...Bucky...
I spend days mulling over how I can get in touch with Steve and the others. The fact that Reed specifically gave Kit Tony's profile has made me grow paranoid. Worry over the idea that he is not only listeningto us in the office and in our drab apartment, but potentially everywhere we go, gnaws at my stomach.
I haven't reached out to Steve in almost three weeks. I can only imagine that the Avengers are getting antsy. If they don't get an update from us soon, they may try to contact us in a more direct way.
It is this thought that pulls me out of bed tonight. I told Kit goodnight and waited until her breathing became slow and deep. One perk to having such an open space is that I have grown accustom to her sleep pattern. I wait ten minutes after she settles and then I throw my blanket off my legs and hurry out the door. The air outside our apartment now comes with a cold bite to it. With the chill comes the reminder that fall is fast approaching and warm summer days will be behind us.
I walk briskly through the city, keeping one eye out for any potential tails. I haven't been this paranoid about being out in public since hiding in Romania and finding out Zemo framed me. After walking to the other side of the city, I stop at a rare payphone and dial the only number etched permanently into my brain.
"Hello?" Steve's familiar voice picks up. I speak quickly.
"When we were kids, right before I left for the war. We were supposed to go dancing with a couple of dames. But you broke off before we had the chance. That was the last time I saw you before you rescued me in Austria. Do you ever wish you could go back?" I hang up the phone, cradling it in its receiver and pray that Steve picks up on the meaning behind the call.
...Kit...
Bucky leaves the apartment just after midnight, after he thinks I've fallen asleep. I listen to his footsteps as they echo down our long hallway before I crawl out of bed. I vaguely wonder where he's going, but I don't dwell on it for too long. We have both been increasingly antsy over the last few days, it wasn't easy being handed that file with Tony's picture in it. It felt almost like a threat from Keiran; like perhaps he knows we are working against him instead of with him. I dress quickly and make my way out of the apartment and towards RCP.
The building is kind of eery at night. The wide open lobby is completely empty and dark when I push through the doors. My key card activates the elevator and gives me access to the top floors. I am acutely aware of the cameras pointing at me from basically all angles as I march through the hallway. Please let the night guard be on lunch, I think. A silent prayer sent out to whoever will listen.
I bypass my office and instead stop at a door just down the hall from mine. The office that used to belong to Michael Teller now belongs to his baby brother. But, Michael was always fond of me and had given me a key to the door. I pull the key out of my pocket and slide it into the door handle, when it turns and I hear the lock release, I let out a sigh of relief. A part of me thought that surely Keiran would change the locks. But why bother when the previous owner is long gone?
Somehow John has managed to make this space seem cold and unwelcoming even when he isn't here. I cross the room and begin opening up his drawers.
"There has to be something we can use here," I mutter to no one. Most of the drawers are empty, except for a few random receipts and reminders here and there. I skim through the bookshelf, picking up books at random and testing their weight for hidden objects. After scouring every inch of the room for half an hour I give up. There's nothing useful in here and I actually doubt John spends much time in here. John's office is the only place I can think of that may contain some information about the missing politicians.
Well. John's office and one other place. I sigh heavily, not wanting to go up to the floor above me but I feel like I have no choice. Dragging my feet slightly, I go back to the elevator and press the button for the top floor.
I have never possessed a key to this particular door, so I bend down and pull out every great thief's best friend. A couple of bobby pins to pop the lock. I haven't done this in so long that my hands are clumsy as I try to manuever them into the handle. Finally, after fumbling around for what feels like forever, I hear the lock flip and I stand up triumphantly.
"Gotcha!" I whisper yell as I take a moment to appreciate my handiwork. A moment too long. While I was admiring my lock picking skills, I missed the soft sounds of footsteps making their way towards me, muffled by the plush carpet underfoot. The only thing I register is the pinch of a needle plunging into the soft skin of my neck and feeling ice cold as whatever was in the needle is pushed into my veins.
"Gotcha," a male voice says softly. It is the last thing I hear before I lose consciousness.
...Bucky...
I walk from the payphone to my destination. Too paranoid that any cab I get into will be tailed by one of Reed's men. By the time I arrive in Queens, the sun is beginning to kiss the horizon. I pass people that are barely awake, making their way to work with bleary eyes. Leaving them behind I head for an abandoned ampitheater and spot a nondescript van in the distance. Steve not only picked up on the message I was trying to convey, but he also beat me to the meeting spot.
He steps out of the van and I have to stifle a laugh when I get a good look at him. "What?" He asks as I draw near and pull him into a hug.
"All the money in the world and your idea of incognito is a baseball hat and some sunglasses?" I shake my head and we make our way towards the stage. "It's so bizarre seeing this place so empty." Steve nods absently.
"Why here?"
"Keiran has us tapped everywhere. I figured you're probably the only person alive that remembers me and you coming here for the Stark Expo. And I needed to talk to you without anyone listening in."
"What's going on, Buck?" His voice is calm, but his face betrays his worries. He always gets that overly concerned look on his face whenever he is about to go into hero mode. Furrowed brows and pinched lips.
"We haven't made any progress, and I think Reed is onto us. We can't talk freely anywhere, so it's not like we can even... make a plan. For anything." I run my hands through my hair in frustration. "He's just having us beat the shit out of people. We have a new assignment. And it isn't just to rough this person up. Steve, he wants us to kill Tony."
"Tony?"
"Yeah. Says he doesn't like how much media influence Tony has. Something about ruining his chances of getting the senate seat."
"Tony doesn't mess with politics." Steve's frown deepens.
"I don't think it's about Stark at all, Steve. I think he knows. And if he knows..." I trail off, leaving the implications hanging in the air.
"Okay... we'll go back to the drawing board. Maybe it's time to just go straight for Reed with everything we have. No more beating around the bush." He rubs the back of his neck; stressed, and begins talking to himself, as if working through the situation on his own. "Tony isn't going to be happy about that. He's trying his best to keep out of the limelight right now... but, if it isn't safe to do this anymore, than there's nothing else we can do. I'm gonna call it. Where's Kit? You guys need to come back to the compound and we'll start planning a different approach."
"She's at home," I say, nodding back in the direction I came from. "Sleeping."
Steve throws an arm over my shoulder and steers me towards his van. "Alright, let's go get her. How's Brooklyn been treating you?" He jokes.
"That apartment is a dump. Tony couldn't have splurged just a little bit for a place with doors?" With a loud laugh, Steve slaps my shoulder and we climb into the van and head back to get Kit.