A/N: the intro to this is done in Bucky's first-person POV, but it switches to third-person and remains that way for the rest of the book.

All those stories that begin with "In the beginning..." and "Once upon a time..." had at least one thing right: anything terrible and completely avoidable started way before anyone could stop it. Some people might argue that the earth starting was a good thing and to that, I'd just like to say: Have you seen this disaster called earth recently? A man can't even pull a simple art heist without half of Interpol chasing his ass.

Before earth, if the same man had pulled the same heist, you know what would have happened? Nothing! Jack shit would have happened because the earth didn't exist and therefore neither did the people that wanted to put his ass in prison.

Seeing as the creation or explosion―or whatever you want to call it―of earth usually begins with something along these lines, a simple conclusion can be drawn: All these stories that begin with "A long time ago..." and "There once was a little boy/girl/whatever..." have one thing in common: they all begin the tale of a disaster. With that in mind...

Once upon a time, there was an art thief. An art thief that, mind you, was rather good at his job so long as he didn't cross paths with one of his two worst enemies: Interpol and the Bishop. For all intents and purposes, the only reason either of them existed was to fuck him over and as much as he appreciated the effort they put into it, he prefered being left alone.

Unfortunately, that "Once upon a time" beginning had already set out to screw him over before he ever set foot in the museum.

"Trust me, he'll be here."

"How can you be so sure, Sam?"

Sam glanced over at Steve, gauging how truthful he could be. Interpol had a thing against consulting bad guys to get the worse guys, but he hadn't exactly meant to consult the worse guy to get the bad guy.

"Sam?"

"The Bishop," Sam admitted, flashing his badge at security.

Steve raised an eyebrow, following Sam and showing his badge as well. "The Bishop? He's just a myth."

"Can a myth rob three original Van Gogh's in one night?" Sam countered. Steve still didn't look convinced, but the Bishop was not their current target. "According to the Bishop, he'll be here."

With another flash of their badges, they had the museum director in front of them and leading them to the display case where their target was. Whether it was surprising or anticipated, the museum director seemed even less convinced by Sam's story about the Bishop than Steve did.

"You're wasting your time," the director told them, escorting them into a large open room. Gesturing towards an open display area, he said, "As you can see, the egg is still perfectly safe."

Sam frowned. Sure enough, Cleopatra's first egg was still sitting in its designated spot. The plaque at the base didn't have so much as a fingerprint smudge across it, allowing Sam to read the full history around the retrieval of Cleopatra's historic eggs as well as the mystery about the third egg's location. Even without a squad of Interpol agents mixed in, the number of tourists surrounding it was almost impressive.

That didn't make Sam any less wary.

"You said the museum had an early opening today?" Sam asked the director. The man nodded. "How many people knew?"

"I imagine only those who bought tickets," the man retorted. Sam stared at him. "The number of tickets was limited to 200 for an extra hour in the museum. The normal crowds should be lining up to enter by now."

"Do you have a list of everyone who bought a ticket?" He doubted the Winter Soldier―as he was so affectionately called―would put his name down, but he also doubted the man needed a ticket to get in.

"Of course." The director scoffed.

"I want a copy."

Sam stepped around the director without waiting for a response. Despite the perfectly clean appearance of both the egg and its plaque, Sam wouldn't put it past the Soldier to have made a switch already. An early museum opening with limited tickets? It was right up the bastard's alley.

"Hey! What are you―You can't touch it," the director shouted behind him.

Sam rolled his eyes and took a single step back to appease the director. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a tablet.

"Tell me why this thing is so important again," Steve said. "Why fly all the way to London just to check on an artifact?"

"That is one of Cleopatra's eggs!" the director exclaimed, clearly offended by Steve's lack of understanding.

When Sam glanced back at his friend, he could tell the director's words hadn't cleared anything up.

"When Cleopatra got married," Sam explained, "her soon-to-be husband gave her three golden eggs as a gift. Two of them have been found: one is here and one is in a collector's private archive."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "Eggs? As a wedding gift?"

"Yeah, it's weird, but they're pretty valuable," Sam told him. "They're supposed to be made entirely of gold."

"Supposed to be?" Steve echoed.

Sam nodded and handed his tablet over to Steve. "If this were one of the original eggs, it would reflect the heat of everyone in this room."

While the heat signature of every tourist registered on the tablet screen, the egg remained dark.

"It's a fake."

"Now look here," the director protested, "just because you have badges doesn't mean you're experts in the art field."

Ignoring the man, Sam's eyes landed on a kid holding a Coca-Cola can. Perfect.

"―trained professionals who have verified that egg is―"

The director was still speaking, but Sam already had his sights set on the kid's coke. Walking up to him, he smiled and nodded down at the soda.

"Sorry, kid," he said, "no soda in the museum."

He held out his hand and the kid reluctantly handed it over. With the soda can in hand, Sam moved towards the egg and dumped the remaining contents on the fake egg.

"―real―What are you doing?"

As the museum director shouted in a panic, the egg―as Sam had predicted―began to melt. Around them, stuttered gasps and shouts of protest rose up, but Sam had already made his first point. Now he just needed to spot the Soldier.

"He's still here," Sam told Steve.

Behind them, the director was trying to calm down the tourists, but Sam's eyes were on the crowd. Most of the people looked shocked and worried, but there was one man who was rapidly moving towards the exit.

"Found him."

Without waiting for Steve to catch on, Sam shot across the room and the Soldier broke into a sprint.

"FBI! Stop!" Sam shouted. He did not.

The director had, unfortunately, been correct in saying that the regular crowds had begun to arrive. The closer they raced towards the front of the museum, the thicker the crowds became. It took all of Sam's focus to keep his eyes on the back of the Soldier's head and not lose him. If he so much as blinked in the wrong direction, they'd lose him for good.

Ahead of them, the security officers closed the doors and Sam wanted to shout his thanks to them. Before he could, though, the Soldier shot off to the left and disappeared down a hallway. With a loud curse, Sam followed.

There were three possible exits from this direction, but two of them needed a keycard to access. If Sam was unlucky, the Soldier had swiped a keycard and would close the door behind him. If he was lucky, however, then they were headed to the only exit that didn't require a keycard.

A sharp right turn and they stumbled into construction. The Soldier seemed just as surprised as Sam was, but he didn't falter for long. Jumping up the scaffolding, the Soldier scaled it with an ease that Sam unhappily admired. The guy was skilled, but Sam didn't want to like him for it.

After a bit of grumbling, Sam followed him up the scaffolding. As the Soldier leapt over the top, Sam hastened his pace and came leaping over the top behind him with his gun raised.

"Hands up!" he told the Soldier.

"FBI, right?" the Soldier asked. Sam nodded once and repeated his demand, but the Soldier looked more amused than willing to follow orders. "Isn't England a bit out of your jurisdiction?"

"Not when I'm working with Interpol," Sam said. The Soldier snorted. "Now put your hands up and hand over the egg."

"Got a badge?" he asked. Sam frowned. "How do I know you're not trying to steal the egg from me? I'm gonna have to see a badge."

His Brooklyn accent was unsettling. All this time chasing after the Winter Soldier and Sam hadn't expected him to be from New York.

"I ain't gonna show you my badge," Sam told him. In the time it took him to draw out his badge, the guy would be gone.

"Shame," the Soldier sighed. "And I was gonna hand over the egg, too."

Sam blinked and lowered his gun for half a second in surprise. It was all the time the Soldier needed, though.

With a mock salute, he dove out the window. Sam scrambled after him, attempting to follow him out of the window as well, but the man was already gone. He hadn't left so much as a scratch on the roof and without a name to tie to his face, they were out of luck. At least, they were unless the Bishop wanted to do him one more favor.