New story! Anyways, I suppose this story counts as AU because Bucky receives treatment for his "condition" rather than freezing himself for the future. All the details about New Orleans are at least 95% true, simply because I take trips there frequently to visit friends. I'm not one to jump the gun, so this may start out slowly. I just watched Civil War two nights ago and I couldn't help but need to write a fic. Enjoy!

A beating on my door jerked me awake, causing me to groan aloud at the bright morning sun filtering through my minuscule living room. Sitting up, I squinted as I looked around. Somehow, I had fallen asleep on the couch the night before – again – and it felt like it was starting to take a toll on my back.

The knocking on my door started up once again, so I begrudgingly rubbed my eyes as I lifted myself from the couch and made my way to the door. The knocking was becoming even more-so persistent, but on a Saturday morning, I knew exactly who it was.

"Libby! Open up!"

Opening the door with a very disgruntled look, I glared at my best friend standing out in my apartment hallway. Words are usually lost to me within the first five minutes of waking, so all I managed to get out was, "Mira. The fuck."

"Oh, come on, Lib!" Mira said joyfully, grabbing me by the hand as she let herself in (dragging me with her) and then locking the door behind her. Her flowing platinum hair swung around as she turned to face me, her stunning blue eyes scrutinizing my more-than-likely disheveled appearance. "All you ever do on the weekends is sit here in your stuffy little apartment and piddle around. And I, for one, and not having any of it today! You and I are going out shopping and then you're coming with me to the clubs tonight!"

Groaning with exasperation, I rolled my eyes. I was still in my sleepy grump phase, so all I could manage was grabbing a pillow from the couch and throwing it at her as I approached the hallway. "Mira, you say the same thing every weekend. And then, when I go along with your inane little plans, I always end up wasting away my whole Sunday nursing a hangover because you never stop pouring shots down my throat. It has been a LONG week at work. Can't I just rest this once?"

Knowing my (at that moment, very annoying) friend's voice carried easily through my tiny one bedroom apartment, I left her standing in the living room as I entered my bathroom to brush my teeth. I felt the wind from the returned pillow pass me as I flicked on the light.

"Sounding that pitiful, Libs, I'd almost let you off the hook. Almost. But it's the weekend before Mardi Gras! Next weekend will be too much of a pain to do anything around the city!"

At that, I had to reluctantly agree. In the city of New Orleans, the locals have to choose very wisely about when to go out partying due to the overwhelming amount of tourists. And with Mardi Gras the next week, I wouldn't even be able to manage to squeeze onto the Canal ferry to get to work. Every year I was literally forced to save money to take a cab for a week to work because the city would be much too crowded to use the public transit. But, that's Mardi Gras for you.

Poking my head out of the bathroom door, toothbrush still hanging from my mouth, I said, "So that means you'll leave me alone next weekend?" Whipping my head back into the bathroom, I heard her whine pitifully.

"That's not nice to say to your best friend, Libby! What? You don't want to spend time with me?"

Rinsing my mouth out, I began working on washing my face. With a forced hint of sarcasm, I responded, "Oh, no! Did I hurt the princess' feelings? I think there's surgery for that now. Don't worry, I'm sure your daddy dearest can more than pay for it."

"Say what you want about our money but he could be your daddy dearest, too! It's not my fault you won't let him adopt you. If you did, you could stop all this 'working all the time' nonsense. But no. You take pride in your emancipation and all your loner bullshit. Gross."

"It's not gross," I ground out irritably as I patted my face dry and came out from the bathroom. Standing in the hall facing Mira, I put my hands on my hips. "It's called living in the real world. I didn't spend all those hours pouring over paperwork for emancipation so I could be free to just let someone else start controlling me. Besides, I just turned eighteen. Kind of pointless to get adopted when I'm already considered an adult, right?"

Mira rolled her eyes at me. "Oh, come on, Lib. You know Daddy's not like that – "

"I know, I know!" I stressed, turning from her once again to go in my bedroom to change. Mira followed me in like she always did, mainly so she could try and dress me like her own personal life-sized doll. "Doctor Boudreaux is a wonderful man and an excellent father. I just don't want to have any ties to anyone as far as name and money goes. I work my two jobs and take care of myself so no one else can ever say I owe them for something so trivial. With your dad, it's more of the principle of the matter."

"Fine," she sighed as I watched her start rifling through my closet. "If you like working so much..."

"Trust me. No one likes working. But the feeling of freedom is too great to give up."

…

"Your ass is NOT that big! The skirt looks fine on you! Now come out!"

Frowning at the mirror in the dressing room, I couldn't help but disagree. Though Mira had made sure to style my rather long, plain brown hair and do my makeup to the extent that I looked at least a little pretty in the face, I could see my own disdain in the reflection of my green eyes. Where I would normally just wear a decent pair of jeans or shorts with a t-shirt (and my thick green army jacket during the cold moments we got), Mira had somehow found an outfit for me that made me extremely self-conscious. Staring at the mirror, I observed the black pleated skirt that just barely managed to cover everything and red halter top that dipped dangerously low in the front. My feet were bare for the moment, but only because Mira insisted she had a pair of heels to match.

"Mira, I can't wear this out in public! I can't even afford it!" I whined through the door.

"Just let me see, dammit!" I heard her demand from the other side. Sighing in defeat, I opened the door. One look at her face and I knew I regretted it.

"Oh my GOD! Libby! You look fantastic!" she gushed loudly, catching the attention of some nearby shoppers. When she noticed, she spun her head around at them and snarled, "Mind your own shopping!" Turning back to me, completely happy and giddy once again, she said, "It's absolutely perfect!"

"Perfect?!" I asked incredulously, whirling around back into the dressing room to take the offending garments off. I called out, "Perfect for what? I thought we only stuck to local – "

"Yeah... Libby, there's something I meant to mention..."

I froze as I had my jeans halfway pulled up. Very icily, I said, "Mira... What are you trying to pull?"

"I'm not trying to pull anything!" I heard her say frantically. "It's just... Well, I might have told this guy I met... thatI'dgowithhimtoBourbonStreettonight."

I knew she was trying to be sly but I heard every word. And I went ballistic. Shoving my t-shirt over my head, I slammed open the dressing room door to glare down my best friend.

"Hey, lady, not so rough – "

"NOT NOW!" Both Mira and I shouted at the innocent retail worker. He seemed to take the hint and disappeared very quickly.

"So all of this is because you wanted to go to Bourbon to meet a guy?" I asked irritably. "What the hell, Mira? Locals don't go to Bourbon!"

I tried to storm past her as I angrily set the pricey garments on the return rack, ready to just walk out of the boutique, but Mira was actually kind of strong for a girl her size as she grabbed my arm to stop me. "But he's not local, Libs! He's the son of some doctor who came in from out of town to meet with Dad and he's never been to Bourbon before so I agreed to show him around!"

"Then why are you making me go?!"

"Ladies, please – "
Before I could bark at the worker again, Mira turned around and handed the clothes I had tried on and her credit card to the associate nearby. "Here! I'm buying extremely over-priced clothes from you right now so just leave us alone for a second!"

The guy seemed a bit shocked at first, but when he saw the shiny black credit card he immediately ran off to do as Mira said. Turning around back to me, Mira continued, "Look, you know I would never ask you to do anything like this usually, especially when it comes to cute guys, but Bourbon Street is a really large and crowded place and I don't want to risk losing some high-profile doctor's son while I'm in charge of him. Please, Libby. You have to do this for me."

If there was one thing about our relationship that would never change, it was that I could never say no to Mira. Yes, she was the daughter of an overly rich family, and she was quite spoiled, but it didn't make her a bad person. With her pleading like that, it made it almost impossible to say no. She was my best friend after all. But... " Mira, you know that the ferry doesn't run late enough for me to get back home. And I can't pay for a cab either."

"Don't worry about it!" she said excitedly, taking the shopping bag and her card back from the retail associate. Grabbing my arm, she steered the two of us out of the shop and into the open New Orleans air. "His father is sending us in their limo so I'll make sure our personal driver will give you a ride home in case things go well with him and me, if you get what I mean." She gave me a wink, and of course I knew exactly what it meant. "Consider these clothes as my thank-you gift for coming with me tonight!"

"It's not like you gave me much of a choice, Mira."

…

"So you said your name is Scott?" I inquired the attractive man sitting across from me in the limousine. By the end of the day, Mira had the two of us so decked out that I was sure I wasn't even recognizable. "Scott" had picked us up from my apartment around nine o' clock and we were suddenly on our way to the never-ending party that was Bourbon Street.

"Yes," he said, his northern accent very pronounced. "Scott Grails. And Mira said your name is Liberty, right?"

"Libby," I corrected him. "And yes. I figured Mira might need some help tonight navigating you through the Bourb so I offered to help. It can get really crowded so it's always good to have a bigger group."

"Well, Libby," he said lowly, leaning towards me as Mira observed the two of us from beside Scott. "I'm definitely glad you came along."

I was getting some seriously strong creep vibes from the guy, and the way he said that made my skin want to crawl. Scott turned to address the driver for a second so, looking over to Mira's slightly baffled expression, I mouthed at her, "This guy is a total weirdo!"

She noticeably relaxed at my disinterest in her interest, so we made idle chat the rest of the way to Canal street. When we told the driver to stop at the edge of Bourbon, we all got out and took in the splendor of the tourist night life. The street was wide enough to easily be a two-lane, but the police would always barricade it for big party nights for the safety of the pedestrians. Or maybe the cars. It was hard to tell.

We paused for a moment to let Scott take in the sight, which must have excited him greatly. For anyone who hadn't been there before, I could see why. Loud music played from each bar and club that lined the strip, some blaring rock, others country, but mostly cajun. Souvenir shops dotted the tiny spaces between the bars and clubs, and there were strippers enticing men and women alike to come inside their establishments. It had already been made illegal for the performers to be out in the streets, but during busy times of the year, the N.O.P.D. didn't have time to care much. Bright neons flashed all around us as we started making our way through. There were big burly looking men walking through the crowds holding signs saying "HUGE ASS BEERS", street performers looking to make whatever change possible, and the ever-present Mardi Gras beads crunching beneath our feet. Hand Grenade and Hurricane containers littered the street, along with people of all ages drinking to their hearts' content.

"So, Scott, what do you want to do first?" Mira asked the man we were apparently in charge of.

"I want a strong drink and a seat at a titty bar," came his blunt reply.

Using every ounce of my power to not "accidentally" shove the guy over, I looked over at Mira. Her glare was one that could turn men to stone. When our eyes locked, I nodded at her, and she knew exactly what I meant. Erasing her scowl, she smiled brightly at Scott. "Oh, if you want a strong drink you should try our famous Hand Grenades! Guaranteed to get you hammered within three of them!"

Scott laughed haughtily, making me want to punch him in the throat. Bringing Mira's face close to his, he said in a cooing voice, "Oh, you sweet innocent thing. I don't think you realize how much I can handle."

Putting on her dumb-blondest facade she could manage, she said, "Oh, I'm so sorry! Well, you should at least give them a try! You can't get them anywhere else in the world and they're made with seven different straight liquors!"

That seemed to catch Richy Rich's attention. "Really? Well, I guess since they're a specialty around here..."

"Great!" she said, grabbing him by the hand and taking off through the crowd with him. I followed closely behind, listening to their chatting. "It's just a couple blocks up! A place called Tropical Isle. There's actually more than one down this strip."

I rolled my eyes as I tried to keep up in the ridiculously high heels Mira had shoved me in, but I managed to make it all the way to the place with them without falling once. The entire walk, Scott complained about how he'd worn the wrong shoes, and how he wished he could just ride in style down the street rather than hoof it like commoners. Both Mira and I only giggled at his comments. We were having so much fun torturing the clueless rich boy to tell him that there were Pedicabs that could do just like he wanted. As much of a prick as the guy seemed to be, I had no issues letting him suffer. I mean, come on. We were the ones wearing heels.

"Here ya go!" Mira said in too happy of a voice as she handed the Grenade to the (quickly becoming annoying) man. He looked affronted by the straw.

"I'm supposed to drink out of a plastic cup with a straw?" he asked with disdain, scrutinizing the large drink in his hand.

It was clear to me that Mira was already becoming tired of his rich boy attitude, despite her being rich herself. "Come on! You said you wanted to do Bourbon Street. This is doing Bourbon Street!"

The guy looked at Mira as if he was completely dumbfounded. "Mira, don't you think this is a little beneath our kind?"

I knew he was referring to rich people, but I didn't mind. I had known Mira for two years and asides from her constant clubbing and money-spending, she didn't act like the debutante she was meant to be. If you wanted to live in New Orleans, sacrifices had to be made.

"Not at all! Come on, try it! I'll bet you a hundred bucks that you can't handle more than three," she urged with a sly smile.

Scott gave her a wary look but took her bait anyways. Sipping on his drink for a moment, he pulled back and exclaimed excitedly, "Ha! This is supposed to be the strongest drink in town? I've had vodka from third world countries that's stronger than this! I'll take your bet, blondie."

…

It had been about four hours since we had arrived at Bourbon, and it had been about an hour since the last time I had seen Scott. Mira had completely given up on any interest she had in the man, so she was currently down the bar from me laughing with the bartender, Damion, who we'd known for a while. There was actually a surprising amount of bars and clubs on the strip that didn't I.D. girls, so it seemed like a usual party night for us. Knowing that Mira was pretty wasted (as was I, with no tolerance and two Hand Grenades in my system), and that Scott had traveled next door to a strip club, I stepped outside and lit up a cigarette, just standing there and people watching while ignoring some wolf whistles and cat calls.

I was pretty drunk, and even though the company itself hadn't been great (Scott), I found myself having a genuinely good time as I listened to the live music and watched a couple of guys across the street tap dancing with only metal pins stuck to the bottoms of their shoes. While I laughed as one made a silly joke, Mira came out of the bar hanging onto Damion's arm.

"Libby!" she said drunkenly, grinning brightly as she moved her blonde hair away from her pinkened face. "I'm... I'm going home with Damo – uh, Damon – uh, Damion, here. Do you... Do you need a ride?"

I was still enjoying my buzz quite a bit so all I could do was drunkenly ask, "What... What 'bout... 'bout Scott?"

With an exaggerated brush off, she laughed. "He's a grown man... Or should be... He'll... He can … find his own way."

Though my drunken haze didn't register the harm in that, my protective side still stayed intact. Pointing to the bartender, I beckoned him closer to me with unfocused vision. "Hey... Hey Daminon... If you... if you hurt her... I'll slit your fucking throat... Got me? I... I know where you work." With that, a hiccough escaped my lips. "Oops!"

The man laughed and patted me on the head. "I'll take care of her, chick. You know that."

"G-Good," I said, dragging his hand off my head. "Be... Be careful!"

"We will!" Mira said drunkenly, waving to me as the two walked off into the crowd.

Sighing, I leaned back against the wall before taking another drag off my cigarette.

"Are you really okay with just letting your drunk friend go home with a stranger?" I heard a deep, almost raspy voice ask from beside me.

Looking over, I saw a guy standing there. He stood tall, at least a head over me even in my heels. His dark hair was long, just long enough to frame his face, and his eyes were an intense blue. He was wearing a biker jacket and gloves, and blue jeans to complete it. My guess was that he was somewhere in his twenties, but I did have horrible judgment when I was drunk.

Grinning stupidly at the guy, I said, "Yeah! We know... We know 'im. We drink here all the time."

"Are you even old enough to drink?" he asked in his deep voice.

Throwing my cigarette to the ground, I staggered away from him as I answered back, "Do I look like I care?"

Continuing my walk away, I grabbed another Hand Grenade and continued my partying alone.

…

"Th' fuck am I?" I asked myself, looking around at the deserted street. It had to be close to around three in the morning, and I had somehow gotten lost in my drunken daze. I had long since taken off the offending heels, and was braving the streets barefoot. As I tried to focus my vision on the street sign I was staring at, I could still hear music but it was way off in the distance.

Looking down at my fourth drink in my hand that night, I contemplated how I must have wandered too far while enjoying just walking and drinking. Giving up finally, I distractedly dropped my drink to the ground as I began digging in my purse for my cell phone. Daniel, Mira's personal driver, was always more than happy to assist his Mistress' best friend, so I knew I could call him to come find me and pick me up.

"FINALLY found one'a you bitches!"

Turning slowly, I looked up to see Scott standing a few feet from me, using one arm to prop himself against the wall while the other pointed at me accusingly. "I can't believe you cunts left me back there in that swill!"

Shaking my head slightly trying to clear it, I said, "Sc-Scott?"

He came up on me so fast that I didn't have any time to react. My purse fell to the ground as all of its contents scattered. Next thing I knew, he had me by the throat, shoving me against a wall and causing my head to bounce painfully from the brick. "Yeah it's fucking Scott! I can't believe you bitches forgot about me! You just fucking left me back there in that cesspool!"

Panic was coursing through my veins as I vainly tried to drag his grip away from my throat. I could feel a warm wetness begin creeping down the back of my skull. Blood. "Sc-Scott... You... You left..."

"I don't give a fuck!" he shouted in my face, using his grip on my throat to toss me to the ground. My right side hit the curb, causing me to cry out in pain. Despite the agony, however, I still managed to scramble to my feet. Before I could take off running, however, I felt his grip take hold of the back of my new shirt and yank backwards. I yelled out as my momentum was too great and the fabric gave way, causing me to crumple forward to the ground with my shirt in ruins. Turning over, I used the wall to pull myself up to a standing position, the pain from my injuries dulled by the alcohol. I waited for him to come at me again, knowing he wasn't going to stop.

"You dumb sluts left me! ME! Do you not know who the fuck I am?!" he roared, advancing on me again. Once he was within reach, I thought as quickly as I could and thrust my palm out, making sure I felt it make contact with his nose, a sickening crunch following it. "FUCK!" he screamed out as he hunched down slightly to hold his broken nose.

I used that moment to my advantage and took off at a sprint once more, confident he couldn't snatch me a second time. Once I was about five feet into running, I opened my mouth to scream for help when I felt something extremely sharp slice cleanly into my bare foot. The screech that escaped my throat almost seemed inhuman to me as I collapsed to the ground. Looking down, I saw where I had stepped on a large shard of a broken beer bottle, and blood seemed to start pooling a little bit around my foot. Sitting up once more, I grabbed the shard and waved it in defense at Scott as he once more continued his advance on me.

Scott knocked the glass from my hand easily as he bore down on top of me. I felt the incredible pain as he swiped his fist across one cheek, and then the other. Too dazed and in pain, I finally slumped back and lost my fighting energy.

"You stupid bitch you broke my fucking nose! Now you fucking owe me!"

I cried out again as I felt his hand roughly grab my left breast, ripping the fabric of my shirt even more as I felt the cold night air on the sensitive skin. I was finally realizing what he was trying to do so I began trying to squirm out from under him. It seemed to only infuriate him more because he punched me across the face one more time, causing me to lose my breath as my body gave out in defeat. Closing my eyes shut tight, I couldn't help but listen at the fabric of my shirt tearing as he began to maul my chest. Tears began to finally escape my eyes as I realized it was over.

And then suddenly, the weight from atop me was gone. Peeking one eye open, I looked to see Scott suddenly airborne before he slammed into the brick wall opposite me. Looking around frantically, I saw another man, and he was advancing on Scott's crumpled form.

Looking down on Scott, the man snarled threateningly, "Stay down or I will kill you."

When it looked like Scott wasn't going to move, the man turned to face me. No matter how much alcohol I'd had that night, I would have never been able to forget that long dark hair or those bright blue eyes.

"It's... It's you..." I said, trying to catch my breath. I felt sick to my stomach, and the lightheaded feeling from earlier only grew more intense.

The man approached me and knelt down beside me, looking me up and down. Turning his gaze to meet mine, he said, "You're injuries are pretty severe – "

Blackness was trying to take hold so I had to do at least one thing. "Who... are... you?"

I saw a small smirk appear on his worried lips.

"Bucky. Bucky Barnes."

Please leave a review! I have a lot more in store for you guys but I love to get opinions and suggestions!