Apologies for the wait on this chapter! It's been my longest between updates, I know. Halloween week got busy for me and my friend/beta was visiting so neither of us had time to work on it.
Thank you to Ashley (jomosfamilyjewels) for beta work.
Also special thank you/shout out to reader hafizatulsufiahyaacob on Ao3 who helped me out with some information on Islam. I'm sure I still got things wrong and you were kind to answer my questions! Thanks!
A few more random notes at the end...but enjoy the chapter!
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Clint busied himself with pre flight checks while Bucky double-checked the arms he was bringing on board for the thousandth time. Travelling by commercial airline wasn't an option. He technically wasn't an American citizen because he technically wasn't even a living person. James Buchanan Barnes died in action during World War II. The man that existed now didn't belong to any country.
Besides not having a valid ID or passport, the small armory that he'd packed for the short trip wasn't exactly something the TSA would allow anyways.
He had his SIG on him at all times, along with his Gerber blade concealed and ready to pull at a moment's notice. The Intratec and his thigh holsters were stashed for the moment. His Skorpion was packed away, too.
Darcy had stopped by that morning to pass along some last minute information and raised an eyebrow at the variety of weapons laid out on the coffee table, waiting to be packed.
"Dude, the machine gun might be a little much, don't you think?"
Bucky didn't think that at all. The more he took into account Darcy's theory about the attack being something more, the more his guard went up.
"Wheels up in ten," Clint reported as Bucky checked his ammunition. The agent paused in front of him on his way from the cockpit and examined the artillery. "Dude, the machine gun may be a little overkill."
There wasn't judgement in the statement, it was simply a joke. He leaned an elbow against the side of the plane. Barton had an easiness that Bucky envied. Even in that easiness, there was tension, not obvious to the naked eye perhaps, but little tics that someone like Bucky-trained to note body language-could observe.
Hawkeye, true to his name and reputation, remained on constant alert. Bucky thought that perhaps the feigned casualness was another aspect that made him so deadly to enemies. It would be easy to underestimate Clint Barton. He was on the shorter side, lean, not muscular like other members of the Avengers team, nor did he possess and special superpowers that the rest of them boasted.
"Where is the rendezvous?" Bucky asked.
"We'll have to hang around for a while, try to stay incognito as possible," Barton paused to give him a once over that said he doubted Bucky's inability to look inconspicuous. "Once I see the dead drop, we'll hang around a bit longer, pick it up then head out."
Bucky nodded. During the briefing, he'd learned that Barton had picked up an anonymous contact who fed him information from an underground network from time to time. The contact was referred to as The Samaritan. Steve explained that the rest of the agency still wasn't sure who the contact was or why they chose to risk their life to feed them info, but Barton trusted whoever it was, and the information proved to be useful time and time again.
"You don't know anything about this guy?"
Barton smirked, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. "Don't be sexist, Barnes. For all you know it could be a woman."
He ignored the jab, standing and follow Barton as he walked toward the cockpit to ready for takeoff. "You don't know?"
"I know that I trust The Samaritan with my life," Clint replied, taking his seat in the pilot chair. Bucky dropped into the seat beside him, tugging out the belts, and strapping himself in. Clint flipped a few switches and relayed with Jarvis to clear for takeoff. "I was given an assignment almost a decade ago: an assassin that needed to be taken out. I was sent to Moscow to hunt down a woman named Tatiana Sokolova."
"Didn't take you for an assassin," Bucky admitted.
Barton gave him a sidelong glance that could have chilled lesser men. "I do what needs to be done."
"So, what do The Samaritan and Tatiana Sokolova have to do with one another?"
"Sokolova was a KGB assassin, one of the best. Second only to one another if you believe in the legend of The Winter Soldier," Barton chuckled. He seemed to think that was funny. "Fury sent me in with half the story. Not his fault, he only knew half the story. The Samaritan dug up the other half. When I met Sokolova in Moscow, her gun pointed at me from across the room, my arrow aimed at her face…I made a different call."
Their bodies shifted in the seats as the jet lifted into the air, soft suctioning and whirring sounds coming from the wheel gear below their feet. Jarvis gave Barton the clear and they zoomed off into the clouds above New York.
"You didn't complete the mission?"
"Fury was pissed as hell, told me to stop bringing home strays," Barton continued. "But he got over it."
Bucky frowned, still confused by the story. It was obvious to him that the name was an alias Barton's target had used. Bucky's handlers had never given him names. His targets had faces, not names. Names meant something. A name meant that it was a person his was killing, not a thing or idea or obstacle. He wasn't sure how long he'd been scowling at the open air out the window when he heard his phone chime. He reached into his jacket pocket and saw a text from Darcy.
Be safe ;)
"How close are we touching down to Berkeley?" Bucky asked, thankful to get his mind away from the dark trail it had begun to follow.
"Close as you want, if we need to change plans."
"Won't that affect the drop?"
Barton shook his head. "Nah, it's a different kind of drop. What's in Berkeley?"
"A lead I need to check out."
"About the attack on Foster?" Bucky nodded and Clint flipped a switch, nodding right back. "Reason enough for me. Berkeley it is."
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After sending a quick text to Bucky, Darcy turned the music in her headphones up, and focused her attention to her laptop. When she was a teenager, her mother used to tell her to "be safe" no matter where she went. Whether it was to school or the mall or her friend's house, her mother would hug her goodbye and wish safety upon her. Darcy always wondered why her mom always did that. What could have happened on a trip to the grocery store that she needed to look out for?
Maybe it was some deep-rooted maternal instinct that knew that one day her only daughter would be living and working for a bunch of superheroes that had her wishing well for her daughter every time she stepped foot out the door. Maybe her mom was stockpiling safety on to her daughter for the moment she would need it.
Darcy made a mental note to call her mother for a catch up soon. Her head bobbed to the beat, her fingers typing, blissfully unaware that she was no longer alone in the lab.
Heels clacked on the linoleum behind her, but she completely missed the sound as she took a sip of her coffee, and her song reached the really good part that had her singing along, fantasizing for just a moment about being a badass rock star like Hayley Williams.
The presence stopped just behind her reading down the brainstorming list that Darcy's was currently working on, instead of continuing to research cosmic events cited in the Peotic Edda.
"Why are you writing a 'Reasons to Kill Jane' list?"
Darcy yelped and whirled around, nearly spilling coffee all over the steel table. As soon as she saw Jane, she wanted to smack her.
"Damn! It is way too early in the morning to be giving me a coronary!" Darcy said, hand to her chest. Her heart was beating a million times a minute.
"Why are you making a 'Kill Jane' list?"
"Why are you wearing heels?" Darcy turned her eyes toward the floor and the black stilettos covering her boss' feet.
"Stop changing the subject."
"Seriously, you never wear heels," she hopped off the stool, and moved her hand between them, comparing their heights. "No fair you have a whole two inches on me now!"
"Darcy…" Jane crossed her arms and tapped her heeled toe, tilting her head toward the computer screen.
Darcy sighed. "It's not a 'Kill Jane' list, it's a 'Reasons to Kill Jane' list."
"Is working for me that bad that you're contemplating murder now?"
"It's not for me, it's for whoever was making a threat on your life," Darcy explained, filling Jane in on her theory that the attack at Berkley might have been a little more complicated than religious protest.
Jane nodded, reading over the list. This was one of the things that Darcy loved about Jane. She never doubted or discarded any theory, no matter how crazy, until there was evidence to prove otherwise. It was sort of a reverse Occam's Razor. Jane's Pillow, it could be called. No, that didn't sound very good. What was the opposite of a razor?
"I don't think 'eating all the pop-tarts' would be on a bad guy list of reasons to kill me."
Darcy scoffed. "It would be on my list."
Jane rolled her eyes and headed to her office, leaving Darcy to concentrate on her list and researching theories.
She kept coming back to Jane's work.
Darcy was a firm believer that in every lie, there was an ounce of truth. Out of everything, the idea that someone would want to attack Jane based on her work, seemed valid.
She shut her eyes and concentrated on recreating the memory of the lab at Berkeley in her mind. The event was foggy, at best. She remembered Dr. Hodges strategically placing Jane in the room, always putting himself between her and where the blast originated. His billion apologies. The professor was a reluctant assassin.
She opened her eyes and let out a frustrated sigh, her head sinking into her hands.
These were all things she knew already. There wasn't any new information to be formed. Even Bucky told her the same thing when she stopped by his apartment that morning to discuss their mystery.
"Doll, you're just talking yourself more into this theory at this point," he said, looking her in the eye. He had such honest eyes. With eyes like that she sometimes wondered how he ever became the world's most infamous assassin. "Relax. Let's wait until we know what's to be found in California."
Darcy wasn't great at waiting. She glanced at the clock. The quinjet left an hour ago. Bucky wouldn't land for another three and then she had no idea how long it would be until he'd be able to break away from his actual assignment and chase her lead.
A minute ticked over on the clock.
"Waiting sucks," she said out loud to no one at all, then she remembered, "Jane! You never told me why you're wearing heels!"
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Convenience was on Bucky's side. Barton landed the jet in a remote space a half hour from their rendezvous, which was twenty minutes from Berkeley. They rode a couple of motorcycles into the city. Both men changed into civilian clothes, Bucky in a long sleeve shirt and leather jacket, ball cap tipped over his face. His metal hand concealed by leather gloves.
To any outsider, they looked like nothing more than a pair of friends, out for a ride on their bikes and enjoying the Autumn weather.
Clint led him to a diner and said they'd be waiting there until it was time for the drop. A waitress in a blue dress sat them at a booth. Barton ordered a coffee and a stack of pancakes. Bucky glanced at the time. It was still morning for the west coast, but back east it was nearly lunch.
"How long until the drop?" Bucky inquired.
Barton shrugged. "The time changes all the time. I'll know it when I see it."
None of Barton's methods made any damn sense to him. He shifted against the vinyl.
"If you're anxious, you should go check out that lead you mentioned," Barton suggested.
That was a surprise. It was the first time anyone suggested Bucky go anywhere alone.
"You tryin' to get rid of me?"
"Yeah, I am," Barton admitted. "I know Rogers wants you out and about to see how you do, but I usually go on these drops alone. I like to play this close to the vest, ya see?"
"Sure," Bucky replied with a nod. "I'll head out, be back in a couple of hours."
"Sounds good," Clint replied, dumping a ton of sugar into his black coffee and stirring it around.
Bucky was good at being invisible, even when it was midmorning, on a cloudless day. Getting into the professor's office wasn't difficult. Most of the students lingering around campus didn't pay him much attention or avoided even looking at him.
He heard Darcy's voice in his head.
The hobo look probably helps.
Inside the office, he clicked on the tiny com in his ear and dialed his favorite, snarky girl.
"It's about time," Darcy answered after the first ring. "I'm dying of boredom. Are you in?"
"I'm in," he replied, looking over Hodges' office.
It was small and cramped, on the opposite side of campus where he had blown up the lab. The walls were lined with shelves and books, there was a metal filing cabinet in the window. Of course he had a small desk sandwiched in the middle of everything, computer, note papers, pens. A star chart hung on the wall to his right, next to a coat rack.
Bucky moved like a cat, slipping through the tiny space, eyes scanning for anything that sent up a red flag.
"How was the flight? Did Clint talk your ear off about the finer intricacies of archaic weapons?"
"As much as I love to chat with you, doll, this is more of a silent operation."
"Right, right. Totally professional," she whispered over the line and Bucky's lip twitched. "Check your email, I sent you a list of things to look for."
He slipped his phone from his pocket and thumbed the screen. Bucky could admit he was a little out of his element. Detective work wasn't his strong suit. His espionage training had been relegated to finding people to kill them, not solving mysteries.
"I did some research and made a list of stuff to be on the lookout for."
Bucky reading through the list, realizing it was a collection of objects typical to the professor's religion. There was a prayer mat in the corner of the room. Bucky recalled the student Darcy had emailed with mentioning the professor breaking class for prayer times.
Bucky checked the list again. On the desk was a string of green beads, that he took for the prayer beads on her list.
Along the walls were shelves lined with books. Bucky spotted a copy of the Quran, as well as other books that referenced scientific teachings and Islam. He dragged his eyes along the titles. There was a book on Tajwid and some related to Fiqh. There were also many western titles, textbooks, and a few fiction titles. They all seemed like typical books any scientist might own and want close by for reference.
"Did Doctor Foster ever publish any books?"
"Jane? No. But she didn't actually start getting any respect from fellow eggheads until a couple of years ago."
Bucky nodded coming to the last book. "I'm ticking off a lot of thing things on your list, but it doesn't prove a whole lot, except that he's definitely not Catholic."
Darcy cursed and Bucky envisioned her scrunching her face in frustration. He heard microwave buttons beep on her end of the line. "Maybe there's something in his desk. A hidden flash drive or something with a secret message on it."
"I think you've been watchin' too many films."
"It's worth a shot."
Bucky looked over at the desk. It was fairly organized, a few reminder post-its hanging around, a desk calendar marking important dates to remember. Doctor Foster's lecture was noted and nothing after that, which was suspicious no matter which way the story went.
He yanked open a desk drawer and found a small voice recorder. He clicked it on and listened to the professor mumble equations. He fast-forwarded and heard more notes, this time for a personal lecture.
His eyes fell on the laptop, sitting forgotten on the desk.
"Find anything?"
"Maybe," Bucky muttered. He unshouldered the backpack he'd brought and packed the laptop inside, along with the voice recorded and the most recent tapes.
"You don't want to tell me what it is?"
Bucky's mouth twitched. "I'll let you be surprised."
She groaned and he bit down a laugh, letting the conversation end.
He made his way down the hallway, walking along with other students, pulling his cap down to hide his face without being obvious.
"Hey."
The voice was addressing him. He turned and saw a young guy staring back at him. He instantly recognized the student as the barista who Darcy had chided him for intimidating. The kid still wore black, but traded an apron for a beat up looking backpack covered in boy scout looking patches.
The boy's eyes flicked up to the cap on Bucky's head. "Dodgers fan? Me too. I used to chat baseball after class with Professor Hodges a couple semesters ago."
Bucky's eyes narrowed at the referenced name. He looked left and right, noticing the hallway beginning to empty. No witnesses, no one paying attention.
Bucky snatched the boy's arm and dragged him into the restroom just next to them.
The boy's fear spiked, Bucky could feel it as he tossed him against the wall and held him there with a glare. "Who are you?"
"I'm a barista," the kid said. "M-my name is Evan. I just remembered you being with those women that were attacked."
The kid didn't look like an agent. He wasn't armed, that was obvious. He was thin a rail, too. No muscle.
"What do you want?"
"There were men here two days later. In suits. I remembered them from before, they got coffee from me."
"How did you remember them?" Bucky squeezed his metal fingers into the boy's bicep, causing him to wince in pain.
"I'm a fiction writing major, ow!" He squirmed under Bucky's forceful grip. "I'm writing a spy novel, I watched the two of them for inspiration. They were here before and after the bombing-Jesus, let up man!"
Bucky didn't give an inch, still suspicious of too much coincidence. Still he didn't have much of a choice but to consider the story as possibly true. If it was true, it was possibly another piece to the puzzle that Darcy was attempting to construct.
Bucky let the boy barista named Evan go with a rough shove into the tile. He gripped his arm, rubbing at the pain.
"Get out of here," Bucky ordered.
Evan didn't need to be told twice, the regret at approaching Bucky obvious in his hasty retreat. The door swung open and closed and he disappeared, leaving Bucky alone in what turned out to be the ladies' toilets.
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By the time Bucky made it back to Clint, the drop had been picked up, which left him still curious about The Samaritan.
"Find what you need?" Barton asked him when he got back to the booth.
"We'll see."
Barton picked up the check, winked at their waitress, and they headed out back to the jet.
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The sun was disappearing into the Manhattan sky as Steve walked onto the landing platform to meet the quinjet. Barton had commed him an hour out, telling him that they needed to see one another right away.
He was worried at first, thinking something had gone wrong with Bucky, that he'd gone off or been spotted. Clint reassured him Bucky was fine, but the news from the Samaritan wasn't something they wanted to sit on, even for a moment.
He knew he needed to relax and stop worrying so much about his friend. He was like a mother hen and he knew that it was annoying the hell out of Bucky. But Steve couldn't help himself. He hoped for the best. He wanted to be fighting next to his best friend again. He wanted him to be a part of taking Hydra down for good. Bucky deserved that after all the hell he'd been through because of them.
Steve knew he was doing better mentally. The first weeks had been tough. He'd almost slipped away again, out of nowhere, and Steve was left reeling as to what had happened to cause such an abrupt spiral. That was the week Bucky almost ran again. He'd muttered things about being dangerous, a ticking time bomb, unworthy of trust. But then something clicked and he started getting help.
The crawl to health happened steadily, but the past few weeks had shown him to be more like his old self. Whatever breakthrough had happened for Bucky, Steve was thankful. There was still darkness surrounding him but Steve caught little glimpses of light, if he was paying attention.
"Here for the landing party?"
Natasha appeared beside him, her red hair like fire in the sunset light, the wind from the jet fanning it out into soft flames licking out around her leather clad shoulders.
He mentally cursed that Romanoff was there to hear the news along with him. He trusted her, but she still had her secrets. He'd have preferred to debrief her with the others later, but he should have known better. There weren't any secrets between Hawkeye and Black Widow. Steve was willing to bet that Barton contacted Natasha before he'd even spoken to him.
"Any idea what Barton found?" Steve asked.
"Not a clue," she replied. Steve noticed the tension in her stance and the pronounced crease across her brow.
Clint had news and it wasn't going to be good.
The rear door of the quinjet dropped as soon as the wheels locked and Bucky stomped down the gangway in his black boots. Steve tried to appear at ease, giving Bucky a nod.
"How was California?"
"Not so bad," Bucky answered, looking from him to Natasha and back again. "Everything okay?"
"Just wanted to make sure you didn't murder Barton," Natasha smirked and breezed past them into the plane.
Steve gritted his teeth. "I wish she wouldn't say things like that."
"It's a valid concern," Bucky added, shifted the bag on his shoulder. Steve did a double take at the unexpected sarcasm from his usually taciturn best friend. Bucky ignored it. "Debrief later? I've got something to take care of."
"Yeah, I'll catch up later."
Bucky walked off and Steve turned to join Natasha and Clint inside the jet.
Clint was still in the pilot seat, Natasha leaning back against the controls, facing him with her arms crossed. They were doing that silent conversation thing that they always do.
"Evening, Cap," Clint greeted, spinning the chair to face him.
"Report?"
"That's the problem," Clint said. "Samaritan didn't have anything new for me this time around."
"So why'd he call you out just to tell you nothing?" Steve asked.
"Because by telling me nothing, Samaritan told me something."
Steve's gaze flicked up to Natasha. She rolled her eyes and shook her head at Hawkeye's antics.
"He didn't have anything? He just wasted our time?"
Barton shook his head. "Nope. The Samaritan didn't have anything because there wasn't anything to be found. Hydra has gone silent. Dead as a doornail silent."
"You think they found out about our contact?"
"If they found out they would either be using it against us or the Samaritan would be dead," said Natasha.
It was true enough. If Hydra knew about The Samaritan, they could certainly use it to their advantage, to plant bad information or maybe see what information they could glean for themselves.
"How do we know he isn't already dead? How can you be sure it was the actual Samaritan you were talking to?"
Clint dipped his chin to his chest, fixing Steve with the most serious look he'd ever seen from the man. "Trust me, if I wasn't communicating with the real Samaritan, I would know."
The look-not the words-made Steve believe him.
"They've gone silent, that doesn't mean they're down for the count."
"No," Natasha agreed. "It means it's the calm before the storm."
Steve took a deep breath, letting that sink in. He didn't know what to expect from Hydra. As promised, they kept coming and coming. Cut off one head and another grows. He was getting to the point where he didn't know if he would ever stop them. Not that he wouldn't die trying.
"There is one more thing," Clint said, standing and pulling something from his back pocket. It was a thumb drive. "The Samaritan didn't have anything new but there was something old. For your eyes only."
He pressed it into Steve's palm.
"What's this?"
"Everything you never wanted to know about The Winter Soldier."
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"I need a code name for next time," Darcy complained. "All the cool kid spies have a code name."
Bucky lifted a brow in her direction, while he unpacked the guns from his bag. "You're a spy now?"
"Maybe? Agent Lewis could have a nice ring to it? It sounds better than 'intern' or 'assistant' or 'six credits short of graduating with a degree,'" Darcy shrugged. "It would be more impressive for my parents to talk about at parties." Darcy put a hand to her chest, affecting what Bucky assumed were mannerisms typical of her mother. "'Oh, our Darcy? She's a secret agent.'"
Bucky clicked his teeth. "Sorry to say, doll. But the problem with that plan is the secret part."
"Doll! That could be my code name!"
Darcy smiled to herself, continuing to type into the unfamiliar laptop in front of her.
She didn't expect Bucky to steal an entire laptop when he scoped out Professor Hodges' office, but she worked with what he gave her. Which wasn't turning out to be much. The school issued computer was clean of anything incriminating, although his personal search history and bookmarks added to the fact that he definitely wasn't a religious zealot.
Bucky finished his weapons check and slid into the bar stool beside her. His kitchen counter was covered in take away Chinese boxes, neither of them feeling up for cooking. Darcy pushed at her glasses and sighed.
"There was one other thing," Bucky told her.
"What?"
"That barista we spoke to at Berkeley-"
"The one you were trying to kill with your death glare?"
"He saw me and stopped me in the hall," Bucky said, explained their brief encounter. He questioned whether or not to tell her that detail, knowing exactly how she would react and still unsure about the meaning of the information himself.
"Who do you think the men were?"
"C.I.A. or S.H.E.I.L.D agents?"
Darcy shook her head. "But if they were there before and after, they were probably connected to the people that did it."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying it's possible that Professor Hodges' was somehow blackmailed into trying to blow up Jane," Darcy said. "And I know what you're thinking, that I'm too trusting for believing this rando guy's information-" Bucky ducked his head and smirked because that was exactly what he'd been thinking. "But even if the barista is actually some enemy secret agent, wouldn't it be weird to have him planted there to throw you off in the first place? It's not like they would know you were coming."
Bucky had to admit she had a point. It suddenly seemed odd to him that the agency hadn't been all over investigating the attack. Or maybe they were and no one was aware. He'd have to ask Steve.
"Why can't secret files be labeled on the desktop?" Darcy complained.
Bucky let out a small snicker beside her, his arm brushing hers. "Again, that would defeat the secret part."
Darcy dropped her head into her hand and glanced over at him from behind her frames. "Maybe there's something hidden that I can't access?"
"Not really my area of expertise," Bucky admitted. "Ask Romanoff."
"Yeah…" Darcy sighed again. She looked at the tapes and records spread over the counter, trailing her fingers along each plastic case. "I guess I have a lot of listening to do."
"Not your area of expertise," Bucky quipped. Darcy scoffed and punched him in his metal arm. "Do you really think you'll find something?"
Darcy didn't know. Maybe she was on a wild goose chase. Maybe she was making connections that weren't there. Erik had taught her about apophenia once—in her early intern days. It was the tendency to discern meaningful connections from random data.
"Maybe I'm crazy. I just can't shake the feeling…" she turned her head toward him again. "Do you think I'm crazy?"
He smirked. "You're asking me?"
That cheeky little tilt of his lips was going to be the death of her. It was amazing how often it was making an appearance these days, taunting her, combined with the dust of scruff on his jaw, and the way his long hair would brush his cheeks. Darcy didn't know what she would do if she ever witnessed a full on, mega watt, Bucky Barnes smile. She wasn't ready for that.
These were very bad thoughts to be having, thoughts that weren't going to lead to anything good. Ogling Thor or crushing on random agents were one thing…but this was Bucky. Subjectively, she could appreciate the danger-man hotness that encompassed James Buchanan Barnes, but objectively she could never, never let it go beyond that.
She was crushing.
Bad.
It was problematic. And would only lead to a world of disappointment if she didn't get a hold of herself and her feelings.
Fortunately, Bucky's phone went off, interrupting her internal moral debate.
"Steve," Bucky said, reading his phone. "Gotta debrief." He reached over and closed the laptop and pulled it away from her. She made a noise of protest. "I'll take this to Romanoff and ask about hacking some data. You concentrate on those tapes. Don't eat all the chow mein before I get back."
"That was one time!" Darcy protested as Bucky slipped out his front door.
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-So the canon compliancy is a little wonky in this fic. It's post TWS, but the fall of SHEILD hasn't happened the way it did there. Spoiler alert, I'll probably be working some version of it into this fic.
-Darcy and Jane are working on things in regards to Ragnarok. I'll probably keep dropping hints, though that isn't the main focus in this fic. In my head canon, Thor is cagey about it, but Jane suspects, so she's having Darcy do the research to find out what they should prepare for.
-I can't help myself from overdeveloping head canons for fics: see above lol
-I feel like I had more to say but I can't remember...
Anyways, best wishes to all of you! I hope you're well. Thanks for reading/commenting. You guys are awesome!
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