Bucky POV
There was a knock on the door to Bucky’s room. He opened it, and a tiny brunette with fingerless gloves jumped into his arms. “Bucky!!” she exclaimed happily. He recognized that voice, even if she’d moved too quickly for him to see her face.
“Wanda!” She’d only been a senior in high school when he was a sophomore in college, but she’d been endlessly valuable to their team, providing them information since her dad was a professor.
She stepped back from the hug and her expression turned serious. “I hear you’re planning a job. I want in.”
“Wanda, I don’t want…”
She stopped him with a finger on his lips. “I know, you don’t want my life to spiral into crime. Well, too late. I’ve acquired a new set of skills since then.”
Bucky raised an eyebrow. Wanda had always had an aspiration to become a psychologist, and he figured she must have reached her goal. She was always going to do great things, he knew. He swallowed. Sometimes he reminded her too much of what Rebecca would be like if--
“Come on, please?” She continued. “I can at least distract the guards. And, you’ve never met my brother! He can get through any safe. He’s the fastest in the world, I’ve seen it. And we’re a package deal.”
He grinned and kissed her cheek. “Of course, honey. We’d be honoured to have you on the team.”
She stepped inside so they could catch up, and he sent Clint a quick text.
JBB: Got a safe cracker. How are you on the driver?
CFB: Good to go. His name is Peter. He usually flies jet, but we should be good with helicopter.
Just as the notification buzzed, he got another text from Natasha.
NAR: Tony is good to go on explosives.
Bucky smirked. It was all coming together.
Finally, the weekend came. He’d purchased his plane ticket and set the necessary information to Rogers. It was set for two weeks in the future, hopefully enough time for them to get the rest of the crew.
Bucky’d had to sit through two more meetings with Rogers. God, he really got on his nerves. He’d preached the whole ‘path to righteousness’ thing so many times, Bucky was starting to think he believed it himself. He couldn’t decide which that was more idiotic, or just sad. Although, he was starting to lean toward sad.
It was hard to get a good read on Rogers, especially when he wore those damned mirror sunglasses all the time, but sometimes Bucky would catch him looking sorrowfully off into the distance. There was something in him like a knot, just waiting to come undone. He might have come off like a prick at first, but even Bucky had to admit he’d been compliant so far, going along with everything. There were already eight seats reserved on the February 6 flight to Wakanda- the preliminary members of Bucky’s team. They were all sitting randomly, so as not to attract any attention, and Rogers had confirmed that he would be sitting right next to Bucky.
His fourteen years of planning didn’t quite count on him having to evade an ex special forces agent the entire time he was in Africa, but he was trying to work it into the plan somehow. They’d arrive, and he’d get an excuse to be alone. Maybe Wanda could help-- hell, if she was Rogers’ type, it wouldn’t be only Thanos’ guards she could distract.
There was one last member of the team he needed to recruit in America. Muscle.
God, had he fucked up last time. He’d learned the importance of picking a good team. This time, everyone on the team had come highly recommended from someone he already trusted with his life. Back in college, Bucky and his friends had been a bunch of skinny nerds, and like a moron he’d hired some muscle from the dark web. Bucky wished he’d never clicked on the link for Helmut Zemo. He’d had no loyalty beyond the $700, and when it had come to the police threatening incrimination, he’d given Bucky up quicker than he could say ‘I want my lawyer’.
Bucky would do the thug work himself. It would be manageable- he was certainly heavier than he’d been in college. Years of lifting (and maybe more bulking than cutting) in prison had given him a set of muscles that could rival perhaps even Rogers’, but after some consideration, he decided it would be hard to orchestrate everything and worry about whoever might get in their way.
JBB: Nat, I’m really stuck on muscle. I’ve asked everyone else and they have no connections.
NAR: Sorry, this kitty’s specialty is my stealth, not my claws.
JBB: Nah, it’s okay, I’ll keep looking.
NAR: Want me to ask Tony?
JBB: I mean, I don’t really know him.
Natasha didn’t respond, and Bucky was left on read for the next six minutes. He rolled his eyes fondly. Nat’s motto was practically ‘ask forgiveness, not permission’. But at this point he was desperate, and if a friend of a friend’s friend was all he had, then it would have to do.
NAR: He knows a guy, a Scandinavian dude who’s like 6’3” and 220 lbs of muscle. He says they’ve worked three jobs together.
JBB: Get me his number. We’ll see if our Scandinavian prince wants to go to Africa.
Bucky sat on the window, preparing for takeoff. Two seats behind him were Natasha and Tony. Across the aisle, Wanda and her brother Pietrov sat together. Behind them were Janet and the muscle man (who was just as impressive as Tony claimed) whose name was Thor. Clint sat with Peter a few seats ahead. Bucky had contacted a businessman in Wakanda who he knew had a vendetta against Thanos, and T’Challa had assured him they would have a jet waiting ready. The plan wouldn’t take place for a whole week, but that would give Vision- the eyes Bucky had inside Thanos’ estate- and him enough time to coordinate those plans. Surely he could get Rogers out of his way long enough for them to pull the job, and then it didn’t matter what happened after that.
Bucky hadn’t mentioned his post-heist plans to the rest of the team. Whenever anyone had mentioned anything on the subject, he’d been quiet. Just make sure you get round-trip tickets, he told them. After this job is done, you’ll have enough money to buy the airport if you want. Only Natasha had picked up on it. The night before the flight, the two of them had dinner in his room at Lang Inn. She’d put a hand on his arm. You’ve planned this for fifteen years, James. What are you going to do when it’s over?
Those words echoed in his mind as he looked out of the window. He took in the sight of DC beyond the edge of the landing strip. He was certain it was the last time he’d be seeing America for a while. If he came back at all, it’d be in iron.
But it didn’t matter. He took a deep breath as the sound of the engines changed. Just as the fasten seatbelt sign came on, Rogers took his seat next to Bucky.
“Cutting it kind of close, aren’t we?” Bucky asked. He hadn’t seen him since their meeting yesterday.
“Oh, I’ve been on the plane,” he responded casually. “I was in the cockpit with the pilot. We’ve reached an understanding.”
Bucky looked over to where Rogers was heavily armed beneath his civvies and nodded contemplatively.
“Aren’t you going to put on your seatbelt?” Rogers asked, having already done so.
“Hell yes,” Bucky muttered, jumping to action. For a moment he was worried when he pulled the belt over himself, but he needn’t have been. It fit with plenty of room to spare. I might be chunky now, but I’m not fat, he assured himself. He dug his nails into the armrests and gritted his teeth, positively not looking out of the window.
Ten minutes later they were in the air, and a stewardess came by. “Can I offer you gentleman something to drink?”
“Water,” Bucky immediately demanded, before Rogers got a chance to speak. He didn’t order anything, anyway.
The stewardess returned with the glass, and Bucky placed in on the tray of the seat in front of him, watching it nervously.
“Scared of flying?” Rogers asked. Bucky couldn’t tell if his tone was teasing or not.
“Never been,” he answered through clenched teeth.
“Really?” Rogers looked out of the window, and his gaze turned distant. “I can’t count the amount of times I’ve flown.”
“Tell me,” Bucky begged. Rogers’ eyes flicked to his own, but he must have realized his need for distraction.
He sighed. All the times Bucky and him got together, they never talked about themselves much. Well, Bucky figured. We’re going to be spending a lot of time together. Now might as well be a start.
“I joined the army when I was seventeen.”
“What, your ma kick you out?” Bucky quipped.
His face went cold. Jesus, just for cutting him off? Bucky thought.
“No. She died of tuberculosis.”
“Fuck, man, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” Bucky could tell he’d touched a nerve. He really did want Rogers to distract him from the ground four miles below them. “It fucking sucks, losing a family member. My dad, he had this rare condition. Died when I was three. I never really knew him.” Bucky shrugged, and Rogers moved his eyes to Bucky’s face again.
“Hereditary?”
Bucky nodded. “My sister has it. She’s… she’s in a coma. She needs this special shit to live, and it’s hard to get. It’s hard, knowing someone you love that much won’t be around forever. So… I get it, Rogers.”
“Steve.”
“Hm?”
“My first name is Steve. You don’t have to keep calling me ‘Rogers’ all the time.”
Bucky nodded. “Well, you can call me Bucky.” He put out his hand, and Steve took it.
“Not James?”
“Nah. No one’s called me James since college.” He shot Steve a smile. “Anyway, ignore me being an asshole. Go on about flying.”
Steve took his hand back, and Bucky chastised himself for the way he missed the warmth. His hand had felt good, delicate and long. He had artists fingers. Shut up about his hands, he yelled at himself.
Steve started into a story about Afghanistan. He only told the stark details at first, but Bucky stopped him. “Nah, come on, tell it right. You’re giving me a story, not a mission report.” He could tell the man was unused to this type of conversation, and maybe he was a little hesitant to share what could be top secret information, but eventually they both relaxed into it. Steve was a good storyteller, and even if the topic was a little grim, Bucky found himself relaxing more as it went on.
Steve was an attractive guy, and his voice was deep and smooth, easy to listen to. In another life, Bucky could easily picture them becoming friends. It was a shame they were separated on such either extremes of the law.
“So I’d lost my commanding officer, I was standing in the middle of unfamiliar territory with nothing but a gun, and bullets were flying all around me. All I could think was I’m never gonna find this secret base, and then this kid appears in this doorway. I’d thought the area was abandoned, but she motions for me to come in. I ducked and rolled my way over to her house, and I came inside. I was worried she wouldn’t speak English, but she asked me if I was looking for the ‘secret oasis’. I was completely confused, but I just said yes and went along with it. Then she took me out the back and through the town, to this hidden basement under a well I never would have found on my own. It turns out, the ‘secret base’ I was supposed to be looking for were a bunch of Afghan sympathizers who were being punished by their own country for wanting freedom. I looked at all of them, crowded into the basement in the desert, and I just thought to myself that they looked the same. There was no difference between them and the people I was fighting above ground. They were all just people, trying to live and breathe without some foreign soldier stealing their oil. I couldn’t give up their position, no way. So I found my way back to HQ and requested to be transferred to France. I always felt like my captain knew, like maybe he sent me there as a test. But I couldn’t do it. I worked in France for the next three years, and then I got sent home and took this job after my friend suggested it.”
Steve had more credit that Bucky’d given him. Clearly he’d had his own fight between what was right and what was necessary, and maybe Bucky had even misjudged his sense of duty. Not that he was about to admit that. Still, the man had opened up to him and calmed him down, and now they were flying smoothly over the ocean. Bucky felt like he should say something meaningful in return.
Just then, the stewardess returned and eyed Bucky’s empty glass. “Can I get you a refill?”
“Yes, 7&7 please. Thank you.” He flashed her a grin.
Steve shot him a look. “I think you mean a nice can of 7 Up.” The stewardess paused.
“No, I don’t. We’re not on American soil, are we? And we’re not in Wakanda either. As long as I’m in the air, I’m a free man. And I’ll have Seagram’s if I want.” He nodded at the stewardess and closed his eyes, putting his hands behind his head and grinning. He knew his argument wasn’t flawless, but he didn’t hear anything further from Steve. A moment later, the stewardess returned and set his drink down. Bucky hadn’t had a real drink in years, and he sipped it slowly, enjoying the taste.
“You know what goes great with whisky? A nice roast beef sandwich.”
“Mm,” Bucky said in agreement. “They got a menu around here?”
Steve handed him a laminated piece of paper from the back of his seat. “I think dinner is served in a half hour.”
Roast beef did sound good, and it was indeed on the menu. “You gonna join me?” he asked Steve, raising the glass in his direction.
“I don’t drink on the job.”
“Come on, we’re not going to be there for ten more hours. You’ll have plenty of time to nap and everything before we leave.” He offered the menu.
Steve took it, turning to the entrees page. “Maybe I’ll just have some dinner.”
When the stewardess came, Bucky ordered his roast beef with a side of mashed potatoes, and Steve ordered fettuccini alfredo with iced tea.
Bucky expected the food to be small and cold, but when he opened the lids of the boxes the stewardess delivered, he was delighted at what he saw. The roast beef was steaming, and the bread was a large sourdough bun, cut in some artisanal way. There was a side of mashed potatoes with gravy that looked delicious, along with some steamed broccoli that was fresh and seasoned perfectly. He groaned at the first bite, and Steve looked over at him.
“Sorry,” he apologised, hand covering his full mouth. “I forgot to eat lunch.” He hadn’t noticed how hungry he was until he dug in. He’d been so busy packing everything and getting to the airport on time that he’d completely missed eating, and his stomach was not happy with him.
*Maybe I should do that more often, he thought to himself. I did want to go on a diet, if I want to be able to continue fitting into airplane seats.
He didn’t intend on finishing all of his food, but it was so good that it was done all too soon and he found himself feeling vaguely unsatisfied.
Before he could think about it too long, Steve handed him his own box of food. Bucky looked at him questioningly.
“Ugh, I’m full. You can have the rest if you want, it’s really good.”
Steve hadn’t been exaggerating. The sauce was thick, creamy and homemade, definitely not from a jar. The noodles were thick and buttered well, and there were a few shrimp sprinkled throughout the dish that added the perfect accent. It looked like Steve hadn’t touched it at all, as most of the portion remained. On the side, there was a piece of garlic bread that tasted as if it came straight from a five star restaurant.
The pasta was heavier than Bucky expected, and by the time he finished it, he was feeling almost uncomfortably full. The seat belt of the plane was digging into the underside of his belly, and he loosened it, turning back and forth in his seat to try and get more comfortable. He really wished he could put his feet up and recline a little, but he wanted to put off falling asleep until they got closer to Wakanda.
He could sense Steve watching his squirming, and he got a little uncomfortable, realizing that he’d eaten almost two full servings of dinner.
“You can unfasten your seatbelt,” Steve mentioned, pointing to the sign on the ceiling above them, which was turned off.
“Thank god,” Bucky muttered, immediately unbuckling it and letting himself breathe a little deeper. He wondered if Steve would notice if he undid his button.
The stewardess appeared, taking their empty boxes and glasses. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
“A blanket, please,” Bucky requested, and when it came, he used it to cover himself and surreptitiously undid his button underneath. He turned to face the window, getting as comfortable as he could. The next week was going to be unbearable enough, so maybe having some sleep to pass the time wouldn’t be a bad thing.