Some Real Bull
Bucky was sat against the wall, breathing heavy and covered in sweat. He watched Steve pummel the boxing bag in front of him like it had personally insulted him. While Bucky often prescribed to the punch-your-problems-away philosophy, some nights he just wanted to wear himself out good and proper. Thankfully the new world they lived in came with the wonderful invention of running machines. He was able to run himself ragged on there until his legs felt like jelly and his mind finally quietened; losing himself in the rhythmic pounding of feet on floor. The running machine might be his new favourite invention of the 21st Century. Though, he’d have preferred the machine to be able to run just a little faster; it did the job well enough as it was, but he did have to run a fair while to tire himself out.
“This is how you boys spend your Friday night?” A familiar voice called as Fury stepped into the light of the gym.
Steve paused; fist pressed against the bag. He turned to look at the Director as he approached, scowling just a little that one of their very few sanctuaries was being invaded.
“Can I help you Director?” Steve demanded. His tone skated that very fine line between polite and insolent.
Bucky figured it was time to intervene. He stood, making his way over with a sweat towel still thrown over his shoulder and a water bottle in his hand.
Fury eyed Steve carefully but chose not to comment on the tone. He did, however, turn to address his next words to Bucky instead.
Bucky had to hand it to him, the man could read a room.
“I’ve got some files for you to look at.” Fury said, holding a plain manilla folder out for Bucky to take.
Juggling his water bottle to the crook of his elbow, Bucky took the file and cracked it open. His eyes landed first and foremost on the little picture attached. Something tightened in his stomach; it felt a lot like anger. Biting his tongue, Bucky quickly scanned the file before turning scathing eyes upon the Director.
“The hell is this?” Bucky demanded, like he hadn’t just read the file. Like he didn’t know that SHIELD had found and scooped up the Tesseract and then spent time experimenting with it.
“It’s gone missing. Taken from a facility a few days ago.” Fury folded his hands in front of him. He looked down a moment before glancing back at them. “We need your help to find it.”
And wasn’t that a crock of shit?
Bucky blinked at the Director in sheer disbelief even as anger burned so hot through him, he was sure his goddamn ears would start smoking.
“You kidding me right now?” Bucky asked, voice dangerous; his own version of ‘someone’s-about-to-get-knocked-the-fuck-out’. If they way Steve turned quickly toward him was any indication, it was a safe bet the blond recognised the tone.
“What is it, Buck?” Steve asked; pulling the file from Bucky’s unresisting hands. “The Tesseract.” Steve hissed.
“Howard Stark fished it out of the ocean when he was looking for you.” Fury wasn’t oblivious to their rising tension, though he continued as if he were. “It was taken by a being called Loki.”
“A being?”
“The world’s stranger than you could ever imagine, Sergeant.” Fury nodded to him, a tense smile on his lips. “There’s a de-briefing file waiting for you both back at your apartment. We need you on this.”
Bucky couldn’t stop the scoff from escaping his lips. He turned away and headed back to his gym bag. It didn’t take long to stuff what few belongings they’d brought with them back in the bag. Almost without looking up, he caught Steve’s hand wraps that the blond tossed in his direction and stuffed them away too. Throwing the bag over his shoulder, Bucky started toward the door.
Fury watched him go before turning to face Steve. “Is there anything you can tell us about the Tesseract that we ought to know now?”
“Yeah,” Steve sniped, shoving the file back at Fury before turning and beginning to follow after Bucky, “You should have left it in the ocean.”
“This is some bullshit, Steve.” Bucky all but growled.
They had returned to the flying Heli-carrier (a whole flying base, Bucky loved the future, this was way better than Howard’s failed flying car) after they captured Loki in Germany. At the time they’d thought they were finally getting a step ahead of the game.
And then the Heli-carrier was attacked.
Turned out, what they thought had been them getting ahead, was just another step in Loki’s game. The attack had been well planned out. It had succeeded in sending the budding team of ‘Avengers’ scrambling in different directions.
There had been casualties. Notably, an agent by the name of Phil Coulson.
Phil Coulson was a stern-faced man. He kept a bland look of mild manners on his face even as his eyes had lit up when he rambled praise upon Steve for his being Captain America. Not even the fact the man looked to be twenty years their senior stopped him from gazing at Steve adoringly. Bucky had nearly choked on his snorted laughter even as he found himself inexplicably fond of the agent.
That man was now dead.
Bucky was no stranger to deaths in the field. It was only four weeks ago by his keeping that he’d watched some poor kid dressed in an American uniform get his head blown off simply for sticking it up at the exact wrong place at the exact wrong time.
Death happened.
Didn’t mean Bucky was any less pissed about it.
For the first time, he wanted to do some Avenging.
But he stood by his comment even as he stripped off his comfy jeans in favour of tac pants with so many helpful pockets and holsters. He refused anything to do with the colourful monstrosity that was the costume they had prepared for him to wear – clearly someone had been taking cues from those godawful comic books. Instead he went with standard issue black tac pants, his white t-shirt, a tac vest with just as many fun pockets and holsters as the pants, and his black leather jacket over the top.
It was the closest thing he’d get to a uniform. Though he admittedly enjoyed the hilarity that was Steve decked out in the red and white stripes.
“I know,” Steve grunted an acknowledgement.
Bucky moved over to the weapons drawers and began stuffing as many knives, guns, and clips of ammo onto his person as he possibly could. A second of hesitation was quickly dismissed before he was slinging a beautiful Colt M4A1 Carbine onto his shoulder and shoving a few of the corresponding mags into his remaining pocket space.
“You want the Glock 17 or the P226?” Bucky asked, hand hovering between the Glock and the SIG-Sauer.
“I’ve got my shield.”
Bucky damn near strained something with how hard he rolled his eyes. “You’re a soldier not a pin-up girl. You’re taking a goddamn gun, Rogers.” He’d swear down that Steve had never been this stupid in the war, but he wouldn’t want to make a liar of himself. Making an executive decision, Bucky pulled the Glock from its shelf and pulled out to two spare mags. “You get a holster on that ensemble of yours?”
“No. Throw me a thigh holster?”
Bucky dug one out and passed the whole lot over. They were ready for action in eight minutes flat. Certainly not the quickest time but considering they were dealing with new uniforms and kits, it wasn’t bad.
They made a quick detour to pick up Natasha ‘The Black Widow’ Romanoff and her recently un-mind-controlled partner, Clint ‘Hawkeye’ Barton. And then they were off in one of the future’s handy dandy, quick as hell, jets.
They arrived in New York to see aliens spilling out of the sky.
Bucky spat a cuss so filthy that it would have turned his poor Ma white as a sheet. “Aliens,” he finished with.
“Aliens.” Steve agreed.