His mouth thinned upon hearing the North Institute.
One of the greatest curses about his time as the Winter Soldier was that he remembered everything. No blurry smeared glass, no convenient fog drowning out all his years under HYDRA's thumb: he remembered it with crystal-clear recollection as if it had been him doing it all, like it was his own hand on the trigger (which, yes, it was). So that name pinged some distant memory. Bucky had heard that name back in the 90s, overheard from the scientists while the Winter Soldier stood silent watchful guard in the corner. A break-in. Valuable intel, taken. Their own program compromised, but they had deemed it an acceptable loss at the time, not enough to bring the entire thing screeching to a halt.
All of which meant the connection between the Widows and the Winter Soldiers was even closer than he'd like.
That door slammed down below, and he saw the way Nat's spine stiffened. And then, like a switch had been flipped, he seemed to make up his mind. On his feet and crossing the room, a pen and a pad of paper, scribbling a coded message for Steve — analog, because they were both old-fashioned guys, and texts could be intercepted. Went out for pierogis. Back later.
And then Bucky went for the closet and grabbed a canvas backpack, and slung it over his back. The go-bag had already been packed and ready long ago (fake passport, cash, gun, spare ammunition, a burner phone). He was used to being on the move, needing to hit the road quickly. Supplies obtained, Bucky turned back to her.
"Lead the way, Romanoff," he said, and there was something brisk and quick and unthinking about it. No hesitation. Not even considering the question of bailing.
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One of the greatest curses about his time as the Winter Soldier was that he remembered everything. No blurry smeared glass, no convenient fog drowning out all his years under HYDRA's thumb: he remembered it with crystal-clear recollection as if it had been him doing it all, like it was his own hand on the trigger (which, yes, it was). So that name pinged some distant memory. Bucky had heard that name back in the 90s, overheard from the scientists while the Winter Soldier stood silent watchful guard in the corner. A break-in. Valuable intel, taken. Their own program compromised, but they had deemed it an acceptable loss at the time, not enough to bring the entire thing screeching to a halt.
All of which meant the connection between the Widows and the Winter Soldiers was even closer than he'd like.
That door slammed down below, and he saw the way Nat's spine stiffened. And then, like a switch had been flipped, he seemed to make up his mind. On his feet and crossing the room, a pen and a pad of paper, scribbling a coded message for Steve — analog, because they were both old-fashioned guys, and texts could be intercepted. Went out for pierogis. Back later.
And then Bucky went for the closet and grabbed a canvas backpack, and slung it over his back. The go-bag had already been packed and ready long ago (fake passport, cash, gun, spare ammunition, a burner phone). He was used to being on the move, needing to hit the road quickly. Supplies obtained, Bucky turned back to her.
"Lead the way, Romanoff," he said, and there was something brisk and quick and unthinking about it. No hesitation. Not even considering the question of bailing.
Of course he was in.