-{M}-

Author's note:

There are no trigger warnings for this chapter (but as always there is the possibility that I missed one)


The Present Day- Hotel du Louvre, Paris, France

Bucky Barnes has gone missing.

Sergeant Barnes has been missing for a while. Captain America himself, Hydra, the government, hell even the media couldn't sniff him out. That was because The Winter Soldier didn't want to be found.

And now I don't know where he is either.

The pavement is slicked with ice. It's not the right kind of weather for snow, it's far too cold. It's cold enough for me to feel the metal pins that run down my spine every time I shiver. I pull my fur coat tighter around me.

My heels clip-clop rhythmically as I walk, I'm trying to keep a steady heartbeat. The sound of voices and music grows louder as the grand hall looms closer. I cross the square in a matter of minutes.

There is a car parked conspicuously across the road. A figure behind the steering wheel cloaked in shadow and the orange glow of a lit cigarette on the passenger side.

I can't tell whose agents they are but I'd suspected someone would be keeping tabs on me. I owe people things. I'd let myself fall off the grid, slip under the radar, disappear like an image in a dream at a time when I still owed people things. These people were not the kind who let you get out of owing them something.

I would have stayed a ghost story but James Barnes made me a promise and I had made him one too. Which is why he wouldn't leave me like this. He promised me he'd stay.

We look out for each other. Although he isn't the most stable person I trust him. He would stay true to his word if the situation was reversed so I am staying true to mine. That is what I owe Sergeant Barnes.

And why I have to find help. I've been out of the world for so long I don't know how to play the game anymore. I need someone I can trust, and who better than America's finest?

Inside the palace, I'm greeted by a waiter in a tux. I exchange my coat for a glass of champagne and a thank you; then I'm pointed in the direction of the buildings main hall.

The ceiling is high and painted with images of Gods and angels. The ballroom floor is swarmed with men and women twirling on the polished wood to the music of an orchestra. On the opposite side is a group of elaborate dinner tables and a dimly lit bar.

I take the long way round, skirting the edge of the dance floor, sipping my champagne.

This is far from a 1940's dance, but I wanted to do something that would hopefully be (at least a little bit) familiar to him. To show that I am a friend.

With the added bonus, of course, that the palace is too highly valued to come under fire and the people in here are collectively worth billions in bonds and property. To kill even one of them would be a shame. At least that is what I'm hoping.

I circle to the bar, which is where I've told him we'll meet. From here I can see the main entrance, staff entrance and the upper balconies which are bathed in a strange pink glow. I can see from here that dark figures move on the balconies above. Moving in between the pools of light cast by the over head lamps. Their presence makes me uneasy, I don't think they're prestigious party guests.

It's not too late to back out. To go home and figure out another way to find James all by myself.

"Can I get you anything, Madame?" a bar tender asks me, with a pleasant and expectant smile.

"No, I'm quite alright, thank you." I smile in return.

She nods politely and moves away to attend to another person. A man; blond, blues eyes and a striking jaw line, staring into an empty tumbler.

Funny, I expected him to be wearing stars and stripes.

He's much taller than I expected. From what James had told me, you would think Steve Rogers was tiny.

Suddenly he looks up, we make eye contact and I smile. He waves away the bar tender and makes his way over.

"Captain Rogers." I purr. "I expected you to be much- smaller."

"Yeah I get that a lot." He chuckles. "You're not exactly what I expected to see either."

"Did you expect to see the Winter Soldier?"

The smiles fades a little, and when he speaks his voice is measured, "Can I get you another, Miss-?"

"My name isn't important right now. And no, thank you."

If this goes against my plan I'd be better off if he didn't know my name. It's a risk even just to show him my face. I have to remind myself that I'm doing this for James, the Winter Soldier needs me. (Although it strikes me now that wherever he is, he probably doesn't think that he needs me).

Rogers gets another drink for himself.

"I thought you couldn't get drunk." I blurt, watching as the bar tender pours another shot of what smells and looks like a very strong whiskey.

He shrugs, "I like the taste."

"No one likes the taste."

Captain Rogers pauses to swallow the golden liquid in one gulp. He places the empty glass down on the bar and waves the bartender away again. No more.

"I didn't expect to see-"(he hesitates,) "to see James… here tonight. Threatening isn't really his style." He says with a hint of chastising in his tone.

"If I didn't threaten, you wouldn't have come."

He chuckles, "What was it that you said now? I have information about James Buchanan Barnes. If you don't meet me, I'll never tell you where he is."

"Words to that effect but it sounded much more serious than that."

"You mean much more menacing?" He fixes me with a stare. "You seem to know a lot about me, miss-?"

"You don't need to know me. Or my name."

Over his shoulder something catches my attention. A man has taken the space that The Captain occupied moments ago. But it's not his sudden presence that alarms me. He is out of place. Although he is wearing a suit, it's not nearly smart enough for the occasion. I watch him, ignoring the questioning look that I can feel radiating from Steve.

The man slips his wallet into his pocket. His jacket moves back a fraction to reveal the butt of a gun tucked into his waist band.

This is a trap and I knew it as soon as I saw that car outside. But this was my chance. They wouldn't try to kill anyone here. It would bring too much attention to them and to whatever organization they work for. I realise that betting on this would be stupid, but desperate times…

I don't have the resources or the gun power to bring Sergeant Barnes back, from God-Knows-Where, alive. Captain Rogers however, could do it alone. Well not quite, he needs the information I have on Barnes but once he has that I am obsolete.

"What is it?" Rogers frowns, turning to follow the direction of my gaze.

"No." I say a little too harshly, "There's someone at the bar, he has a gun."

"This is a trap."

It's not a question but I answer anyway, "I think so."

Fighting the urge to glance in the direction of the man with the gun, I grab the Captain's arm that's resting on the bar. Hopefully in a way that looks flirtatious to any outsiders looking in. I giggle as if Rogers made a joke.

I can't take it. It feels like the man's eyes are boring into my forehead. I chance a fleeting look. He is not even looking this way.

"What's he doing?" Rogers asks in an undertone so that only I can hear.

"He's reading a drinks menu." I say, "No don't look."

Captain Rogers discreetly takes a peek over his shoulder.

The gunman stares straight back over the top of the menu.

"Captain Rogers," I say breezily, attempting to distract him "we have been here more than five minutes and you haven't asked me for a dance."

"Well that's no real way to treat a lady."

He offers his arm and I don't look back at the stranger as Captain Rogers leads me away.

We meander through the chiffon and lace gowns to the centre of the ballroom and join in with a slow song. Swaying to the drawn out sound of violins our hands clasp a little awkwardly.

"Were you followed?" he utters.

"I think so. And you?"

He says with a hint of disdain. "Inevitably."

Steve doesn't look at me. His eyes search the upper floors, and it occurs to me that maybe he is looking for someone.

Suddenly he give a curt nod.

I ask, "You brought back up?"

"Yes." He answers although his eyes still survey the room.

"How many men?"

"Two."

"Two?" I stare at him in disbelief, "Oh, fantastic."

The Captain's attention returns whole-heartedly to me, his voice is accusatory, "You still haven't told me why you're here."

"I told you in the message. I have information about where James is. Or I did. I knew where he was." I say frowning at his jacket collar as I talk. "I'm not explaining this right."

"Start at the beginning. How do you know about him?"

"Know about him? I know him."

"How?" his eyes dart around my face trying to gauge whether I am lying or not.

"We worked together."

"Worked together?" he whispers furiously, "As in you work for Hydra?"

"Worked for. I don't do that anymore. I work for anyone who will pay me." I pause, making a quick calculation. "I'm not a killer, Captain. I'm a hacker. When I worked for Hydra, James sometimes came on missions with me to act as protection. Only once or twice but enough to remember his face."

Pause.

"And where is he now?" Rogers asks.

"That's the thing. When I got out, I met up with James accidentally. I've been living with him for the past year or so, we promised that we'd look out for each other. We're sort of like allies. Anyway, yesterday I go back to the hotel where we're staying. He's not there. That's usually okay, he leaves all the time, goes out for hours on end and then comes back late at night." I pause.

There is a change of song and we step up out tempo to match, and to blend in with the other dancers.

I continue, "Normally he leaves me a note or tells me where he's going. But that's not why I'm here. I'm here because when I got back the room was trashed. It looked like there'd been a struggle. There was upturned furniture and a blood pool the size of me soaked into the carpet."

There is a long pause as Captain Rogers processes this information. He stares intensely at me to the point where I can't keep his eye contact. So I scan the area instead avoiding his gaze.

The gunman at the bar has vanished. There's a buzz in the back of brain, a feeling in my gut that tells me something is about to go wrong. I ignore it. We're in no real danger lost in amongst the other party guests. The only problem we may face is as we are trying to leave.

Finally he says, "Why should I trust you?"

"Because I'm the only person who has the information you need to find James."

He frowns at me, "You keep calling him James, why?"

"Because that's his name."

"No, everyone that knows him calls him Bucky. But you call him James. Leading me to believe that you don't know him at all. Anyone can look up the name James Buchanan Barnes in a file."

Between the couples curled tightly to each other, I spot another suit-and-tie man with an ear piece, a partner (a woman in a white suit) and probably a gun. They must be the agents Captain Rogers was talking about.

"You're a mercenary. You might not kill people but you're loyal to whoever has the deepest pockets."

"I work for myself. Yes, I work for money, but who doesn't? I can say no to a job that doesn't appeal to me." I shrug.

His eyes narrow, "Right, but you've still given me no real reason to trust you. Why should I believe you?

I don't answer.

"Did you come alone?"

This time I open my mouth to say something but before the words can even form on my lips, he interrupts; saying something that makes my stomach churn.

"Who are the other agents here?"

"Other agents?"

"Yeah, the ones circling the upper floors. They're probably bad news, Hydra maybe, judging by the uniforms. And there are the others, the ones near the exits, the man at the bar and the two watching us from the edge of the dance floor."

I shake my head. "I don't know. I thought the ones watching us were your agents. You said you only brought two."

"Those aren't my men."

"And they aren't mine either."

I follow Steve's eye gaze to the balconies above that snakes around the upper part of walls the whole way round, meeting at the mouth of a red-carpeted staircase. I spot another pair of agents, doing circuits of the upper level, like vultures circling their prey.

"How did you plan on getting out of here tonight?" Steve utters eyes transfixed above.

"The front door?"

I realise how stupid it sounds out loud. Knowingly walking into a trap and thinking that I would be free to walk out of the front door. No back-up plan.

"Captain Rogers?"

He doesn't answer.

"Steve."

We've stopped dancing. He turns his back to me.

"Then finish it."

"What?" he asks, but his attention is elsewhere.

"Because I'm with you."

His body goes rigid.

"I'm with you," I repeat, although there is no mistaking that Rogers has heard me. "You need a reason to trust me. Well he told me to tell you that and said, if ever I got into trouble and he wasn't there to help, that I should find you. He said that you would be careful not to trust me."

I can see the muscles twitch as he flexes his jaw. I feel like I'm burning up under his gaze.

I push on, "James said you'd need a reason and told me to say I'm with you,"

"Till the end of the line."