instead of Bucky having an aversion to violence, Imagine Steve and the rest of the avengers being quietly terrified by the utter lethality of the man formerly known as the Winter Soldier.
They’re driving down the highway in a beat-up rental truck, pedal to the floor, and Steve’s eyes are on the road but he can feel Bucky’s eyes boring through the back of his skull. Steve doesn’t look behind him; doesn’t turn as he speaks. He asks casually, like it doesn’t really matter what the answer is, like he’s making small talk to fill in the gaps where the radio loses signal.
“No,” says Bucky. It seems unlikely. He’d been fighting not long before they found him, slumped in the back room of a crumbling old warehouse with his arm in a vice. There are bloodstains on his clothes, fading into the cloth of his red henley.
There’s a knife there somewhere, surely. A garrotte wire hidden inside a turned-up hem. A pistol tucked beneath his jacket in case of emergencies.
“I told you,” Bucky says, voice broken and creaky. “I don’t do that anymore.”
They’re walking through the mall, surrounded on all sides by bustling late-night shoppers. Steve has stopped trying to figure out which ones might be Stark’s men. The ones that matter are the two behind them, the two that have been on their tail since the last gas stop.
“I’m trying real hard not to take this fugitive thing personally,” Steve says, taking a sharp left at a pop-up juice stand. “Stark’s not making it easy.”
Bucky’s face is hard beneath the shadow of his cap. “Stark’s not making a lot of things easy.” He’s bitter; Steve would be bitter too, if he’d been hunted like Bucky has.
“We’ll get out of this together,” Steve says, and pretends not to notice Bucky’s eyeroll. After all this time on the run by himself, Bucky isn’t used to being offered help. That’s okay.
“If they make us,” he presses on, “we split up and head for Chinatown. We can lose them in the crowds.”
Bucky’s lips twitch. It is not a smile. “If they make us,” he says, “I’m stashing the bodies in that dumpster out back. We’ll skip town before the garbage men find them.”
“No,” says Sam flatly.
“Why not?” Bucky says. He doesn’t sound annoyed that Sam is shooting down the entirety his strategic argument with a single syllable. He sounds…bored. Like this planning session is a mildly interesting puzzle, a crossword or a sudoku grid that he’s already lost interest in solving.
Sam does not sound bored. “Because Stark’s building is full of civilian staff,” he says. “You’re not going in with all guns blazing. Besides, this is a recon mission. We just need to know what he’s planning so we can head it off.”
Bucky snorts. “You want recon, send in Fly-Boy here. That’s what he’s good at, right? Sneaking under the radar?”
“My name is Ant-Man,” says Scott. “Just for the record.”
“Stark’s a threat,” says Bucky. A hint of petulance has crept into his voice. “He’s made that clear. And if we don’t take him out, he’s gonna take us out. This isn’t complicated.”
“Not Fly-Boy,” says Scott.
“It’s not that simple, Buck,” says Steve.
Bucky blinks. He looks Steve up and down, like Steve has just sprouted an unexpected extra limb. “Of course it’s that simple,” he says. "I can make it that simple.”
“I don’t know what you want me to do,” says Steve. They’re all looking at him, tense and expectant, and his seat at the dinner table feels like a podium under a glaring spotlight.
“Steve,” says Sam calmly. “No one’s saying that any of this is your fault. But you’ve got to admit, things aren’t going so well.”
“He won’t even learn my name,” says Scott.
“He keeps trying to kill people,” says Sam, with a quelling glance at Scott.
“All he cares about is revenge,” says Wanda. “I checked, Steve.”
“Jesus.” Steve runs a hand through his hair. “Wanda, you can’t just check people’s heads…”
“I know,” says Wanda, and raises a defiant brow. “But I did. And if it makes you feel better, I regretted it. His mind is so cold.”
They’re not wrong. Steve knows they’re not wrong. “So Bucky’s still a bit messed up,” he says. “I know that. We all know that. But what are we going to do? Are you saying you want to turn him in?”
“No one’s saying that,” says Sam, and for a moment he sounds genuinely angry. “We’re just saying that we need to careful. He’s angry with Stark. Hell, we’re all angry with Stark. But he’s headed for trouble.”
It’s 2am and Bucky’s bed is empty.
“He took the bike,” says Scott. “And he slashed the tires on the truck. Apparently he doesn’t want to be followed.”
“Can you catch up to him?” In all the time they’ve been fighting side by side, there are very few times Steve has seen Sam look so stressed. “Do your ant thing?”
“My ‘ant thing’ won’t help us if we don’t know where he’s gone.”
All eyes fall on Steve. Clear as day, he can hear the last words Bucky said to him. Stark’s a threat. I can make it that simple.
The 17th century was a key period of time for the history of European painting and art, predominantly in the Netherlands. The first 60/70 years of the 17th century is referred to as the Golden century in the Netherlands history. Dutch painting is very different to the art produced in other areas of Europe because it deals with the concept of realism. This concept is something that I wanted to explore within my project work. Typically within the work created during this time the women would tend to be looking away from the artist, showing a lack of power and authority. I used this idea as the main basis for this series of work.
Got an autograph from every City player that came out there (as well as Marta and Ali Riley later) on this tiny precious football and took some pictures with my favourite City players, they were all so lovely
Also, the lady behind me had a little girl and she asked to take pictures with Izzy, Steph and Karen, where they would hold her. Izzy and Steph were super cute and adorable with the little girl but KB said something like “oh no, I don’t want that responsibility” and then as she left after taking the picture she was saying something about working at Disneyland, made me laugh