James was getting used to life again. After a fallout with a friend named Sam, aka Falcon, aka the current Cap America, he turned himself to work. After the positioning of Valentina being the lead director of the CIA now, Bucky put it upon himself to keep watch of her- gaining the positioning of Congressmen with his ties. He was still getting used to it, trying to do things by the books rather then going after the person who did injustice. Distancing himself from his roots of heroics was complicated and hard at best just as much as getting a bill passed. And tonight was one of his.. bad nights.

After a long day in the office and talking with a fellow Congressman by the name of Gary, Bucky was heading back on his motorcycle when chaos hit. a group of crooks decided to pick a fight with him. HIM. Throwing him off the bike and into the deserted streets of New York near a run down area of town. He made quick of incapacitating them, but just as he was about to make the call in to the police to get them all picked up for assault of a congressmen which could be up to a decade mind you before he got shot in the abdomen. So, with gritted teeth, he had to leave. But from the quick attack something set off his PTSD, causing him to do what he is doing now.

Bucky had broken into some run down apartment flat, looking through the kitchen space with a wince at the small blood trail he left. Messy, but he didn't think, pulse racing in his ears from the pain as he rummaged through cupboards to look for medical supplies. Knowing the wounds he sustained weren't lethal but they would become if he left them to fester, especially the bullet wound.

But then you showed up, and out of reflex he turned around and pointed a gun at you- metal hand holding his wounded side.