Thanks for the reviews guys! I've actually had this chapter done for a few days, was going to wait and see if more reviews came in, but I'm really excited about this one and next chapter. Hope you all like it! I highly encourage feedback, though I may not get a chance to post the next chapter until next week, life's busy for the next few days.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of this except for the plot and Alana
"Artists like cats; soldiers like dogs" –Unknown
Ten months later – November 2014
Location: Classified
A shrill whistle pierced the cool November air, shattering the silence and disturbing the birds that had been nesting in the nearby fir trees; sending them up into flight. A pair of brown leather boots crunched over the ground as they tread over the thin layer of frost that stuck to the grass. It would all be melted by mid-morning, but for now, without the sun's full rays to warm the small crystals, it remained.
Dull, brown eyes narrowed slightly, studying the vast landscape before them. A moment later, a single breath came out in a white puff as the individual let out a slightly annoyed sigh. A second later, the whistle sounded again, this time followed by a commanding shout.
"Delta!"
Her eyes saw the movement in the tall grasses instantly, her lips pulling up slightly as the grasses swayed apart, the furry bundle bounding towards her.
Alana chuckled at the sixteen month old Doberman pinscher that was suddenly at her side. She patted the dog's head gently, "Good boy."
The two continued on their walk, the dog staying glued to his master's side, glancing up at her every few moments, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. He looked so damn happy all the time, and that was what she liked most about her companion.
He made her happy.
It was something she didn't get to feel that often anymore. Alana didn't really feel anything, having mastered the art of shutting off her mind and conscience only a month into her new life role.
It only took five months for her to single handedly bring down almost all of S.H.I.E.L.D. In a way, she found it pathetic on their part. She'd destroyed four of their five main bases worldwide, assassinated twelve of their top agents, and killed over two thousand employees.
The statistics weren't even the worst part of it all. Sometimes, in the midst of a mission, Alana enjoyed herself.
It was sick and twisted, so when she realized it for the first time, she ignored it.
Alana was really good at ignoring herself. She was an even better assassin.
Better than she'd ever been. Hydra had increased her training. Made it harder, taught her new skills. Skills she had never thought would be beneficial to someone in her work.
She was untraceable when she infiltrated buildings, invisible on the cameras, and no one had been able to track her down.
They had tried though.
The Avengers had tried, were still trying. Not that they knew it was her, obviously, they still thought she was dead.
One of the Hydra operatives had told her she had a lovely funeral.
Alana had visited her own grave once and if she was able to feel anything at all, she would have been touched by the flowers that had been left by someone.
The feeling of a cool tongue against her hand brought Alana's mind back to the present, and she noticed she'd stopped walking. Delta sat by her side, his ears perked upwards and eyes focused solely on Alana's face.
"You ready to head home?" She asked, grinning again as the dog's butt wiggled on the ground, his docked tail wagging back and forth. Alana jerked her head in the direction of her bungalow, "Let's go."
Delta sprang up, jumping up and down excitedly as he ran out a few feet ahead of her. If she wanted, Alana could match the dog stride for stride in a race back. She chose not to though, wanting to delay getting back to the little house as long as possible. She was due for another assignment, and she had a feeling it would come in today.
Almost an hour later the house came into view. Nestled at the end of a gravel road, it was on the outskirts of the main town. Not many people wandered out this far, which was why Hydra put her here. She could easily get to the base while also remaining isolated, which is how they wanted her to stay.
Stone foundation and walls, the single story building was only four rooms. Alana didn't need much more than that anyways, so she was content with it. As content as someone in her situation could be, at least.
Delta waited patiently as Alana opened the front door, the dog entering the house after his owner and trotting over to his water dish that sat in the kitchen. She shrugged off her jacket, hanging it over the peg by the door and slipping off her boots before making her way further into the house. Alana pressed the power button on the stereo system as she passed by, the sounds of The Beatles filling the air as she made her way towards her bedroom.
Every time she walked into her room, her eyes would find the single picture that stood framed by her bedside. She had tried to put it away, but she always brought it back out in the end. Besides, she had told herself, she could indulge herself in one little reminder of her past life. To help her stay grounded, to keep her from going completely off the deep end.
That's why she kept the picture of Bucky there. It wasn't in very good condition – the frame at least – but it was something. It was the photo she had shown Tommy over a year ago, when he'd asked who James was.
Bucky's face was visible, but a whole corner of the glass that protected the image was covered in dried blood. She had returned to her house after a mission five months ago bleeding profusely, her side having been shot open during her escape.
Alana had held her organs inside with her hand, and then had grabbed the picture as she passed by, collapsing onto the bathroom floor before dragging herself into the shower. She didn't need hospitals really, she healed much faster than she had before Hydra ran all their new tests on her.
She sighed, making her way over to her bed, which was only a mattress on the floor. Atop the thin brown comforter lay a single white envelope. The outside read 'Asset 87' in neat, black cursive writing.
They didn't call her by name. Alana hadn't heard someone say her name in almost a year.
Requests, demands, and orders. That's all she heard. She only spoke when spoken too, only had asked a handful of questions unrelated to missions.
Those questions had gotten her Delta.
When she spoke to civilians she used a different name.
Renata was what the townspeople called her. She only had to speak to a few of them. The shopkeeper when she bought supplies, some elderly people she passed on the streets, and Artem. Artem was an older man – a World War II veteran – who took care of Delta while she was away. He was quiet and polite, didn't ask too many questions, so he never questioned her as to where she disappeared to when she dropped off the dog.
Alana wordlessly picked up the envelope, ripping it open and opening up the paper inside. It was a new assignment. She would be helping improve a security detail for a Hydra laboratory a few hours away from her home. Her eyes scanned over the words, her mind already planning out the best ways to protect the building.
They had reason to suspect attack due to their research, from what? The mission paper didn't tell her, she knew not to ask.
Minutes later and she had a duffle bag open on the floor as she haphazardly threw clothes into it. Delta watched sadly from the doorway, the dog resting his chin atop his paws as he lay on the floor. His normally perked ears drooped down.
He knew she was leaving. When Alana looked over at him, she frowned. She squatted down on the balls of her feet, resting her elbows on her knees. "I'm sorry you can't come too." She told the dog, whose eyes lifted slightly as she spoke to him. Alana wiggled her fingers and Delta pushed himself up, trotting over to her and pressing his boxy head against her chest. "That's a good boy." She stroked his short fur, grinning as he licked her face once. "I'll be back before you know it," She promised, the dog looking at her as though he understood each word, "I'll only be in-" She sat back on her butt, reaching over her shoulder to grab the mission paper off her bedside table.
Her eyes raked over it again, the location of the base hidden within the text. Alana tapped the paper when she found it, "Sokovia."
Two months later – January, 2015
Location: Brooklyn, New York
Bucky's gloved fingers drummed against the handlebars of his motorcycle as he waited at the intersection of Kings and Ditmas for the traffic light to change from red to green. A car eased to a stop in the lane beside him, making Bucky glance over.
The driver of the Toyota gave him a strange look – most likely because he rode a motorcycle in January – but Bucky ignored it, turning his gaze back ahead of him to the road. He had tried driving cars, S.H.I.E.L.D had offered to buy him one, but Bucky strongly preferred the bike. He felt too confined in a car. He liked to feel the wind around him, even if it was almost ten degrees outside.
Bucky stayed pretty warm in just a sweater and leather jacket. A hat and wool mask kept his face from getting frostbite.
He had learned the hard way that he could still get that.
The light blinked from red to green, and Bucky picked his foot up off the plowed asphalt and set off towards his destination. The motorcycle rumbled underneath him, the wheels getting good traction despite the snow they rolled over.
Tony had come up with them after Bucky insisted he still ride the bike, even when the roads were snow-covered.
In the past year the two had become friends.
Bucky had become friends with most of the Avengers. They had welcomed him in after Alana's death, everyone too in shock to worry about if he was a threat or not. Mourning had brought them all closer together.
Steve practically had his best friend back. Bucky had regained almost all his old memories over the past year. He and Steve were often assigned missions together as a tag team. They worked together flawlessly, just like they had in World War II.
Bucky turned the bike down a narrow alleyway, the snow covering the white parking lines. He knew where they were, and parked the bike in its usual spot before heading to the buildings side door. The metal door creaked as it closed behind him, and Bucky took the hat and mask off his head, tousling his black hair before making his way up the concrete stairwell.
His footsteps echoed and he fished his cell phone out of his pocket as he climbed up the flights of stairs. Bucky flipped it open, his lips pulling to the side slightly at the background picture he'd never had the courage to change.
Alana's face starred back at him, her eyes as piercing as ever as she seemingly looked into his soul. Her hair was short, her lips pulled upwards, almost into a smile.
Bucky let out a breath. It had been over a year since he got the news. He felt his mood slipping downwards and quickly flipped his phone shut, focusing on climbing the last flight of stairs to the fourth floor.
Once there he pushed open the next door, stepping into the hallway and making his way to the third door on the left. He reached his metal hand into his jacket pocket, digging out the key ring that held the key to apartment before unlocking the door and letting himself inside.
His nose scrunched up as a distinctly burnt smell wafted over from the kitchen. Bucky pulled off his boots and jacket, leaving them in their proper places by the door before making his way further into the apartment.
"You couldn't cook seventy years ago, what makes you think you can now?" Bucky rounded the corner to find Steve scrapping blackened food into the garbage can. The blonde looked up at Bucky's voice, shrugging his shoulders.
"I'll get it eventually." He said, watching as Bucky sat down on one of the bar stools, his brown eyes watching the results of Steve's failed cooking fall into the trash. He didn't understand how cooking could be so hard for Steve.
"It was a super soldier serum, not a super chef serum." Steve's answering look that he threw Bucky told his friend that he didn't find the joke funny. Bucky put his hands up in mock defense, "Okay, sorry, you just keep on ruining our cookware. I'll open some windows." He pushed himself off the stool, striding over to the living room and pushing two of the windows open a crack in order to let out the burnt stench. "How'd you not set off the smoke alarms?"
Steve stepped off the trashcan peddle, letting the lid fall down before going over to the sink, "I turned them off." He said simply, turning on the faucet to rinse out the frying pan. After a second, he held it up for Bucky to see.
Bucky shook his head, "Toss it." He told Steve, seeing the burn marks that wouldn't be coming out. "Can we please just let me do all the cooking?"
"Pizza gets pretty boring after a week when you're sent out."
"Mix it up, get some different toppings. You're not allergic to everything anymore."
"No, but-"
Bucky snapped his flesh fingers together, pointing at the super soldier, "Invite Barton over, he loves pizza."
"Barton's usual on call."
"Then Tony."
"I still don't get how you guys are friends."
"Sorry, he just likes me more than you." Steve didn't reply to that, "If you told me you were cooking I would'a brought you my leftovers."
"How'd that go?" Steve asked, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the doorframe to the living room, watching as Bucky sat down a fabric armchair. "Dinner." He clarified.
"Steak was great." Bucky joked, his lips turning up into his smirk. A stern look from Steve had it falling a second later. It was something else Bucky had started doing, hiding behind jokes and sarcasm.
"You know what I mean."
Bucky let out a breath, his shoulders sagging down. "It was good. Tommy told me to tell you he says hi." Steve nodded his head.
"How's he handling everything?"
"How'd you think?" Bucky challenged, rolling his eyes a moment later, "He fuckin' misses her. Obviously, but he's gettin' better. I told yah he packed up her apartment three months ago, yeah?"
"You did."
"Said he hadn't heard from HQ on if he could keep it or not." Bucky leaned back in the chair, propping his feet on top of the oak coffee table. Steve's face took on a thoughtful expression.
"S.H.I.E.L.D doesn't have enough staff to deal with it." He pointed out, "There're only a few teams left, the Playground's still standing."
"Jarvis find anything in the latest footage?" Bucky asked, "Where'd they hit?"
"Safe house in Holland. Killed nine agents, stole some files off their hardware."
"They keep the building standing this time?" The Avengers had narrowed it down to one person doing Hydra's work. A specialist that managed to remain undetected. Sometimes they burned the buildings to the ground, other times they left it standing. Bruce Banner had pointed out how all the safe houses were left standing, the major facilities either burned down or an explosion was set off.
Their specialist never cared who got killed in the crossfire.
Steve nodded his head, "Still up. There's a team scanning for prints, maybe they slipped up." Steve looked over Bucky's head, out the window to gaze over Brooklyn.
He liked their apartment. They had been living there for the past ten months together; Steve couldn't stay in his old apartment. Alana had helped him find it, helped him move everything in.
The memories had been too much for him to handle.
Bucky didn't have anywhere to live, and S.H.I.E.L.D didn't want him living by himself just yet. So moving in with Steve had been the best option. Getting a new apartment in their old hometown was just a bonus.
They were both used to the same furniture, so it had an older feel. Nothing too modern, nothing too extravagant. It was simple, and Bucky and Steve liked it.
"What if-" Bucky was cut off by the shrill ringing of Steve's cell phone. The super-soldier lifted his head up more, glancing around in search of the device.
He found it on a shelf near the bookcase, swiping it up and flipping it open without even looking at the number, "Rogers." Bucky watched as Steve frowned, his eyebrows drawing together as the person on the other line spoke quickly. A moment later, the blonde's eyebrows nearly met his hairline. "Really?" He asked incredulously, "Where?" More rushed speaking, too fast and too quiet for Bucky to make out every word. Steve scoffed suddenly, "You're going off a damned hunch?"
"Captain!" Bucky heard that one loud and clear, letting out a laugh that earned him a glare from Steve.
"Sorry, okay. I'll be there." Bucky perked up, Steve glanced at him, "Yeah, he's here." A pause, "I'll let him know."
Steve flipped his phone shut a second later, and for a few moments, he didn't say anything.
"Where's the mission?" Bucky asked, knowing that's what is was.
"Austria. Security camera caught a shot of someone dressed in black just outside the safe house in Holland after everyone was killed. Eighty-seven percent match on the figure in Austria was just confirmed."
"So people travel?" Bucky pointed out, confused as to why this figure match caused so much alarm.
"There's another – a smaller – training facility just outside the capital. They think they're targeting there next. It's our first lead to this bastard we've ever had, they want me in to trail'em and take'em out."
"To kill?"
"Dead or alive, they said I make that call."