It takes him three hours to get back to the Playground.

Three hours of looping around and watching the four black SUV's slowly dwindle in numbers until he's sure he's lost them for good; he would laugh at how they obviously underestimated him, but he's not in the mood.

It takes him three hours to get back to the playground and two of his friends are dead.

After the first hour, he pulls an old phone out of an inside pocket in his jacket. He carries it with him everywhere, for no reason, but today he holds it in his hand as he drives circles through city streets. Calloused fingers run over the buttons and he knows the number by heart, and he knows that he's only supposed to call if it's the "last resort, asshole," or at least that's what was written on the note that appeared on his dresser two weeks and three days after he signed the papers, pinned under the frame that had previously held their wedding photo. She'd taken the picture and left a number.

He looks at the phone and turns down and back alley cut through, pulls a left at the end and then a right, and he thinks that this is a last resort situation, that she needs to know. They were friends before he came around, after all, and now he's gone and gotten her killed and he's sure the hell-beast can just add it to the list of reasons she hates him.

The call goes to voicemail. He didn't expect anything less because it always goes to voicemail. The automated instructions tell him to leave a message at the beep and he wonders if it would be better or worse if she answered for once.

Deep breath. "Izzy's dead, Bob."

He debates hanging up then, leaving it short and sweet and not overly emotional.

There are still two cars following him. He makes a sudden left turn and gets on the interstate.

"I don't know where you are," he says, "Or what you're doing, but…"

If she ever hears this, she's going to think he still cares about her. He know he let his voice slip and she'll be able to read into that, get anything she needs just from the variations in his tone and the slow and careful choosing of his words. She's a super spy and it's what she does, what she's always done to him.

"Don't die out there."

He drops the phone the passenger seat as soon as he ends the call; it's poisonous to his health if he holds it too long, thinks about her too much, and where she could be and what she could be doing and if she is even alive still, if Hydra got her…

If Hydra got her, would he know? Would anyone think to tell him?

He cuts across three lanes to a flurry of honking cars and makes an impromptu exit.

It takes him three hours to get back to the Playground.

Two of his friends are dead.

He hopes she'll listen to this one message.