Three
The rendezvous point was nothing more than a shack, lopsided and warped, planted in the ground with empty, dry plates of land stretching for miles around it. Sam waved after the cloud of dust Nikola left behind as the car turned and headed back down the dirt road, getting smaller and smaller, disappearing into rippling waves of heat that divided the glowing horizon in lines.
"I like him. Cool dude." Sam was saying, lowering his hand and then squinting at the house. Bucky squinted at the shack as well, blinking dust out of his eyes and approaching the door.
"Wait a second, Buck." Bucky turned back. Sam was giving him that look.
"What?"
"How's your head?" Sam asked gently.
"It's fine." Bucky said it harsher than he'd meant to.
"I know this brings stuff up, Bucky. You can talk to me."
"I have nothing to talk about." he shrugged.
Sam nodded. "Yeah. Well. it's my job to make sure you got your head on right for this mission."
"I'll let you know, Sam, if there's something wrong with my head." Bucky said hotly, and turned away, done with the conversation. Sam released an exasperated breath and followed after him. The plywood door to the shack swung open.
John Walker appeared, dressed casually, his face tanned. “Afternoon!" he called, leaning in the doorway. Bucky glowered at him, not attempting to hide his sheer disdain. John looked quickly to Sam. "Sam Wilson, good to see you," he said, putting out a hand. Sam shook it.
"Bucky..." John greeted, swinging his open hand to him. Bucky looked down at it, then up at John. "Don't call me Bucky." he growled, shoving past him into the shack.
"Make yourself at home." John gestured, sighing.
They blinked as their eyes adjusted to the dim room. It was a tight space. A ragged backpack lay strewn across the armchair and gear lay scattered on the couch cushions. Bucky's eyes fell on something.
"What's this?" He lifted up a small bound notebook from the stained coffee table and turned it in his hands.
John paused a second before answering. "Just something of Cap's."
Bucky looked at him sharply, running a finger over the worn cover.
"Where'd you get it?"
John stammered, gesturing around aimlessly. "You know...I..."
"You what?" Bucky stared at him. Sam stepped between them.
"Can we focus please? John you hear from Rhodey?"
"No. Rhodey?"
"Yeah."
"No. Who's Rhodey?"
"He's the...what? I'm sorry, then who've you been talking to?"
"Clemons. Who've you been talking to?"
"Rhodey. Who the fuck is Clemons?"
"Dan Clemons, my commanding officer?"
"Your commanding--what the fuck is going on here? Who the fuck is in charge?"
"Look. All I know is Clemons set up the rendezvous point and told me you'd be coming and to provide assistance when you got here."
Sam threw up his hands.
"Did this Clemons guy happen to mention any coordinates?"
"Coordinates." John repeated.
"Yes, coordinates." Sam's voice had risen without him knowing it. "You were supposed to have received the coordinates earlier today to set up the transmission." Sam took a breath and slowed down, waving a hand. "You know. The whole point of this."
John blinked at them.
Bucky let out a long breath. "I knew this would be a mistake."
"Look. I don't know what you want to hear. I didn't get any fucking coordinates. And I answer to Sgt Dan Clemons, not R--"
"Fuck this." Bucky stood up.
"Bucky hang on." Sam caught him and pulled him back. "Let's get this shit figured out. Now. We need to get on the same page before this mission totally goes to shit before it even gets started." Bucky felt the throbbing behind his eyes return and he pressed fingers into his temples.
"Sure, fine. I'm happy to. I've been waiting all day for you all to arrive, you know, so I'd be happy to get things going." John retorted.
"This is bullshit. We can do this ourselves." Bucky snapped, standing abruptly. He looked down. John's hand was clamped around his own vibranium forearm. There wasn't time to react. Only a blur of metal and John was pressed against the opposite wall, the front of his shirt clenched in Bucky's fist. John found himself closer than he'd ever been to the intense storm raging in Bucky's eyes. Lightning flashed through them, but also flickers of something else. Something untethered, lurking deep, almost invisible.
Sam appeared behind Bucky, his hand on his arm. "Easy." he said firmly.
Bucky withdrew, shaking his arm free and turning toward the door. John unstuck himself from the wall, ran a hand down his face and nodded in Bucky's direction.
"You better put a leash on your dog, Wilson." he spat.
"Enough." Sam growled, bringing his face close. John stepped back until his back was once again touching the wall.
"Okay, okay. I'll get Clemons on the phone. Okay? Will that make you happy? Jesus."
"Very happy." Sam grumbled.
John stalked out of the room, phone jammed to his ear.
Sam's eyes followed Bucky as he paced the length of the dark living room, shaking his head. He turned to regard Sam. "I say we just go. Cut him out. He's just gonna get in our way."
Sam gave him a warning look. Bucky rolled his eyes. "Why not?"
"Because." Sam leaned forward, agitated.
"Because why?"
"Look, I don't like it either! But we have to follow some semblance of a procedure. We can't just do whatever we want."
"Well I disagree."
Sam got to his feet, sighing. "It's not a discussion, Bucky."
John appeared in the doorway, phone closed in his hand. "We're good. Listen. It's all cleared up. Some wires got crossed, sure. But we're still on track. We have a little bit of time to make up for, yes, but--"
"Great." Bucky grunted. "Let's go.
Sam grabbed the case containing his suit and stood. "I'll input the coordinates and update Rhodey on the way."
Bucky got halfway to the door, paused, turned, and snatched up the little notebook in the air, shaking it in front of John's face.
"I'm taking this." he hissed, then stormed out the door. John opened his mouth to say something but decided against it, resignedly gathering up his gear, glowering.