Chapter 4: Mistakes Happen to the Best of Us

A/N: Sorry this update took so long. I've been held up with various annoying obligations like school, and so has my beta. Also my beta, Dororo, is lovely since she helped me work through some rather problematic parts of this chapter. Also, I can't believe more than 20 of you favourited this little story of mine and more than 30 are following it! It makes me unbelievably happy and I'm so grateful to you all.

Oh, and I watched Captain America: The Winter Soldier! I am now officially emotionally compromised. Leave me here to die in all my Bucky feels. For those that don't know, I'm usually an artist so I spent a couple days this week drawing Bucky, hence the new cover picture on this story. I have a link to my deviantart or art blog in my profile if you anyone is curious and wanna see a bigger image. Anyways, on to the story!

It wasn't supposed to be a complicated mission. He, Natasha and Clint were called in for this one because they were the infiltration experts. It was simple enough. They were targeting the head of an organized crime ring that was running a black market specializing in an assortment of illicit—and highly dangerous—goods. SHIELD received intel that they were peddling a new super virus and that a bidder had been found. There was good evidence that it might be used to engage the US in an act of biological terrorism. Their orders were to kill the bidder and retrieve the virus before the deal can be completed.

The exchange was being conducted in a gray warehouse by the docks, a temporary base of sorts. Natasha was given the job of retrieving the virus while Bucky, being the sniper, was to take out the buyer when Natasha confirmed she had the item in question, thus eliminating a would-be terrorist. Clint was to keep their exit route clear.

They weren't supposed to actually engage in combat unless absolutely necessary. While the outside of the building was mostly clear, with only about a dozen patrols, the inside was teeming with armed guards that made it clear that this was no ordinary smuggling operation. Still, a few dozen hired grunts were not exceedingly difficult to handle. The real reason they couldn't go in guns blazing was because SHIELD was still tracking the dealings of this particular crime syndicate in the hopes of revealing their financial backer (which evidence suggests is someone with ties to the US government). It was easier to make it look like a hired hit by a rival bidder than to send in the entire Avengers team to wipe them all out and in doing so, lose the trail they'd been tracking. The situation was delicate.

Bucky shifted slightly where he was positioned above the rafters, overlooking the main room of the warehouse. He was at a good vantage point and the positioning of the beams gave him ample cover. He thought maybe he should have picked some place closer, though, since he was having some trouble keeping track of the many guards. They seemed to blur into each other from one minute to the next. He blamed it on the dust in the air.

"Natasha," he whispered softly into his earpiece, "what's your status?"

"I'm in the storeroom," she whispered back. "I had to knock out two guys on the way in but I hid the bodies. According to intel the sample is loaded in one of the boxes here."

"Alright. Hurry up though, the guards are moving. I think our target's arrived."

"Copy that."

Bucky waited and sure enough, the side door opened and in walked a shady-looking man, fat and balding, dressed in a dusty suit, a cigarette dangling between his lips. He was flanked by an entourage of stony-faced men wielding semi-automatics.

As the fat man stepped into the middle of the room, a tall figure strode out of the shadows to meet him, this one dressed in a dark blue suit. The guards present shuffled closer towards him. He nodded at the fat man by way of acknowledgement. "Mr. Crawford. You bring so many armed thugs to our meeting. Your distrust wounds me."

The fat man grunted. He tossed the cigarette he was smoking onto the floor and ground it out with a polished boot. "It's a precaution. In case you decided to waltz off with two million. 'Sides, I see the 'guards' you're keeping here and they don't look too friendly."

The dark-dressed man smiled. Bucky assumed he must be one of the top-tier members. "Also a precaution. Our deal is, ah, one of a highly sensitive nature. Some extra protection is necessary."

"Enough chitchat. I've brought the cash," the fat man held up a suitcase, "now where's my item?"

"If you will please show me the money first."

The fat man opened up the suitcase. It was stuffed to the brim with bundles of hundred dollar bills.

The taller man nodded. "Very well, I will fetch it. Wait here." He exited the room, taking two guards with him and leaving the rest.

"Natasha," Bucky whispered, "are you done? He's headed your way."

There was the sound of a case snapping closed. "I've got the sample. I've replaced it with the one SHIELD gave us. I'm exiting through the back door. Hawkeye, is the coast clear?"

"All clear. Take a left once you hit the stairs and you shouldn't run into anyone," Clint replied.

"Copy. James, you can proceed. Rendezvous with us when you're done."

"Got it."

He trained his gaze back on the fat man, who was pacing agitatedly. His group of guards were standing stoically around him in a half circle, guns still very much at the ready. Mentally, he reviewed the details of the plan. Shoot the fat man, toss a smoke grenade, and then escape out one of the side windows in the ensuing chaos. Simple.

Bucky slowly raised his rifle, careful not to make a sound. The weapon was already loaded. He peered through the scope to fix on his target but suddenly, found that he couldn't keep his aim steady. His right arm trembled under the weight of the rifle. Confused and irritated, Bucky relaxed his grip and tried again. His arm was still unsteady.

Shit, his hands never shook. He was a sniper.

Regardless, he looked through the scope, taking deep breaths in the hopes of calming the worst of the trembling. He tried to pinpoint the fat man through the scope but found to his rising horror that he couldn't focus on the image of his target through the scope, either. He'd assumed it was just the dust in the air but the more he strained, the more his vision blurred in and out of focus. What the hell was happening? Quickly, Bucky blinked a few times to clear his eyes but it wasn't much better.

Panic began to set in when he realized what it was. Decreased alertness, cognitive functioning and performance. His sleepless nights were catching up to him. Here, in the middle of a goddamn mission, of all places.

Cursing silently, he took a deep breath and willed his arm to stop shaking. He didn't have any other option. This was up to him and he had to do it right. Training the barrel on the fat man's head, he pulled the trigger.

The bullet missed.

It whizzed just past the man's left ear and embedded itself in the arm of one of the guards who cried out in pain. Immediately, several dozen sets of eyes glared up at him and he found himself staring down at the business end of just as many guns. All hell broke loose.

One of the guards pulled the fat man away behind some cargo while the rest opened fire at him. Someone was shouting orders into a radio. "Armed intruder. Backup required."

He could hear footsteps coming from the adjacent rooms. It would be difficult to run now, not that Bucky even had that option. Not when he hadn't accomplished his mission objective.

Cursing loudly, Bucky slung the rifle over his back and dropped down onto some cargo below the rafters before ducking swiftly behind steel crates to avoid the unrelenting fire.

Fuck, he swore silently, resisting the urge to bang his head against the crate. He never missed. Now the mission was compromised.

"Barnes!" Clint's voice crackled in his earpiece. "What happened? The entire perimeter patrol is rushing in!"

"I missed," Bucky replied through gritted teeth.

"You missed?! What the hell do you mean 'you missed'?!"

"I couldn't hit the target."

"Jesus Christ, Barnes," spat Clint. "Get the hell out of there quickly; your cover's been blown."

"Not yet, I have to take out the target," argued Bucky.

"Then hurry up! I don't know what you think you're doing but you need to get your head out of your ass and focus! If you're not done in ten, Widow and I are coming in."

"Roger," he replied. No doubt, he was going to get chewed out for this later.

With his back against the crates, Bucky did a quick assessment of his inventory. He hadn't anticipated a firefight and had only minimal ammo. Cursing at his own slip-up, he withdrew his M1911. When he heard a lull in the shooting, he fired off four shots over the top of the crate. Only three of them found a mark and only one enemy went down. Bullets assaulted his cover and Bucky was forced to duck down again.

He'd messed up. It was naïve of him to think escaping his nightmares by forgoing sleep wouldn't have consequences. He'd just been glad that he no longer had to endure the awful dreams and hadn't thought about anything else. Even with the adrenaline pumping through him right now, his hands were still shaking. Couple that with the pounding in his head, and no amount of focus could correct his aim.

Someone was shouting over the gunfire. "Sir, you've got to go!"

"I know that! You hurry up and kill that bastard; he was trying to shoot me!"

"Yes, sir!"

Shit. His target was escaping. He was running out of time. Desperately, he emptied the rest of his magazine into the four men closing in on him. They fell. Without pause, he threw a smoke grenade into the fray. He caught sight of his target ducking out of one of the doors an instant before the grenade exploded, blanketing the entire room with heavy smoke. Rushing out from his hiding place, he chased after the escaping man, who was surprisingly agile for his size. Or maybe Bucky was slipping.

In the confusion of the smoke, he ran into several of the armed men but Bucky took the liberty of punching them hard with his metal arm before any of them could fumble for their gun and shoot him.

Reaching the door in one piece, he kicking it closed behind him to buy some extra time. A cursory sweep of the hall told him that his target had fled right so Bucky took the time to reload his hand gun before giving chase.

"James, it's been ten minutes. We're heading in. Give us your location," Natasha said through his earpiece.

Bucky growled. "I got this."

"We're coming," Clint reiterated, in a voice that invited no argument.

"Fine, suit yourself. I'm outside the meeting room, right hall, pursuing the target."

"Understood. We'll back you up."

It didn't matter. He was determined to finish this before either of them had to come in and save the day.

Bucky knew he was drawing close because as he raced towards the end of the hallway, he could hear the fat man's heavy breathing and loud footsteps. Eager to finally redeem himself, Bucky tore past the corner instead of peering around it carefully like his training had taught him, and instantly felt the sharp bloom of pain in his lower abdomen. Unable to stop and shocked by the sudden pain, his momentum sent him crashing against the side wall.

It was just one mistake after another today.

Always check behind bends, never rush on ahead. This was exactly what got rookies killed in the field and Bucky was no rookie. He should have been above such a slip up. He should have anticipated that the target would have a gun on him, that when he realized he couldn't outrun Bucky he'd try to ambush him.

Bucky barely managed to swing his metal arm up in time to block the man's next two shots. The bullets ricocheted into the walls. He felt tremors shoot through his arm. The bullets felt unusually heavy. Had to be armor piercing rounds. No wonder his tactical vest hadn't been any use. Still, Bucky was adamant he was not going to go out this way, dying embarrassingly at the hands of some fat sleazeball with terrorist-aspirations.

He forced himself to shift his body so that he could return fire, all while his wound flared in protest. His aim was still unreliable but by some stroke of luck, it struck his target anyway, albeit in the upper arm. The man shrieked and dropped the gun, turning to flee. Just as Bucky was readying another shot, an arrow zipped out from the shadows at the end of the hall and buried itself in the man's head. He slumped against the floor, dead on impact.

"You know, for an ex-Russian assassin, I thought you could take care of one fatass in an ugly suit," said Clint, as he smoothly detached himself from the shadows. Natasha followed close behind. "But it looks like I was wrong. Not only that, you managed to get yourself shot, too? What kind of highly trained assassin are you?"

Bucky grimaced. "Off day."

"Yeah, I can see that. Especially if you're fumbling so badly that you're missing."

Bucky sighed. "Tell me something I don't know." He struggled to his feet, just a little bit unsteady. The wound in his side hurt like hell. Super soldier or not, he's going to need to visit medical. "Where's the virus?" he asked as he clamped a hand down to staunch the bleeding.

"I have it," Natasha said, patting her pocket. Bucky breathed a sigh of relief. At least one of the main objectives had been accomplished without a hitch. If he was lucky, that might cut down Fury's rant by half an hour. "Come on, we have to go," Natasha interrupted his thoughts. She moved forward to give him a hand, ignoring his protests that he was perfectly capable of walking.

They made it two steps before the sound of yells and heavy footfalls echoed from around the corner bend.

"Find him! He couldn't have escaped!"

"Shit," muttered Bucky. "Incoming."

"I noticed," replied Clint drily. He turned to Natasha. "Nat, take Barnes and get out. I'll cover us."

"Roger," she said. "Come on, James." She gave him a tug in the direction she and Clint had come from.

For the most part, Bucky did his best to ignore the burning in his side. He kept up with Natasha as Clint let off a series of explosive arrows to distract their pursuers.

Two hallways later, the voices were more distant and they'd come to a low hanging window. It was wide enough for them to fit. Evidently this was where she and Clint had snuck in.

"I'll go first," said Natasha. She gracefully slid through and dropped down on the other side soundlessly. Half a second later, "it's clear," she confirmed.

Bucky climbed over next, a little awkwardly. He at least managed to muffle his landing as he dropped down beside Natasha. Once she saw him, she whispered into her earpiece, "Hawkeye, we're good to go."

They waited half a minute until they saw Clint drop like a shadow between them. He took one sweeping glance at Bucky before he snorted. "You always this careless or is today just special?"

Bucky's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"You've been dripping a nice little trail for anyone with eyes to follow."

They all looked down at his wound. The blood was pooling despite the hand clenched around it. There was a small puddle building at his feet.

"Damn it," Bucky groaned. What else was going to go wrong today? If he was honest, Bucky was more irked by the fact that he'd slipped up and gotten injured than by any pain this injury was actually causing.

Natasha frowned. "He got you pretty good. Why didn't you say something?"

Bucky half-shrugged. "I've walked away from worse. You know that."

"Doesn't matter," Clint cut in. "Get that wrapped up until you can visit medical or else we're going to have a trail of pissed off mobsters dogging our tails. Hurry, though. I left them with another smoke screen. Dunno how long it'll keep 'em busy and I'm all out of those."

Always the prepared one, Natasha dug through her utility belt until she came up with a small roll of gauze. She made Bucky rip off the sleeve of his shirt to use to staunch the flow before she hastily wrapped gauze around it. She secured it in a tight knot and nodded when she saw he was no longer dripping. "Let's go."

They crept along quickly, keeping in the shadows. Clint led the way, Natasha followed in the middle and Bucky brought up the rear. They couldn't move as fast as they would have liked; that would have attracted attention and while most of the guards had entered the main warehouse to pursue them, there were still enough patrols wandering around for the three of them to keep their guard up. However, the men from inside the building were no-doubt still pursuing them so they had to compromise on stealth somewhat, as a trade-off for a quickened pace.

They were nearing a wide area, where the pier ended and the road began. To their right were a couple of smaller storage sheds. In general, there were fewer boxes and crates to hide behind and the area was more exposed than Bucky was comfortable with. A single streetlight lit the opposite end, at the start of the road.

He was so busy contemplating their less than ideal location that Bucky nearly walked right into Natasha. Clint had come to a standstill, holding up a hand halt their advance. All three of them peered carefully over the stack of crates they were pressed against. Two men, both armed, stood just ten meters ahead. They looked far too purposeful to be casual patrols.

"Think they know we're here?" whispered Bucky.

"They're probably expecting us," replied Natasha. "Word most likely got around fast after your cover was blown. Looks like they're blocking all the exit routes."

"How far to the getaway car?" he asked.

"Five blocks past those guys," said Clint. "They've picked their position well. It'll take too long to sneak past them and we don't have that much time."

"We have to take them out, then," stated Natasha. "Clint?"

"Leave it to me."

Silently, Clint unslung his bow and cocked a single arrow. He let it fly, and it zipped soundlessly into the throat of the closest guard. The man let out a strangled gasp. A second arrow took out the other guard before the first had fallen to the ground.

"Let's move," declared Clint, satisfied that both were dead.

"What about the bodies?" asked Bucky.

"Throw them to the side and hope nobody sees them before we get out of here. We haven't got the time to hide them."

Nodding, the three of them slipped out from behind the crate. Natasha took hold of the guard furthest away. She dragged his body to the side of a shed and dumped him unceremoniously in a dark corner, obscured by the shadows of boxes and miscellaneous junk. Bucky lent a hand to Clint with the remaining body, more to make himself feel useful than actually quickening their endeavour by any meaningful amount of time.

Just as they were preparing to dump the body, a third guard suddenly rounded the corner of a building farther down. He looked shocked for about quarter of a second before he was fumbling for his radio.

"I've found them! They're by the—"he yelled into the radio before Natasha cut him off with two quick shots from her gun. Even with the silencer, the two shots still echoed far too loudly. A few seconds later, there came distance shouts.

Clint groaned. "So much for stealth. Run for it!"

They raced down the empty road. It hadn't been a problem to keep up with Natasha earlier when they were breaking away from their pursuers, but this was different. Bucky's breaths were coming raggedly now and the exertion was causing more blood to pump out of his wound, already soaking through the temporary dressing Natasha had applied. If he were in his normal condition, this would have still been okay. He'd pull through. His pace wouldn't be slipping like this.

But he wasn't. Bucky was exhausted and sleep-deprived. His senses were in disarray from the pain and the blood loss. But they still had three blocks to go and their pursuers were getting closer.

Natasha, who was in front, turned around and caught sight of Bucky lagging behind. She stopped and signalled for Clint to do the same.

"What are you doing, Nat?" Clint protested.

"We have to fight. James isn't going to make it."

Clint cursed colourfully. "What about the mission?"

"We've already got the virus," she replied.

"And the overall objective? If we take them out, they'd panic and abandon the whole operation. They'll pack up and disappear and that's going to destroy a year's worth of reconnaissance and leads." Clint argued.

"Well, we can't just leave him. And we'll never make it to the car before they get within shooting range."

The footsteps were getting closer and Clint swore.

"You two, just go on without me," interrupted Bucky, panting.

"The hell we are," retorted Clint. "You can quit with the false heroics, Barnes."

"But—"

"We have to stick together." Clint turned to Natasha. "How much ammo do you have left?"

"Two magazines for each of the handguns and then the Widow's Bite."

"Barnes?" he turned to Bucky.

"Five rounds for the rifle and three magazines for the semi-automatic."

Clint did a quick survey of the bare street and grimaced. They were wide open with nowhere to hide. The few buildings around them would take too long to break into. "I don't have much more than either of you and I don't particularly fancy a firefight with minimal cover."

"You think it might turn problematic?" Natasha asked.

"Dunno. I'd rather not chance it, especially when…" he shot Bucky a sidelong glance.

Great. Now he was dead weight. Clint didn't even trust him to hold his own in a shootout. Bucky looked away shamefully from both of them.

"I have an idea," Clint continued. "Think you two hold your own for about five to eight minutes?"

Natasha nodded. "Shouldn't be an issue. Are you going to get the car?"

"Yeah. I'll swing back for you guys. Just hold out 'til then."

"And if they tail us?" Bucky asked sceptically.

Clint grinned. "Please, Barnes. I've navigated my way through more than my fair share of car chases in this line of work."

There were shouts behind them. All three of them spun to see dark shapes advancing towards them rapidly.

"Go," urged Natasha and Clint sprinted off.

It was just the two of them now.

Natasha moved closer to Bucky. "You going to be okay, James?"

Bucky grunted. "Yeah." He was covered in a thin sheen of cold sweat. He'd caught his breath, at least.

She nodded, but her eyes didn't look like she believed him.

"That's them!" someone yelled and both of them sprang into action, concern temporarily forgotten.

Natasha charged right into the fray, spinning acrobatically from target to target, somehow untouched by the bullets whizzing past her. Bucky, however, was less graceful. He held back and kept his distance, firing off rounds when the opportunity allowed but mostly focused on staying upright and not getting shot again.

Blood had now completely soaked through the gauze, even as Bucky tightened his grip over the wound. He dove to the left to avoid a hail of machine gun fire and cursed as he felt a wave of dizziness crash over him. Stumbling to his feet, he shot wildly at the men and hit two of them before his gun clicked empty. Shit. He bolted from his position, refusing to be a sitting duck. He fumbled for a spare magazine with his left hand as he dodged bullets, nearly dropping it because his hands were so slick with blood. He managed to snap it in just as a bullet grazed his shoulder. Hissing, he dropped and rolled behind a streetlamp.

"James!" Natasha called. She brought down the man she was grappling with her signature takedown.

"I'm fine!" he hollered back, while letting off shots from behind his temporary cover.

Where the hell was Clint? It had to have been more than eight minutes now. Natasha had taken down at least six of the enemies but more were coming from the distance and his ammo was slowly running out. It wasn't going to be pretty if he had to resort to using his knife.

Just then, a black SUV tore past him, running down three men in its way before pulling a tight U-turn to scatter the one around Natasha. It veered back, screeching to a halt beside Bucky.

"Get in!" yelled Clint.

Not needing to be told twice, Bucky dove into the backseat and slammed the door. Natasha joined them a moment later in the front. Even before her door fully closed, bullets pelted the outside of the car. The windows held, however. If there was one thing Bucky was thankful for today, it was armored vehicles.

"Drive," commanded Natasha.

"You got it." Clint shifted gears sharply, and then gunned the vehicle down the road he came from. "Buckle up kids," he grinned, "I'm about to break a few speed limits."

A/N: Oh yeah I'm just rambling on in the author's notes this chapter aren't I? I just wanted to give everyone a heads up that the next chapter (which depending on how I write it might be the last chapter) will take longer than usual. This is because I'm currently in the midst of university finals.