull her foot off his chest.
Sharon dug her foot just a little further into Bucky's chest for that remark. Natasha reached down to grab Bucky's hand to yank him upwards. Reluctantly, Sharon let her, but she held her knife in a clear defensive position in case she needed. "He's got the arm. How's that 1945?"
"The arm's a recent addition. Banner's handy-work. Not HYDRA."
Okay, so some things were beginning to make more sense. And if the Winter Soldier and Natasha were here, did that mean that Steve and Fury could be? "Can I have my gun back?"
He let Natasha help him up, especially since his grip on the gun hadn’t loosened one bit. Maybe things were less volatile than they were a second ago, but that didn’t completely soothe Bucky’s worries. But, at least she’d have to work to get that ammo back and loaded. After a thought, he flipped the gun into his flesh and bone hand, then held it outward to her, grip freed up for her taking.
“Sorry,” he offered. “Didn’t think you’d let me explain.”
"You're right. I wouldn't." She reached out to take the gun back. It was empty, but she switched the safety on anyway before she stuck it in the back of her jeans.
It was strange, hearing his voice. There was some familiarity in it, and when it dawned on her exactly what it was, Sharon's eyebrows rose. "Wait. Hang on. The Winter Soldier… He's Bucky Barnes?"
Natasha glanced away.
For a moment, all Bucky could do was look between the two women. It was clear that they were both processing something, but he was a fish out of water. He didn’t have whatever memory they had.
“I -- yeah, my name is Bucky. Look, I don’t…” It always came down to this: he had no idea what was going on. He just knew that most people had a reasonable fear of what he was capable of. Somedays, he shared in that. The future didn’t hold a whole lot of promise if one day he woke up with a skull full of Hydra. “I don’t know what you need to hear right now. I’m not your enemy. I’m not looking for trouble.”
Sharon wasn't sure. She'd never really seen the Winter Soldier in action, except for the catastrophe on the damn bridge in DC. Too many explosions, too many civilians caught in the crossfire. None of them had any amount of respect for their lives.
The blonde looked to the redhead who gave an imperceptible nod. Sharon drew in a deep breath, puckering her lips in some sort of display of resignation. "All right. Fine. If Romanoff says you're not the enemy, then you're not the enemy."
"Great," came Natasha's raspy voice. She caught the sight of the Mount Weather map on the floor. She stepped up to the blonde's side and took her elbow. "Sharon, I'll give you the tour."
Over her shoulder, Natasha grinned crookedly. "Try to stay out of trouble, Barnes."