Chapter 9

"I knew. Of course I knew."

Steve stared across the narrow hallway, as wary as he was strangely at ease. It was an impossible combination, but one he often found himself in with Nat. She was a paradox in herself. "What?"

"You've been keeping secrets, Steve. For quite some time, if I'm not wrong."

The hallway was empty, possibly the one hallway in the entirety of Central NYPD that wasn't bustling with officers and office men and women and directors that chose now to finally descend from their exalted thrones. Post-mission clean up was a mess, was chaotic, but in that hallway, for that moment, it was just the two of them.

Steve needed that. He needed it dearly.

Leaning back against the wall, Steve folded his arms across his chest. He wasn't entirely sure if it was in defiance or defence. "You've always been a perceptive person, Nat."

Nat shook her head slowly. "Not really. You're just not good at lying."

"A bad actor?"

"Just guileless, I think."

"Is that a good thing?"

Nat raised a single shoulder. "For you or for me?"

Steve lowered his gaze to stare at his boots. He hadn't bothered to change from his combat gear, even hours after the end of the operation. His watch read nearly ten-thirty and something in Steve's chest urged him to leave, to return to his apartment, but…

Not yet. He couldn't just yet.

"What gave me away?" he said quietly.

"I'm your handler, Steve," Nat said, referencing their official positions as she so rarely did that Steve almost forgot sometimes. "It's my job to know. But if I was going to point it out exactly I'd probably say… before you started leaving early."

Steve glanced up at her without raising his head. "Before?"

Nat nodded. "Before Operation Red Room."

"How much before?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly, considering. "To hazard a guess? I noticed a change in you since we first started working with Loki, to be honest. After Dogend Docks."

Steve uttered a short puff of laughter. Nat was so spot on it was uncanny. "I always did think you were the smartest person in all of SHIELD."

"Well, I used to think you were pretty smart, too."

"Used to?"

Nat shrugged again. "That was before you let a criminal escape right before your eyes. An aggressive criminal, at that."

Steve fought the urge to deny it. It was true, Bucky was aggressive, and deadly, and a member of HYDRA, but he also wasn't. He wasn't because he was so much more than that. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Do?"

"Will you tell Fury or the directors?"

Nat's eyebrow twitched. "You honestly expect me to rout you out? Even if you did let the soldier go?"

Steve twitched. He couldn't help himself; mention of the word, of that name, was like a bitter taste lathering his tongue. So, so wrong. For a heartbeat, Steve hated HYDRA with everything that he was. He hated the word 'soldier' that Nat must have overheard from Zola and thence made the connection, hated the circumstances that had forced Bucky to launch himself out of a goddamn window. He even hated Nat for the briefest of seconds simply for considering Bucky as something so loathsome.

"Don't kill me or anything, Steve."

Steve raised his gaze from where he hadn't even realised they'd fallen back to his boots. "What?"

"You've got the murderous glare thing going on."

Swallowing, Steve struggled to compose himself. "I thought you said I didn't glare."

Nat's eyebrow arched slightly once more. "I guess I was wrong. You've got a killer glare."

Taking a deep breath, Steve fought for composure. "What do you want, Nat?"

"What do I want?"

"What do you want me to say? Are you going to turn me over to Fury, even if not the directors? Have me locked up for undermining the sanctity of an officer's code?"

"The sanctity of a code?" Nat smirked with real amusement. "What code would that be, exactly?"

"You know what I mean."

For the third time, Nat shrugged. "That depends. Are you going to rout me out, too?"

Steve blinked. "Rout you out?"

"Yes."

"For what?"

"For shooting a civilian."

Steve had to drag his mind back from where it was thinking of anything but Zola. He shook his head. "He was a hostile criminal."

"A criminal. Not particularly hostile."

"He had a gun."

"We both know he wouldn't have really used it. He'd probably never fired a pistol in his life."

Steve met Nat's eyes stare for stare. "They're kind of different offences we're considering, here."

Nat leant back against the wall. She cocked her head like a curious bird before a hint of a smile touched her lips. "Maybe. But I'm meeting you halfway, Steve."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would you do that?"

"Because I'm your handler. It's what I do." A pause, and then, "And because I'm your friend. That's… what we do."

Unbelievable. Natasha Romanoff truly was unbelievable. Steve knew his own perspective of right and wrong were drastically defined – or had been, at least. He'd even acquired his nickname for the righteousness that seemed so blind-sided to his now-wizened self. Nat wasn't quite as persistent with her stance, or at least not about legalities, but she was still an officer. She still had her morals. Steve had known that; he was just surprised they'd drifted in a slightly different direction to what he'd always assumed.

Shaking his head, Steve dropped his arms from their fold and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "That was quite a performance."

"Hm?" Nat hummed, blinking slowly.

"You attacked me with questions when you already knew you weren't going to turn me over."

"A smart man would have already known I wouldn't."

"I thought we'd established I'm not a smart man."

Nat's smile widened. "Quite."

"So that's it?"

"That's it."

"You're not doing anything?"

"I'm not doing anything. This time."

Steve shook his head. He felt the uncontrollable urge to laugh. Once, not being convicted for a crime would have struck him to his core. Now, however – now he knew better. Crimes were as grey as the people who committed them. "Any more questions, then? Anything you'd like to add?"

"Just one thing," Nat said, and her smile grew a little contemplative. "Bucky."

Steve couldn't help but smile in return. A sad smile, but a smile nonetheless. Even sad, he would always smile thinking of Bucky. Just a little. Just in some way. "Yeah."

"I could swear I've heard that name before."

His smile was torn between vanishing forever and spreading wider. "Most likely."

Nat regarded him, and there was something about her expression, about the intent perceptiveness embedded within, that reminded Steve so much of his Bucky. "He's someone special to you?"

Steve closed his eyes. With a sigh, he rocked his head back against the wall. "Nat, you have no idea."


It wasn't a tidy clean up. The operation of Staten Island was the largest since Ground Base One. Larger than the Red Room and far more successful because they'd acquired Zola. They had an entire warehouse and underground rabbit warren of incriminating rooms. They totalled pounds of heroin, both half-cooked and sale-ready, and in one room every wall was lined with firearms that the bodyguards hadn't been able to access in time for the invasion.

All things told, it was a triumph. It was a success. Still, it didn't feel much like it when Steve raked his fingers through his hair at nine o'clock at night and coaxed himself with the mental mantra, "Just one more page… just one more page…"

But things changed from then on. Change had been catalysed. Just as they had after the Red Room, after Ground Base One, it was as though a giant step had been taken and the fluidity of SHIELDs operations grew more and more practiced. The necessity of their field endeavours became all the more so.

Change arose. Vision's decryptions, Tony's unravelling of complex wording, Nat and Wanda's translations, and the hours spent by everyone else combing through files – it all brought about change. Looking back on it weeks later, Steve almost couldn't believe by how much.

While drug busts were still undertaken – spearheaded by the Asgard Squad – and confiscation of weapons that were found more and more frequently in the barrack-like locations dotted across the entirety of New York City, SHIELD turned its gaze upon HYDRA as a whole. It was their duty. It had always been their duty. HYDRA was their mission. Slowly, slowly, as more information was extracted from infiltrated locations and pieces joined like elements of a puzzle, it started to come together.

Steve learned about the wideness of HYDRA's spread. About their infestation like a termite colony, silently chewing through the foundations of the city and sagging it beneath its own weight for HYDRA's benefit. When the lid was flipped, the mound knocked aside, HYDRA scuttled in every which way. It became Steve's job and the job of everyone else in SHIELD to pin them before they fled too far.

They did. So many, many times. Holding was cluttered beneath the weight of their temporary prisoners.

Steve learned about the history of HYDRA, too. Nothing concrete, a history hinted at through those puzzle pieces that reflected, but weren't quite a part of, an even larger puzzle. Bucky hadn't told Steve all that much about HYDRA and its birth, but his facts aligned. That HYDRA had only been in New York for the past decade or so. That it had dribbled across from Russia, flooding across the sea on an eastbound tide from where it had once originated.

Germany had preceded it, and long ago at that; Prussia it had been at the time. The enormity of it was nigh inconceivable to consider, and even harder to contemplate that SHIELD might be able to stopper their activity all but single-handedly. Steve had thought himself surprised by the reality, but he was far from being alone in his sentiment.

"Wait, so you're telling me –" Tony began.

"Just how far have they spread, then?" Clint asked, voice hushed slightly in very telling awe.

"- that HYDRA is, what, it's –"

"Could they have spread further?" Wanda asked, eyes wide and dark in mixed anger and fear. "Not just from Germany into Russia, but further?"

" – a fucking global organisation? You've gotta be kidding me. So how –"

"From what I can discern," Vision said, and even he was frowning as he navigated through his computer with rapid fingers, "it has indeed. There has been evidence of HYDRA-like operations both north and south-bound."

" – could we actually overwhelm them? Just how big this is -"

"It all fits into place," Nat said, her expression deceptively mild. "The confidential files from HYDRA's inventory suggest numerous criminal organisations of similar resemblance spread predominantly throughout Europe but also across at least half a dozen states in the US."

"- is so unbelievable I don't think that I would – wait." Tony finally cut himself off from where he had been talking to a half-attending Rhodie. He switched his attention to Nat. "Confidential files? Have you been breaching protocol, Romanoff?"

Nat shrugged. "Don't pretend that you haven't as well."

"Yes, but people expect me to. It would be an insult to my skillset to think that I didn't already have access to those files." Tony pointed a finger at Nat with a frown. "You, on the other hand, are supposed to do what you're told."

"And when have I ever done that, Tony?" Nat replied, and Steve had to glance her way. He might have brushed aside her words as a joke, once, but now he wasn't so sure. He was grateful for it, but it was somewhat disconcerting just how readily she'd allowed his slight to pass unnoticed.

But Steve didn't question it. He had a silently acknowledged comrade in Nat, and he wouldn't blow her cover. Especially when it was only his understanding that she knew that was the only thing keeping him from believing Bucky was a figment of his imagination.

Which he didn't. Not really, because Steve couldn't possibly conceive such a thing. That Bucky wasn't real, had never been, was a fallacy…

But with Bucky gone, sometimes it almost felt like it. Like their nights in Steve's apartment were a comforting dream to stave of the chill of loneliness and abandonment, Steve clung to his memories. Bucky had disappeared and Steve hadn't seen a hint of him in weeks. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not; he remembered the bruise Bucky had worn so casually on his cheek after he'd first shown Steve the underground labyrinth, and that hadn't even been visibly his fault. What would happen to him after his 'mission' was declared a failure?

Steve couldn't think about that. He couldn't let himself, just as he didn't let himself wonder if any of the apprehended criminals spoke of Bucky, if Zola blew his cover, if… if…

He couldn't consider that. He wouldn't. Fortunately, he had more than enough on his plate to keep himself distracted, at least in part.

There were the missions. Then follow-ups. Then general duties around the office and the now-increasingly frequent visits from the directors who had apparently deemed SHIELD now worthy of notice.

There were the interrogations that Steve didn't particularly want to watch but accompanied Nat to when she went, or Sam when he needed to get out of the basement, or Wanda when she'd rubbed her head one too many times after hanging up from her latest phone call.

There was the routine of his gym visits, of his trips home to an empty apartment, his return to work the next day because that was simply what he did now. Alone, rarely sleeping more than an hour or two in one bout, but routine.

And there was Loki.

Thor's brother wasn't needed so much anymore. With the expanding wealth of knowledge SHIELD gleaned of HYDRA, the leads they deduced for themselves, the criminals and doctors and assistants and guards that eventually spoke in interrogation or trial, Loki's nibbles weren't needed. He wasn't apprehended alongside the rest of HYDRA, and dribbles of his dangled intelligence grew less and less integral to their exploits. Loki had almost faded off the grid – until he appeared in the middle of Central NYPD.

He was invited. Of course he was invited, because there was no way that he would have gotten in otherwise. Steve wasn't invited himself to the meeting Loki attended with the Asgard Squad and the directors. None of SHIELD's officers were, even if Fury made a point of attending himself.

Steve did see the man when he emerged, however. When Steve and Sam were returning to the basement from the interrogation rooms because Sam claimed he 'needed a break from his computer, Steve. Seriously,' it was to happen across them as they finished their meeting.

At first, Steve didn't know who he was. A tall, lean man with overlong black hair of a distinctly dyed colour contrasting the wan paleness of his skin, he stood in the middle of the Asgard Squad as the squad themselves passed down the hallway in Steve and Sam's direction. Steve halted, Sam pausing at his side, and they watched them approach.

Loki was the one to notice the first.

The man turned pale eyes towards him, and there was something about him – some sharpness of his features, some faint unnaturalness of his smile – that Steve didn't like. Even had he not possessed prior knowledge, Steve fathomed he would have guessed the man had been a member of HYDRA; he carried the aura of deception, a serpentine edge to the corners of his lips as he trained his gaze upon Steve.

Steve didn't speak. He didn't acknowledge the Asgard Squad until they were all but upon them, and when he did it was only because Thor – booming, demanding, big-as-a-bear and just as noticeable Thor – spoke first. "Captain. Falcon. Such happenstance is indeed fortunate." He raised a hand and clapped it upon the HYDRA man's shoulder, rocking him almost off his feet. "This is my brother, Loki. It is he to which we of the Asgard Squad and yourself of SHIELD owe so much."

Loki couldn't have appeared less like Thor if he'd tried. Even the way he shot a sardonic glance Thor's way was so vastly different from the blunt, direct, and open impression Thor himself wore as to be jarring. He made a point of slipping from beneath Thor's heavy hand before turning back towards Steve and Sam. "Captain and the Falcon. My, what interesting names we have."

"Almost as interesting as Loki," Sam said shortly. Steve could feel him tensing at his side.

Loki's lips spread in a smile that was distinctly shark-like. "Indeed."

Shoving aside his awkwardness, an unease that clung to him like a second skin, Steve straightened his back slightly. "Thor's right. We do owe you, Loki. Thank you for your support in our operation."

"Oh," Loki said, arching an eyebrow. His grin remained affixed. "I assure you, the pleasure's all mine."

"Because HYDRA's being demolished?" Sam said, shifting forwards slightly at Steve's side. Steve could actually feel the tension tangibly radiating from him. "Smart of you to get out while you still could."

"Well, I've always been the brains of the family."

"That he has," Thor said, entirely overlooking the underhanded slight as he clasped his hand upon Loki's shoulder once more. "That he has indeed. If you'll excuse us, however, we have a meeting to attend."

"A very important meeting," Loki added, mockery not quite hidden from his tone. Steve didn't miss that each of the squad members behind him tensed just slightly themselves. "If you'll excuse us, gentleman."

Then Loki was slipping from beneath Thor's hand once more to stride between Steve and Sam, continuing down the hallway. The Asgard Squad followed behind him, and Thor's voice, overloud as ever and vibrant in good-humour, rose before they'd disappeared around the distant corner.

"Well," Sam said flatly. "He's creepy."

"That was the impression I was left with, yes," Steve agreed, staring into the emptiness of their passage. It was true; Loki seemed to embody HYDRA in a way that went beyond his actions and simply settled upon his countenance.

"I hope your guy wasn't like him."

Steve glanced towards Sam sharply. "What?"

Sam gestured after Loki with a slight tip of his head. "You'd have more common sense than that, wouldn't you? Didn't hook up with a creepy psycho, right?"

For a brief flicker of a second, Steve felt overwhelmed by anger. Only for a second, however, a moment of irrational hatred towards Sam just as he'd felt to Nat when she'd called Bucky 'the soldier'. Then it faded and he shook his head. "No. He isn't."

"He?" Sam said, but as Steve didn't expand he dropped the train of thought. "He's alright, yeah? You haven't heard much from him from what I've seen. No new intel?"

Steve struggled not to wince, to curse, to scowl at the world and spout objections about unfairness. Bucky hadn't ever believed in fairness in the first place. "He's gone to ground."

Sam stared at him for a moment before nodding slowly. "Probably a good thing."

"Probably," Steve echoed, and that was the end of that conversation.

Steve missed Bucky. He missed him sorely in a different way to how he had as a child who'd lost their best friend. It was more than just the sex. It was more even than the unawareness of whether Bucky was actually was safe and… and alright. Steve simply wanted to be around him; to touch him, to feel the weight of him pressed against his fingertips and the warmth of skin contrasting the eternal coldness of cybernetic metal.

No one in SHIELD would understand that. Even Nat, knowing that Steve had let Bucky go, that he was special to him, wouldn't understand. She didn't even know the half of it. No one knew of the history they shared, recent or that of the long past. Steve ached to simply talk to someone about him, to revisit the idea that he was actually real.

Opportunity came in the form of Anna Erskine.

Steve's aunt had aged well. Still plump, still homely, she swept into Central NYPD of an unexpected morning with the scent of slightly burnt cookies a perfume surrounding her. No one questioned her entrance as she passed through the entrance hall with a smile and a cheery wave, nor as she descended the elevator to the SHIELD basement and greeted everyone within in a bright announcement of her presence. Anna didn't abide the kind of privacy that SHIELD instilled; such rules simply didn't affect her. Even Fury didn't bat an eyelid at her arrivals anymore.

Steve had barely risen from the seat at his desk before he was engulfed in an embrace that still managed to squeeze the breath from him. Smiling, because Anna always induced a certain degree of joy even in the darkest days, he dropped his chin briefly atop her greyed head and squeezed her back. No one teased Steve for his aunt's arrival. Everyone loved Anna in their own way.

"It's been far too long since you've visited, Steve," Anna said, finally drawing away. She beamed up at him with her wide smile that erased the wrinkles around her eyes and lining her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," Steve said, gesturing to his chair in invitation as he propped himself against the edge of his desk. "I've been busy with work."

"I assumed so," Anna said, nodding understandingly. "Between you and Abraham, I feel as though my entire life revolves around the fact that yours both revolve around work."

"Uncle Abraham's been busy?"

"Working round the clock," Anna said with a sigh, folding her hands atop her basket of burnt baked goods. "Some days I think he'll never retire. He just loves it far too much."

Steve could understand that. He couldn't ever imagine ever retiring either. He'd be another Fury, he thought, ageing but still maintaining his vitality for his work, despite his balding head and deteriorating eyesight. Even older than Fury, perhaps – Steve considered he'd likely be an officer until he died.

"You must be lonely," Steve said. "How have you been, Auntie?"

That was all the invitation that Anna needed. Gifting Steve with another warm smile, she leaped into an animated reiteration of her typical week – her book club, her cooking group, her Wednesday tea-and-biscuit meetings with her age-old school friends. Steve let her speak; he had work to do, it was true, but it was nice to simply see her, to hear about something other than HYDRA and the latest stories of drug deals and speculations of HYDRA's involvement in those dealings.

Nice. Removed.

"… we're going to go to the art museum next Tuesday, which should be exciting, I think," Anna was saying.

Steve, drawing his attention from where it had only half drifted elsewhere – Anna could run like a steam train when she got onto a particular subject – he smiled again. "That sounds like fun."

"It should be," Anna agreed, nodding enthusiastically. Then she paused. Squinting up at Steve slightly, she pursed her lips. "But what about you, Steve? How have you been?"

"Other than swamped beneath work?" Steve said with a hint of resignation.

"You look worn through. Are you getting enough sleep?"

"I'm fine, Auntie."

"You haven't been unwell?"

"No, I'm fine," Steve held out a hand in offering as he knew Anna always liked to do, simply to be comforted by contact. "I told you, I did my time being sick as a kid. I promised never again."

"Well, I don't think that's how it works," Anna said, patting his hand fondly, "but I'll believe you this time."

"Thanks."

"But?"

Steve stared at her questioningly. "Sorry?"

"But. What's on your mind, dear? Something is making you unwell, even if it's not a sickness."

Steve uttered a mental sigh. Was he that obvious? Was it truly so apparent how much Steve wouldn't admit he was hurting for Bucky's absence? How much it scared him? He could barely admit it to himself, because to do so would be to validate the possibility that something could have happened.

"It's nothing," Steve said quietly. "Just…"

"Just?"

This time, Steve sighed aloud. Abruptly, he didn't care for silences. He didn't care that his colleagues dotted the room, even if he knew they were all turning a deaf ear upon his conversation with Anna. He longed, he needed, and Anna was just the person to help him.

"Auntie, do you remember my old friend Bucky?"

Steve needed to talk. He needed someone to listen. He needed to remember Bucky without the weight of HYDRA hanging over the both of them. And Anna seemed to recognise that, even without an explanation for why.

She smiled, patting his hand gently once more before squeezing it with her surprisingly strong fingers. "Of course I do, dear. Tell me all about it."


Steve's steps pounded the concrete floor, echoing off empty walls and into empty rooms. His breath came heavily, his heartbeat thudding in his ears, but not with frustration this time. Resignation. Exasperation.

Again? It had happened again?

"Pull back, Rogers."

Steve ignored Nat's voice in his ear. Skidding to a stop in the dim hallway before the only door visible, he thrust his shoulder into the solid wood of it. Once. Twice. It folded beneath the battering force, splintering, and he burst through to find –

Nothing. It was empty but for a table, a chair seated at an angle as though the sitter hadn't bothered replacing it properly before leaving. The darkness of the underground room was made even more so than in the hallway.

"You've got to be kidding me," Steve muttered to himself.

"You the same?" Sam said, the same exasperation touching his own tone. "I got nothing."

"We're done for the night, boys," Nat said. "There's no one here."

Steve grunted, turned on his heel, and started out the door once more. He was running before his heavy boots even struck the concrete floor of the hallway.

Again. Again it had happened, that they'd arrived at a HYDRA base to find nothing. The directions were all clear and HYDRA should have been there, but they weren't. They weren't because, in all likelihood, they'd fled. It wouldn't be the first time and it likely wouldn't be the last. Steve had hounded HYDRA's tail for months, for years, and only recently had success been a commonality rather than an impossibility. That HYDRA had fled? Once it would have been a taunt, spitting in the face of SHIELD and the police force for their feeble attempts at apprehension. Now Steve was left with a very different impression from their actions:

They'd fled. Actually fled, because SHIELD was one-upping them time and time again. It was as simple as that. Sometimes, Steve wondered just how many more pits of snakes there were to unearth, especially when so many bases had already been overturned and dozens of HYDRA members forced behind bars. Where the residents of that particular bunker had disappeared to was a mystery, but…

Resignation. Exasperation. Not frustration, because frustration would suggest the HYDRA had enough strength, retaliated profoundly enough, that anger was warranted. They didn't. Not anymore. Sometimes Steve wondered if they really were overwhelming them.

It seemed an impossible feat yet so tantalisingly close.

Shouldering through another door, Steve burst into a stairwell and, leaping two, three, four steps at a time, descended to the lower storey. Into another room – empty – around another corner and into deeper gloom illuminated only with thin, guttering fluorescence. Past another room – empty, a seat abandoned, a mug overturned on the table – and onwards.

"Steve, enough. They're not here and that's not a bad thing."

"I'm just checking, Nat," Steve puffed between steps. He stuck his head into another room, surprisingly unlocked, and unsurprisingly found nothing. He pushed himself from the doorframe and down the hallway at a run once more. "There might be something –"

"It doesn't matter. We don't need the lead."

"It was a dribble anyway, Steve," Sam added to Nat's words.

"Officers Marwick and Li have already left. We're done here."

Steve stumbled a step for a second before righting himself and, shoving his way into the stairwell once more, the final stairwell, began his descent. "They left without –"

"Without us, yes." Nat's curtness bespoke her disapproval of such behaviour. "And unfortunately that means we need to withdraw too. Steve?"

"Just one more," Steve said, starting down the hallway beneath its own thinly guttering light. Skewed shadows leaped across the walls. "I've just got one more floor."

"I'll go and get him," Sam said with a sigh. "Hold tight, Nat. We'll be there in a few."

Steve clenched his jaw but made no reply to Sam's words, even if that frustrated him a little. Even if he hated being treated like a dog with a bone. He ignored his friends and continued. Room, after room, after room.

Nothing. There was nothing left, but Steve still had to check.

He ground to a halt at the final door, heavy breaths not solely a product of exertion. Jimmying the handle, he found it open and, with a pronounced push, stepped inside.

Empty. It was empty, and expectedly so. Empty, except for…

Sam caught up with him in barely a minute. He mustn't have been far away, had perhaps even expected he would need to drag Steve from the scene. Steve heard his rapid footsteps on the unyielding floors as he approached but didn't glance his way as he felt him enter the room. He couldn't quite bring himself to drag his gaze from the wall.

"You sure like to make a man run," Sam said, slowing as he stepped to Steve's side. "Couldn't have set up shop a few floors – aw, you've gotta be shitting me."

Steve agreed. He'd been of much the same mind as Sam when he'd noticed the smear of red painting the wall, the HYDRA symbol of skull and curling tentacles in sharp relief. That was a taunt, even if the fleeing of the culprits was genuine. Steve had grown to hate that symbol.

But he couldn't quite. Not at that moment. Not when, scrawled beneath in the same smears of red just visible in the feeble light of the underground base, the words left for him were like a soothing balm.

"See you next time."

A taunt, too. Likely perceived as much by Sam, because it was. But Steve recognised the handwriting. Even in paint, even upon a wall in poor lighting, he recognised it. And he couldn't help but smile just a little even if Sam would likely think him slipping into insanity for it.

It wasn't much, was barely anything, and far beneath Bucky's actual presence, but it was something. For Steve, that something was infinitely better than nothing.

Next time, Buck.


HYDRA was slowly losing their heads. Their evidence grew less and less pronounced.

Weeks turned into months. Winter into summer and then back again. So much had changed – in the city, in SHIELD, in HYDRA.

But more than that, Bucky disappeared. Just like that, Steve didn't see him again – not once since the operation on Staten Island when he'd dived through the window to escape. One way or another, Bucky always seemed to be leaving Steve through a window, and even if the markings on the walls of a basement promised his continued survival, it wasn't enough to only know.

But it was a price to pay. To overwhelm HYDRA, that was the price. Steve only selfishly wished it wasn't so high.

Berlin was oddly beautiful at night. Many cities were, Steve had grown to realise, but for some reason he hadn't thought it would be. It was a clean city, he'd found. Comfortable, even, in a way that was entirely different from New York City. There was a spread of diversity in structure and people, and the tourist accommodations presented themselves in more than just sleeping arrangements.

"Germany has the largest populous in the EU, you know," Nat said as they were given the go to take the trip. She spoke as though the fact was something that Steve needed to know and smirked as she spoke, as though she expected him to object. "Just thought it was an interesting titbit of information to be aware of. Gross wages in Berlin are on the rise, too."

"The number of IT start-up companies in Berlin are the largest in all of Germany," Vision added, jumping onto Nat's statistical bandwagon.

"It's a pretty popular university city, too," Clint called needlessly from across the room. "Just for your information. Pretty top notch, and most popular in Germany, or so I've heard. Second most popular city for young adults to live in, apparently."

"It's got an air pollution program, you know," Bruce contributed from his office, not even bothering to stick his head through the doorway. "A leader in carbon dioxide reduction."

"Why the fuck do all of you know this?" Sam said, speaking the sentiment that Steve suppressed with difficulty.

"It's only right to look into a country and city before taking a trip there yourself," Rhodie said. He shook his head as he spoke, however, as though agreeing with Sam's words. "And seeing as a good chunk of our team's taking the time to go…"

"Three of us," Sam pointed out. "There's three of us going. And not any of you, I might add." He swept a finger around the lounging members of the SHIELD basement.

"Selfish of you," Tony said, launching a pen in Sam's direction that Sam expertly dodged. "Germany's ranked the fourth best country in the world, did you know? I'm jealous of you assholes going without me."

"Says the man who could jump in his private jet and fly there at any time he wished," Wanda said with a roll of her eyes.

"Technically, it's my father's jet," Tony said, pointing another pen at Wanda. "So no, I couldn't, actually. He's an asshole, too. But I'd be more than happy to pay for your flight if you wished to accompany me, Ms Red Witch."

"Are you flirting with me, Tony?" Wanda said, arching an eyebrow. "Because you know I'll steal you for all you're worth."

"Which is the very reason I would never even consider tempting fate," he said. "But no, actually, I'm just being nice."

"Nice?" Rhodie said, smiling slowly.

"Nice."

"Nice?" Sam mimicked.

Tony threw his second pen.

The fact of the matter was that Steve didn't have a problem with the country itself. He'd never been before, but it wasn't for any sort of dislike. Abraham always spoke of his home country fondly, and had asked Steve to accompany him on his sporadic returns on frequent occasions, but Steve had always declined. First it had been because of school, then the academy, then work had gotten in the way. Not even when Anna sighed her regret would he bend his neck.

When work called, however, Steve stepped up to the party. His neck was already bent for him.

It was with trepidation that he'd stepped from the plane into the busy airport, however. A persistent frown had plagued him as he'd taken the cab from that airport through the equally busy streets to their local hotel, and continued to accompany to him when he'd checked into the refined suite that was solely his. Nat's room was stationed on one side of his own and Sam's on the other, but they'd already turned in for the night.

"It's late," Nat said.

"Jetlag can be a real bitch," Sam added, and then they'd disappeared. Tomorrow would be a significant day, after all.

And yet Steve's wariness kept him awake.

It wasn't because of the city, or the people, or because he knew only a smattering of the language that he'd made an effort to pick up over the past months. It wasn't because he felt threatened – because he didn't – or because he hadn't travelled towards another country before – because he had. It lay in the very reason that he, Nat, and Sam were visiting the Landespolizei as representatives of SHIELD. Tomorrow, that very next day, would be a long meeting with the German police force.

HYDRA wasn't dead in New York City. It likely wouldn't die for a long time, much to Steve's regret, even if its appearances were rapidly minimising. But it was never too soon to chase an organisation to its roots.

So Steve went. Under Fury's orders, which he claimed came from the higher-ups but were really simply Fury's orders, Steve came to Berlin. He regretted being away from his home city, but it was necessary. And besides, the main reason he wanted to stay in the city over leaving even briefly, even for work, even to help people because it was the Right Thing To Do, wasn't even there.

Steve hadn't seen Bucky in months. Months. It hurt on a level that Steve hadn't even known was possible.

He wanted to see Bucky again. To really see him, without the weight of HYDRA resting upon them both. He wanted to be able to touch him without hiding it, to kiss him and know that it didn't matter because he could and it wasn't wrong to do so. That it didn't matter who Bucky was or who he worked for, because that they were together was what really mattered

He wanted to see Bucky in the light of day. It had only been the once, just in passing and so briefly months before. Twice, if Steve counted the barest moments in the Staten Island warehouse. Had Steve known just how precious such sightings would be, he would have appreciated them more.

Steve wanted that. He wanted it sorely. Now, however, he would appreciate even the chance to see Bucky at all. To feel him. To touch him and know he was real. There were so many questions he had to ask, far too many than Bucky could ever match himself, and not at all about HYDRA. Not about the missions or about what degree of intel Bucky could provide for him.

Steve wanted to know about Bucky. He wanted to know what had happened to him over the past fourteen years and he wanted to hear it from him rather than cold, heartless files. He wanted to listen as Bucky spoke because he wanted to speak, not because his answers were bartered for, and Steve wanted to be told of every aspect of Bucky that he'd had never seen, never understood, as a child.

He wanted to see Bucky smile. To hear him laugh. It was only more starkly apparent that he'd neither seen nor heard either of that before Bucky had disappeared entirely once more.

But not forever, Steve told himself. It couldn't be forever. Not again. He didn't know where Bucky had gone, but he would find him if he had to. He wouldn't leave it up to chance like they'd been subjected to months – over a year – before. He wouldn't leave it up to necessity, as had been the nature of their rekindled friendship in his childhood hospital. If Steve had to, he'd take to doing the searching all by himself.

Besides, being in SHIELD, he knew a guy or two. One of them would surely have something up their sleeve. As Steve stepped into the refined hotel room, taking in the wide television across from the equally wide bed, the neat pair of nightstands and the counter decked out in microwave, coffee machine, and neatly stacked mugs, he thought of that much. He was constantly thinking of such, even as he poked his head into the adjoining bathroom and flicked a light on to illuminate a spread of glisteningly white tiles and a ridiculously large shower cubicle.

Steve was still lost in thought as a passing moment changed everything.

He didn't believe in miracles. Not of the Godly kind, nor the supernatural. He sometimes believed in coincidence and oftentimes considered fate to be responsible. Which one of these it was that catalysed the beginning of the rest of his life, Steve wasn't sure. All of them, perhaps, or none.

A voice that spoke with casual familiarity as it always did. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were following me."

For a long moment, Steve had to close his eyes. A long, long moment, because if he didn't, he thought he might throw himself across the room and leap at the window. Not that it would matter. Not that it would really matter if he fell through the window, because Bucky would be taken with him.

Steve knew he sat on the windowsill even before he turned. He hadn't needed Bucky to speak to know that was where he would be. He felt him there.

Slowly, in a measured motion, Steve turned from the bathroom. The suite behind him was brightly lit, and so, for perhaps the first time since the streets of New York what seemed so long ago, Steve saw Bucky in the light. In combat gear – always combat gear – of heavy boots and buckles and sheaths, some not quite hidden beneath his clothing. He was actually perched on the windowsill, fingers holding the edge loosely and legs crossed at the ankles. It was exactly the same as every other time Bucky had climbed through Steve's window, except -

This was Berlin.

There were so many questions that Steve should have asked. Bucky was in Berlin which meant that at least part of HYDRA definitely was, too. Who was he working for? What was HYDRA up to? If Steve asked, would Bucky give him a lead?

But Steve didn't think that. He didn't think any of that, couldn't when Bucky stood right before him. The one thing that resounded over and over in his mind drowned out any thoughts of criminals and work: what the hell was Bucky doing in Berlin? Why wasn't he with Steve?

"I'm following you?" Steve said, and was surprised at how casual his voice sounded. He didn't feel casual. His heart was beating faster in his chest than it did on a mission, an imperceptible tremble actually thrumming through his fingers. He desperately wanted to throw himself across the room, but common sense – and the knowledge that he was three stories up from the sidewalk below – gave him pause. He didn't want to hurt Bucky by landing upon him, after all. "I didn't even know where you were."

"Berlin, as it happens," Bucky said. Obviously. Casually. He sounded casual because he likely was.

Steve swallowed. He should say something intelligent, but all that came out was, "I didn't know where you were." It sounded almost like a croak.

Bucky's expression didn't soften. It never quite changed all that much anymore, never into a smile and rarely even into a smirk. Expressionless was what the soldat was, and Steve understood that now, at least in part. It hurt, but he understood it. Truthfully, he was happy just to understand anything.

"Shit went down, Stevie," Bucky said quietly. "Sorry I couldn't call."

"You don't even have my number."

"Not that kind of call, then."

Steve nodded slightly, swallowing the thickness in his throat again. "Sorry I didn't call either."

"You don't have my number."

Steve smiled, but he barely felt it. "Yeah, I don't at that." Shaking his head, he took one step, two steps, towards Bucky. "How did you even know I was here?"

Bucky shrugged. He was staring at Steve with that same unblinking attentiveness he had when Steve had first pulled him into his room. It felt somehow different this time. "HYDRA knows everything in Berlin. They've buried deep after a century or so."

"They do? HYDRA?"

"Well, not HYDRA, exactly. They call themselves something different here. You worked it out yet?"

It was Steve's turn to shrug. "I guess that's why I'm here." Another step, and another, and then he was almost within reaching distance. "What are you here for?"

Bucky's lips quirked just slightly to the side in a downward tug. "You don't want to know, Steve."

I do, Steve thought, even if he considered that perhaps he might not. It was a confounding paradox; Steve wanted to know both because of the Wrongness of what was being done and because it was Bucky, but he also didn't for those exact reasons. The thought was confusing even to himself – Steve hated thinking of Bucky killing people – and so he didn't voice it at all.

Instead, he made a show of peering over Bucky's shoulder. "How did you even get up here, by the way?"

"Climbed your hair, Rapunzel," Bucky replied. "Didn't you hear me calling?"

"I didn't, unfortunately."

"Very unfortunate. It's quite a climb without a rope."

Steve took the remaining step across the distance between then. "That's quite an effort you've made, then," he said quietly, not quite jokingly, as he propped both hands on either side of the window, framing Bucky's perch. It was all he could do not to reach out and grab him just to hold him. How long had it been? How damn long? "Are you coming in? Staying the night?"

Bucky regarded him, his dark eyes so familiar. There was no visible sparkle within his gaze, nothing like he'd worn as a child, but somehow Steve saw it anyway. Bucky didn't need to wear his emotions quite so blatantly anymore for Steve to see them. "Is that an official question?"

Steve chuckled lowly. "What am I up to now?"

"I've lost track."

"No you haven't."

Bucky's lips twitched just slightly. "No, I haven't. You top me by one-hundred and twenty-three."

Steve shook his head. He couldn't help but lean into Bucky until their foreheads were nearly touching. Anything, anything just to feel the heat of him here. There was so much shit going on in the world, so much HYDRA with roots so deeply embedded that Steve didn't think they'd ever be torn loose, but for a brief moment in time, he didn't care.

"That's quite a discrepancy," he murmured, breathing in Bucky's breath as Bucky exhaled.

"It is."

"We'll have to do something about that. But for now," Steve rested a hand upon Bucky's arm, upon one and then the other, feeling the contrast of hardness between each hand. Muscle and metal. Warm and cold. "I think I'll happily bump it up to one-hundred and twenty-four."

"That's your question, then?"

"Yes. Your answer?"

Bucky paused. He contemplated. There was so much between them and Steve saw it all in that moment. He saw the breadth of HYDRA that, though rapidly growing constricted in its reach throughout New York, extended above and beyond, the end not even on the horizon. He saw the unshakeable division between himself and Bucky that couldn't be shed even had they wanted to because Bucky was still a part of HYDRA, Steve still of SHIELD.

He saw the time they'd spent apart. The times Bucky had disappeared and Steve had feared it would be forever. He saw the possibility for it happening all over again, for this wasn't the end. It wasn't the end by half, and they still had so far to go.

But not yet. Bucky wasn't leaving him just yet, and Steve saw the truth of that in the slight tilt of Bucky's head. He saw it in the slight twitch of his lips as the beginning of a smile, a motion so small it was barely visible at all. Not a smirk this time; it was definitely almost a smile.

And he heard it in Bucky's voice when he said, "Yeah. I guess so."

Steve pulled him through the window and into his room.


A/N: So, this is the end! And it was a ridiculously long fic, I must say, that seemed to be over in a remarkably short number of chapters... Suspiciously...
Thank you, dear reader, for reading, and I hope you liked it! Please, please, PLEASE let me know your thoughts with a review - any and everything would be so appreciated. I wanted to give a special thanks to Bo Little for your particularly encouraging, supportive and lovely words. Thank you so, so much!