Surprise early update! I'll be busy this weekend so thought I'd get it out now :)
Reviews
DBZFAN45: It's so fun having the nanotech back! So much good stuff to look forward to, can't wait to share it with you. And here comes Sharon!
May 5, 2024
Airfield outside of Madripoor
"I don't like the idea of you going in alone."
Standing on the runway beside the recently-landed jet, chill night air clinging to his skin, Bucky eyed Meg with concern. She sighed and cocked her head at him, contemplating his words.
"I don't like the idea of you going in with him," she replied, nodding over to Zemo, who stood further down the runway as Sam argued with him about something.
They'd decided that there were too many recognizable faces amongst them for them to go in as a group; especially with he and Meg side by side, there was no way she wouldn't be recognized if she stood next to the Winter Soldier. So the plan was for Bucky, as the Winter Soldier, to go in with Zemo and Sam, while Meg would find her own way into the city through some contacts and connections she knew of, and run pre-surveillance.
Bucky glanced over Meg's shoulder. They'd landed on one of the tiny satellite islands just outside of Buccaneer Bay; these islands made good business out of receiving air traffic and outfitting their rich passengers before transporting them into Madripoor, and Zemo was apparently a known guest.
From his vantage point, Bucky could see Madripoor; it was a little shrouded by mist and clouds, but the island was like a colorful glowing beacon in the darkness, hints of pinks and blues diffusing the mist and glinting on the dark ocean.
Meg frowned at Bucky. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"I don't want to do this," he said grimly. "But I see the sense behind it. The Winter Soldier is still a ghost to most people, I may as well use that to our advantage." He rubbed her arm. "You did something similar in your time heist, didn't you?"
She nodded. She had told him all about the remarkable trip she'd taken to the past, and how she'd pretended to be HYDRA's Wyvern again in 2012, with Steve, when they were trying to retrieve the Mind Stone in Loki's Scepter. "Yes. And it was hard, Bucky, even with Steve at my side. Pretending to be like that… it gets you thinking in old thought patterns."
Ready to comply.
Weapons do not feel.
He frowned. "I can do it. I'm not… I'm not that person anymore."
"Okay. And I'll be there, watching out for you, even if you can't see me. You want out at any point, say the word."
"Which word?" he smiled.
"Hm. Let's go with… cactus."
"Nice."
Down the runway, Sam had wrapped up his argument with Zemo, and they were retrieving a bag from Zemo's butler. Their disguises, no doubt.
Meg glanced down at her phone; no doubt the contact she'd employed, through whom she'd arranged her own disguise and transport. "I should head off now, I need time to change before my boat arrives."
Bucky frowned. "Doll, are you sure-"
"It may have been a while, handsome, but I do know how to create a solid alias." She touched his cheek and winked. "By the time I'm done, not even you should recognize me."
He searched her dark eyes. "I will, though."
"Yeah, you will," she smiled. "Sam won't though."
That made him laugh, and Meg grinned. Then he sighed. "Alright, go. Before I ask you to stay again."
She darted forward to kiss him on the cheek, then turned on her heel, waved once to Sam, and walked into the darkness.
Bucky watched her go and took a deep breath of cold, salty night air, steeling himself.
He thought what he had to do might be easier if she weren't right by his side.
Maggie stood at the rear of a speedboat skimming across the dark surface of Buccaneer Bay, the wind rushing over her with flecks of seaspray, her eyes on Madripoor as it came into view.
Soaring skyscrapers of all designs stretched into the dark of the night, glowing a variety of colors. In the day they looked impressive, she knew from experience, but in the night they became something more. Madripoor was a city made for the nighttime; that's when it truly came alive, with a large majority of its residents partying and doing business until the dawn rose. It was a city of neon blues and greens and pinks reflecting electric off the dark sea. Behind the city, the dark mountains dotted with glowing mansions cut a jagged line across the sky. Hundreds of boats filled the bay; cargo ships and yachts and steamers and dinghies.
Even in the rush of sea air Maggie could smell the city; it had an acidic bite to its aura, like chemicals, mixed with the faintest air of engine exhaust and rotting seaweed.
"We'll be arriving in five minutes, Miss Laudner," called her speedboat captain, a dark-suited Indonesian man who wore sunglasses, even in the darkness.
Maggie smiled. Abigail Laudner, her alias, was the heiress of the fictional Laudner fortune. Her fictional parents had worked hard to keep their fortune built off of illegal digital currencies off the books and off the record, and now as the sole inheritor, Abigail was up for any underhanded scheme, and always up for a party.
And she'd dressed for Madripoor's vibrant underbelly.
They pulled into a dock, which was practically full to bursting with party boats overflowing with dancing, laughing, colorfully dressed Madripoor residents. Many of them glanced the way of the sleek speedboat, recognizing wealth.
Maggie's speedboat captain stepped out first, then offered her a hand onto the dock. She took it, and set one sleek silver heeled foot onto the blue-LED lined dock. Her prosthetic was disguised by a synthetic flesh-simulator (she always had one on her, just in case). She took a few steps, removing the dark silky coat she'd wrapped around herself on the motorboat, and handed it to her captain without looking.
"Very good, Miss Laudner," he said. A group from another recently-disembarked party boat glanced over, and one of them hit her friend's chest and stage-whispered:
"That's that Abigail Laudner, I heard she owns one of the mansions up in the foothills!"
Maggie allowed the corner of her lips to curl. She'd put out a few seeds onto the local social media; it wasn't hard to fake rumors about a D-list underworld celebrity returning to Madripoor for the party scene. She smiled at her captain, tucked a few silvery strands of hair from her wig behind her ear, checked her purse, and then set off down the dock toward the glowing, musical Low Town.
She'd had to become unrecognizable. The silver wig was just the first part of it, slicked back in a cool, manufactured style. The dress now swishing around her ankles was nothing she'd ever worn before; it was a deep black with the faintest suggestion of pinprick sparkles in the fabric, like stars hidden in the night sky. It was sleeveless, with a plunging neckline and back, and high leg slits in the skirt that stretched all the way up to her hip.
Her nanotech would have been visible on her back with the cut of her dress, so she had reformed it into two silver filigree arm bands that wrapped from her elbows to her wrists, almost like bracers. Her shoulders and collarbones were dusted with silver, and she'd gone for an eclectic Madripoor look with her makeup; strange patterned eyeliner, with holographic elements on her eyes and cheekbones. Her lips were pitch black.
Still smiling, Maggie strode into the pulsing heart of Low Town.
Some time later, Bucky, Sam, and Zemo strode across the empty bridge toward the armed escort that would take them into Madripoor. The glowing skyscrapers of the city were growing closer in the distance, their reflections lighting up the sea.
Bucky walked stiffly in the outfit Zemo had brought for him; not his uniform, but one more reminiscent of the Winter Soldier's; a dark leather tactical jacket with gun holsters buckled across it, the left sleeve missing to reveal his black and gold arm.
At least there was no mask.
The outfit seemed to swallow him whole, and he found himself quieter than usual as Zemo explained Sam's alias; Conrad Mack, who apparently wore vibrant suits.
"No matter what happens, we have to stay in character," Zemo said as they approached the sedan waiting for them, surrounded by armed milita on motorbikes. "Our lives depend on it. There's no margin for error." He nodded to the forest of skyscrapers. "High Town's that way. Not a bad place if you want to visit, but Low Town's the other way." They reached the car, and Bucky wordlessly opened the back seat and slid in.
"Let me guess," Sam said, reaching for the other door. "We don't have any friends in High Town."
Zemo shook his head.
At that, the comms in their ears activated and they all heard Maggie's soft voice:
"I'm in position."
Bucky closed his eyes briefly, but otherwise betrayed no emotion. If he had to be the Winter Soldier, he needed to start now.
"How's it looking?" Sam asked, under the guise of fixing his tie. The car took off toward the city.
"The Brass Monkey Saloon's a rough place, but as friendly as I think it's going to get. No one who'd be able to ID Sam or have any special knowledge on the Winter Soldier, as far as I can see." She was whispering. "Full of Russians."
"Sounds like Selby's crowd," Zemo commented.
"See you soon."
Maggie had never thought especially much about Madripoor when she'd been here as the Wyvern, but now, with some freedom and some knowledge of the world, she could appreciate what a unique place it was. She wouldn't call it nice, not by any stretch of the word, but it had character; it was all narrow alleys and bustling squares, with catwalks and thick bundles of cables crisscrossing overhead. Subcultures gathered beneath overpasses and in tunnels underground, every available surface covered in street art and graffiti. It was never quiet either; music seemed to thrum from its very pores. The streets were crowded with people, more diverse and colorful than any city Maggie had visited, save for maybe some she'd been to in space. The styles ranged from alternative to violent to artistic to grungy and what looked like haute couture. Cash and drugs and contraband changed hands in plain view on the streets, militia and others openly carried weapons, street vendors hawked mouth-watering food and moonshine and pills.
Maggie had passed through the gamut of neon signs advertising bars, brothels, and casinos until she'd found the Brass Monkey Saloon, a partially open-air bar with a cooler atmosphere, decorated with monkey skulls and neon-lit aquariums. The men's outfits were drab and dark, the women colorful and adorned.
She'd been there about an hour when she saw them walk in. By this point she had her own booth, surrounded by 'fast friends' she'd attracted in the last hour. They were all drinking vodka she'd paid for, laughing at her jokes.
She'd have noticed Sam, Bucky, and Zemo enter even if she hadn't been waiting for them. The crowd almost instantly sensed their otherness, and soon murmurs and stares spread. People stepped out of their way, eyeing them with suspicion - and some, with anger.
Zemo wore the same fur-lined coat from before, but Sam and Bucky were in their disguises; Sam wore a dark red suit with detailed geometric patterns, and a series of gold necklaces. Bucky… a muscle in Maggie's jaw clenched. It wasn't even really his outfit, a dark leather getup similar to his old tactical uniform. It was the way he walked, the flat way he looked around at the crowd, the way he followed Zemo. Chills tingled up her spine.
"Gotov soblyudat', Zimniy Soldat," [Ready to comply, Winter Soldier] Zemo said audibly as they pushed through the crowd.
Maggie was on the other side of the bar from them, but she heard the words, and the whispers that erupted in their wake.
"Is that the Winter Soldier?"
"I thought he was dead," idly commented one of the men sitting in her booth.
"Has he been reactivated?"
Zemo got to the bar, with Sam and Bucky at his flanks, and Maggie kicked her heels up on her neon-lit table and draped her arms along the back of her booth, watching them out of the corner of her eye. One of her friends poured her another shot and she tossed it back.
Zemo had a short exchange with the grim-faced bartender, and Sam was served a drink with snake entrails in it. Maggie fought not to wince as he drank it. Bucky remained blank-faced and silent through it all, eyes scanning the men in Zemo's immediate vicinity. He hadn't spotted her yet.
A heavy-browed bald man with a beard came over to Zemo, and Maggie didn't quite catch all of what he said, but she heard his unfriendly tone and the words Power Broker, and Zemo's response:
"I have no business with the Power Broker, but if he insists, he can either come and talk to me…" he trailed off, gesturing significantly to Bucky.
Maggie frowned. She'd heard of the Power Broker of Madripoor before, of course. It was frustrating that he seemed to have an issue with Zemo.
"New haircut?" asked the bald man, gazing darkly at Bucky. Bukcy said nothing.
It seemed Zemo had diffused the situation, until… a new man began approaching Zemo, his body language aggressive. No luck on getting a meeting with Selby, then. Maggie tapped a finger on the back of her booth impatiently.
"Zimniy Soldat," Zemo said, turning his back on the man. "Atakovat'."
Maggie went still.
Meg had been right.
At Zemo's command Bucky seized the hand the man had laid on Zemo's shoulder, twisting it and using the grip to force him away, down into a clearing the staring bar crowd had rapidly made. He looked to Zemo just once, for confirmation, then seized the man's elbow with his other arm and snapped it with a swift movement. The crowd cried out in shock, and in another heartbeat Bucky had slammed the man to the floor, breaking his ribs.
He got a glimpse of Zemo's tight smile before the others attacked.
It was easy. He dove straight into his attacks, and he moved like the Winter Soldier; harsh and mechanical, every movement designed to be as devastating as possible. He smashed the jaw of the second man and kicked him in the ribcage, sending him flying into the third one. He could hear the crowd in the bar reacting, gasping and making space, many of them reaching for weapons. Zemo pushed another attacker toward him and Bucky deflected his flashing blade with the metal arm, before downing him in a single punch. Bones shattered and men flew under the force of his attacks as more dove in.
There were no thoughts in his head, aside from a distant sort of horror.
"Didn't take much for him to fall back into form," he heard Zemo murmur to Sam.
Bucky almost hesitated, but then there was just one man left. Bucky seized him by the neck and heaved him up, slamming him onto the bartop, smashing glasses and making the man cry out.
Weapons cocked around the bar, and a stillness fell. Bucky was grimacing with the violence of the fight, teeth bared and his metal hand clenched around the man's throat. He felt Sam's hand land on his arm, holding him back.
"Stay in character or the whole bar turns on us," Zemo whispered, from behind Bucky's other shoulder, then, louder: "Otlichnaya, Soldat." [Well done, Soldier].
And Bucky felt every ounce the Soldier, the black hole of brute force in the center of the room, drawing terror and hatred and awe from his onlookers.
He looked up from the man's red, choking face, and he saw her.
By all rights there was no reason for him to notice her, aside from the fact that her eyes had always drawn his, in a room. She stood at the edge of a booth on the other side of the bar; the people in her booth had stood up and crowded forward to get a look, and she stood a step above them.
She looked like the queen of her own small kingdom, in a plunging black dress that revealed swathes of her skin, accented with silver. She shimmered in the lights.
Bucky felt like he'd had his soul scooped out of his body and then shoved back in, not quite the way it had been before. He still clutched the man loosely around the neck, and everyone was staring at Zemo, and he couldn't take his eyes off her. She stood poised, her dark eyes fixed on his, over her black lips. There was so much there in her gaze, but none of it was blame, or fear. Just her love. Her eyes were brimming with it. And it sent a shock of warmth through him that made him take a shuddering breath.
She inclined her head, just once.
"Selby will see you now," said the alarmed bartender.
"Thank you," Zemo said, as the man under Bucky's hand slowly slid off the bar. Bucky let him go, still unable to tear his eyes off of Meg. He regained his breathing, straightening, as Zemo turned to go.
"You good?" Sam questioned from his left, concern radiating from him.
He finally tore his eyes away from Meg, and glanced at Sam. He gave him a tight nod, then turned to follow Zemo.
Bucky, Sam, and Zemo were led through to the back of the saloon, through a money laundering room to Selby's office. Maggie waited a moment for the bar to return to its usual buzz, then slipped out the back, climbed up a rickety metal fire escape (the high leg slits in her dress allowed her reasonable freedom of movement) and took to the roof.
She covered her eyes with her palm, and a portion of the nanotech winding around her wrist slithered over her hand before reforming as her red-tinted goggles, secure around her head. She blinked, and her HUD flashed up before her. As she picked her way along the roof, it took her only twenty seconds for the hidden cameras and microphones in the Brass Monkey Saloon to be hers; combined with her thermal vision, she could now track Bucky, Sam, and Zemo's progress below her.
She kept half an eye on the dark, precarious surface of the rooves she picked her way across, and the rest of her attention on the hidden camera footage of the scene unfolding in Selby's office.
Selby was a tough looking woman, all sharp smiles and intelligent eyes, wearing a shiny suit as she lounged on a couch. Zemo took a seat opposite her, while Bucky took a defensive stance against the wall, stiff-shouldered, like this was another HYDRA protection mission. Sam stood against the other wall, arms crossed.
Zemo and Shelby exchanged a few words, until he came out and presented the deal: information about the super-soldier serum, in exchange for-
"I give you him," Zemo said, standing and walking over to Bucky. He touched Bucky's arm, like a statue he was presenting. "And the codes to control him, of course." Zemo leaned in close, and grabbed Bucky's chin between two fingers. "He will do anything you want."
Standing ten feet over their heads, Maggie's knuckles went white. She wanted to hurt him, wanted to rip off the fingers he'd touched Bucky with. She knew he was acting, but she - but she -
"Now that's the Zemo I remember," Selby smiled.
She began to talk, giving them a name: Dr Wilfred Nagel, producing super-soldier serum in the Power Broker's employ. Maggie lowered to a crouch, listening closely.
But before they could get a location for Nagel, Sam's phone rang.
"Answer it," Selby commanded.
Glancing at Selby's two bodyguards with rifles, Sam obeyed.
"Hey, um, we need to talk about this situation, it's driving me nuts," came a female voice from Sam's phone. Maggie closed her eyes.
She listened to the rest of the phone call, wincing when the woman - who she guessed was Sam's sister Sarah - asked if he was high, and then started talking about a boat, and something about a bank. Sam tried to play it off until:
"Sam, I'm sorry, let me call you back?"
"Sam?" Selby questioned, her eyebrows rising. "Who's Sam? Kill them!" she ordered her bodyguards.
Almost in the same moment, there was a crash of glass smashing, and Selby went down with a bloody hole opened up in her chest.
A sniper.
A fight broke out below - Sam lunged for the bodyguard covering him, Zemo lurched to his feet, and Bucky swung up his metal hand to block a bullet from the second bodyguard.
"Cactus!" Bucky called over the comms.
"I know!"
Maggie had a split decision to make - the shooter, or the fight below?
She decided on the sniper. With one last glance down - Bucky had already subdued his bodyguard and taken his weapon - she kicked off her shoes, grabbed her skirts out of the way and took off sprinting. She switched her HUD to scan the area, trying to track the trajectory of the shot.
She reached the end of the Brass Monkey Saloon roof and leapt, skirts flying behind her, until she landed with a slight clang on the opposite roof. She didn't break her stride.
As she ran, scaling higher rooftops and leaping down to lower ones as she dashed over the rooves of Low Town, she kept an ear out for the others; they were leaving the saloon, trying to act casual-
Gunfire ripped through the night air. She glanced over her shoulder as she leaped over another alley and saw them: they were in the middle of a crosswalk, and they were surrounded on all sides. Men and women around them were reaching for weapons, checking their phones as if they'd received an instruction of some kind.
Bucky and Sam took off running, and Zemo went another way.
Damn. Maggie cast a glance toward the building her HUD had pinned as the sniper's nest, two blocks away. She glanced back down, and found that Sam and Bucky were running down an alleyway parallel to her rooftop, chased by several militia members on motorbikes. She broke into a run again, keeping pace with them. The silver nanotech armband on her right wrist shivered and reformed, becoming a dark red wrist bracer with an inbuilt energy blaster. She timed her leap to the next building, checking on Bucky and Sam's sprint two stories down, and then as she leaped, she fired a bolt of dark red energy at the first bike.
It collided with the driver's chest and he tumbled backward, his gun skittering away into the darkness. Sam and Bucky glanced up and saw Maggie just as she disappeared onto the next roof in a flash of shimmering skirts. The other two drivers sped up, engines roaring.
Maggie's gaze turned to the sniper's nest ahead, and her stomach flipped over when she saw the barrel of a rifle propped outside a window, pointed straight down at Sam and Bucky. She opened her mouth to call out, but too late - two shots rang out.
She looked down, heart in her mouth, only to find that the sniper had taken out Bucky and Sam's last two followers, who now lay flat on the ground, their motorbike engines dying down.
Maggie paused on the edge of the roof above Bucky and Sam, her eyes wide. The sniper had vanished from the window. She looked down again and found Bucky and Sam looking up at her. She shrugged at them, shaking her head.
Another figure appeared from an adjoining alleyway - Zemo, barely looking out of breath at all. "You seem to have a guardian angel," he said to Sam and Bucky, frowning.
"Well, this is too perfect," came a woman's voice from the base of the building Maggie had been watching. Zemo turned, and all four of them stared as from the darkness emerged a woman holding up a pistol, removing a hood from her head to reveal blonde hair.
"Drop it, Zemo," said Sharon Carter, her gun trained on him.
Bucky and Sam seemed frozen. Maggie jumped down from her rooftop, landing lightly on the ground save for a slight clank where the metal cover of her heelspurs hit the concrete.
"Sharon," she breathed.
"You cost me everything," Sharon said to Zemo, ignoring the rest of them. She looked… hardened, with new lines on her face and a darker set to her gaze.
"Sharon, wait," Sam said, stepping in front of Zemo with his hand out. "Someone recreated the super-soldier serum and Zemo had a lead."
"Well that explains why you guys are here," Sharon said, finally acknowledging them. Her eyes skimmed over Maggie, assessing.
Bucky asked why she was here, and Sharon began to explain her situation - she was hiding here, from the consequences of everything that had gone down with Bucky's escape from the JTTF and the conflict between the Avengers. Bitterness dripped from every word.
"You never reached out," Maggie frowned, still a few yards away from the strange standoff in the middle of the empty alleyway.
"Listen," Bucky cut in. "Sharon, we need your help."
Sharon laughed, a sarcastic and humorless sound.
"Please."
She trailed off into a sigh. "This isn't over," she warned, with a look at Zemo. Then she tipped her head. "I have a place in High Town. You should be safe there for a while."
She turned and walked away without waiting for their response, and with a quick glance at each other, they quickly followed. Sharon led them to a nice dark car waiting for her on one of the main roads in Low Town, with a driver. As they approached, Maggie quickened her step to catch up with Bucky. She squeezed his hand quickly, and he glanced up at her.
Ahead of them, Maggie noticed Sharon eyeing them over her shoulder; she'd seen the touch, but didn't comment.
Maggie eyed Bucky. You okay? She didn't want to say it out loud. She knew Bucky didn't want to have that conversation in front of anyone.
He nodded, slow. Then he raised his eyebrows and took a step back from her, eyeing her and her dress with an expression that could only translate to holy shit. Her mouth quirked into a grin. When they reached the car, he opened the back door for her.
"Damn, Maggie," Sam said, for the first time getting a proper look at her under the street lights. Bucky shot him a dirty look, but Maggie just smiled as she slid into the back seat of the car. "You were running around on those roofs wearing that?"
"I'm a woman of many talents," she sniffed, then wiggled her bare toes. "But I lost my shoes."
Carter brought them to her place in High Town - and it wasn't just a place, it had to be a multi-million location, since she seemed to own an entire eight-floor building on a sleek, well-cultivated street in the metropolitan area of town, among the high rises. The streets were clean and the men guarding the building were much more discreet than the militia downtown, with nice suits and weapons hidden from public sight.
Maggie deviated a little from the path Sharon was leading them through as she explained her business of selling art, gazing curiously at some of the pieces.
"This gallery is specialized in stolen artwork," Zemo said, correcting Sam who'd accused Sharon of selling fakes. "Monet, Van Gogh. Classics."
"It's true," Bucky added. "You know, half the artwork in museums like the Louvre is fake. Real stuff sits in places like this."
Maggie, who'd been inspecting a landscape by Etienne Terrus, looked over and smiled at Bucky. Couldn't resist the art talk, could he. He shot her a wink.
Bucky and Sam sniped back and forth a couple of times, and then they all glanced over when Sharon called:
"Come on, you guys need to change. I'm hosting clients in an hour."
They hurried over to where she was gesturing them to the stairs. When Maggie passed her, Sharon looked her up and down and said:
"You're probably good. I'll lend you some shoes."
Upstairs, Maggie took herself into a nicely outfitted bathroom to clean the dust off her hands and feet, try on the shoes Sharon had given her, and to make sure her outfit was still all in one piece. Sharon's place was very nice, with vaulting ceilings, shiny hardwood floors, and all the finest furniture and luxuries.
Maggie leaned against the marble sink, eyeing herself in the mirror. She touched the dark fabric of her dress, then her silver wig. "What are you doing here, Maggot?" she whispered under her breath. She thought of home: the warm lump of Artemis on the bed, Morgan trudging along a pebble beach in galoshes, Pepper laughing over a glass of wine. Pictures of Tony.
She blew out a breath, feeling the familiar curdling of panic in her stomach, along her skin. She was on the other side of the world, in an outfit she had no business wearing, chasing darkness. If something had happened to her, or to Bucky-
She shook her head, forcing herself to take a deep breath through her nose. You left home, and that was the right decision. This is too, and it doesn't mean that you won't go back.
She looked back up at herself. "I am going back. I'm going to stay." And she didn't have the words to describe what staying meant to her now, but she sensed that something about its meaning had shifted. She straightened, eyeing herself once more.
The plunging lines of her dress, the strength it had revealed in her bare arms, her lifted chin. Her nanotech twisted around her arms in a beautiful twisted design, her black lips and lined dark eyes were striking, and she began to reconsider the way she'd thought of herself these past months: as broken, and reduced, and ordinary.
She had never been so.
Maggie slid her fingers into her hairline and prised away the silver wig which suddenly felt stiff and rigid against her scalp. It came free, releasing her natural dark hair, and she sighed. She left it by the sink and with another deep breath strode out of the bathroom, her new dark red heels peeking out occasionally amongst her swirling black skirt.
She found her way to the main suite Sharon had provided for them, an airy space with windows that overlooked the glowing cityscape of Madripoor. They were all inside; Sharon and Sam were talking about Sharon's chances of coming back home, and Madripoor's extradition policy, while Zemo sampled sips from the whiskey bar, looking right at home.
Bucky was saying nothing and keeping out of it, sitting on the couch with his hands interlinked in his lap, but at the sight of him Maggie stilled in the doorway.
He'd changed out of the Winter Soldier getup Zemo had given him and into a dark, well-fitted suit that he must have gotten from the rack of clothes against the back wall. The suit was all in black, fitted to his arms and chest, and the lapels of the coat gleamed a glossy black. It was a simple design, really, but nothing it did to Maggie was simple.
Bucky looked up at her stare and his brow furrowed. "You okay?" he mouthed. Behind him, Sam was apologizing to Sharon for not calling.
"Yeah," Maggie murmured, nodding as she finally stepped into the room. "I just…" she looked him up and down as she approached. "Damn."
Bucky gestured to himself, a little confused, then looked down at the suit. A moment later he looked up with a wide grin, as if he'd just remembered that he was Bucky Barnes, and he looked damn good in a well-fitted black suit. She grinned back and dropped onto the couch next to him, laying her arm along the back of the couch behind his shoulders.
"You here alone tonight, handsome?" she murmured, still grinning.
"Not anymore, doll," he replied.
Behind them, Sharon shot Sam a hard look. "Look, you know the whole hero thing is a joke, right? I mean, the way you gave up that shield, deep down you must know it's all hypocrisy."
"He knows," Zemo added. "And not so deep down."
"By the way, how is the new Cap?"
Bucky's grin faded and he replied without looking over his shoulder. "Don't get me started."
Sharon scoffed. "Please, you buy into all that stars and stripes bullshit." She circled the couch, hands in her suit trousers pocket. "Before you were his pet psychopath," she gestured to Zemo, "you were Mr America! Cap's best friend." She dropped onto the couch on Bucky's other side with a sarcastic smile.
"Wow," Bucky intoned, then looked to Maggie. "She's kind of awful now."
Maggie frowned. "Sharon, you and I don't know each other. Like, at all, but-"
"Please don't try to reach out to me, Maggie," Sharon laughed. "We don't all have million dollar lawyers and our rich older brother's connections to get us out of trouble."
Maggie reared back a little at the bite in her words, and she felt Bucky stiffen next to her. She took a deep breath to avoid the harsh things she wanted to say in return, and settled on: "You make fun of them for believing in heroes," she nodded to Bucky and Sam. "But you believed too. Hell, you were one."
"More fool me," Sharon replied, the look in her eyes unchanging.
Sam cut in, getting them back on track talking about Karli Morgenthau, and the issue of the serum.
"We got a name," Bucky added. "Wilfred Nagel."
Sharon paused a moment, then stood and headed for the whiskey bar. "Nagel works for the Power Broker."
"We need your help, Sharon," Sam urged. "I can get your name cleared."
She looked back with an arched brow. "You haggling with my life?"
"Not like that."
"I don't buy that. You pretending like you can clear my name."
Sitting on the other couch now, Sam leaned forward, hands pressed together. "Okay, maybe it is hypocrisy. Maybe you're right, what happened to you." Sam stood and approached her, his face open. "But I'm willing to try if you are." He gestured back to Maggie. "You saw the Wyvern trial, they found her not guilty. They also cleared the bionic staring machine, and he's killed almost everyone he's met."
"I heard that," Bucky muttered.
Sam persisted, and Sharon was resistant until he offered her a deal: you help us out, and I get your name cleared.
"And I do know a few million dollar lawyers," Maggie added, matching Sharon's sarcasm.
Finally, Sharon blew out a breath and shook his hand. "Well, I sell to some pretty connected people. Lay low, blend in, enjoy the party." She made her way to the stairs. "Try to stay outta trouble, I'll see what I can find."
Maggie and Bucky traded a glance.
"Trouble," Zemo smiled, once she'd left.
Sam sighed, and turned to face Maggie and Bucky. "Well, I think that's all the assurance we're going to get." He ran a hand over the back of his head. "And I need a drink. You guys coming?"
Bucky glanced at Maggie. "Been a while since we've been to a party."
The four of them descended the stairs a few minutes later to find that the illicit art gallery that took up the whole ground floor of Sharon's complex had been transformed into… a club. The art remained protected behind glass as at least a hundred people in suits and dresses ranging from formal to club-wear crowded the dance floor, dancing and drinking and laughing under the flashing lights. Champagne flutes gleamed in upraised hands. Deep bassy music throbbed through the walls, the floor, and drowned out most conversation. A few security guards lined the wall, discreet in their dark suits.
Maggie and the trio of men emerged behind the bar, where a host of busy bartenders were serving the crowd pressing around them.
"Just that way, sirs and madam," said one of the nicely-dressed bartenders, gesturing to a small swinging door at the side of the bar.
A few steps ahead, Zemo rubbed his hands together, smiling as he surveyed the scene. Sam circled, taking it all in with an awed look, and Maggie felt Bucky press closer to her side. Across the room, she could see Sharon with a pair of older-looking people in nice clothes; potential art buyers by the look of them. They swiped through images of the art on offer on a tablet, while Sharon murmured to them, looking suave in a dark suit.
"Never seen an art show like this before," Sam muttered as they made their way out from behind the bar.
"You clearly have not been to the right art shows," Zemo said, taking a champagne flute that a bartender had just poured as they made their way out onto the floor. The DJ booth was at the other end of the room.
Maggie's eyes widened as they forged their way into the mix of the crowd; the people around her were jumping, swaying, waving their hands in the air. She bumped into a woman with her eyes closed and her head tilted back, smiling at the roof. Some of the crowd were admiring the art at the edges of the room, smiling and chatting, while others had thrown themselves into the vibrant dance floor.
Zemo peeled off toward the art, his expression intrigued, and Maggie and Bucky ended up walking through the crowd a little behind Sam, taking in the strobing, multicolored lights and the array of similarly multicolored people enjoying this strange celebration of art.
"Just like old times," Maggie murmured to Bucky, her lips practically against his ear so he could hear her. The lights and the bass in her bones reminded her of another, much less expensive club, many years ago.
He smiled and ducked his mouth to her ear. "Just don't run away to the bathroom this time."
They let it wash over them, the music and the voices of the crowd and the play of lights and darkness in the crowded space. They saw Zemo dancing at one point, fist bumping like a proper European, and accepted drinks from a passing waiter.
The press of the crowd ended up pushing them into one of the less-crowded wings full of art, where people in colored suits and glittering dresses sipped champagne, discussing stolen Picassos. Nodding his head slightly to the music, Bucky put his arm around Maggie's waist and they surveyed the art, moving from a gold-framed landscape to a portrait displayed in a glowing glass case. Maggie didn't let herself overthink it; she let her mind quiet and allowed herself to feel. Bucky smiled, and neither of them mentioned that day in the art gallery, when he'd told her to stop thinking so much, but they were both remembering.
Minutes later that was where Sharon found them. "Hey," she called, and Bucky and Maggie looked over to see that she had Zemo and Sam as well, Zemo still sipping his champagne. They converged in the dim blue aquarium-like light of the art wing.
"I found Nagel," Sharon murmured, her eyes serious. "But he won't be at this location until the morning. You can stay the night here, those suites upstairs will fit you all. Just be ready to leave at dawn."
Sam nodded. "Thank you, Sharon."
"Don't thank me yet," she said, then looked over her shoulder. "I've got more buyers, I've got to go. Don't get into trouble."
Once she'd left, Zemo raised his eyebrows at Sam, Bucky, and Maggie. "Excellent. I've always hated leaving a party early." And with that he vanished into the crowd.
Just the three of them remaining, Sam sighed. "He's enjoying this too much." His head swivelled, taking in the finely-dressed people around them and the prominently displayed art. "It is fancy, though."
Bucky's hand smoothed over Maggie's back, thumb just brushing where her dress gave way to skin, and he lowered his head to murmur in her ear again: "Want to dance?"
She turned her head to look at him, a little surprised. They'd danced at home, to his record player and songs on the radio, plenty of times. But it had been years since they'd done so in public, and Maggie had just thought that… well, it was something they didn't do anymore. Up until now they'd just been walking through the crowd as observers.
A smile crept across her face. "I do." She took his hand and tugged, pulling him past the art and back onto the dancefloor.
This was no place for swing dancing or anything slow, but they didn't embarrass themselves. As she had in the first club they'd visited, years ago, Maggie followed the lead of the people around her, jumping to the beat of the music and twisting her arms, always keeping at least one hand on Bucky's arm. The dancefloor was a living organism; raised arms and moving bodies, shifting and swaying, drinks in hands.
Blues, purples, reds and oranges blinked in and out over them, flickering and arcing, then falling into a warm darkness. Bucky and Maggie drank and danced, and he occasionally turned her in a spin to make her laugh. He was a flirt when he danced, his hands sure and his movements restrained, yet sinuous. The air smelled of liquor and perfume and sweat. Their bodies moved closer, in unison as they'd always been. Unlike the last time they'd danced in a club together, Maggie wasn't afraid to let her hands slide up his arms, over his neck, into his hair, down his back. Bucky grinned at her in the flashing lights, a little dangerous, and she moved with his hands on her hips.
Maggie closed her eyes against the strobing lights and let the music thud in her bones, felt the warmth of Bucky around her. They'd lost Zemo and Sam. And they weren't drunk - they couldn't get drunk - but Maggie felt as if her consciousness had been altered in some way.
What could have been hours later they ended up at the edge of the dancefloor again, amongst the art, and Maggie stepped on someone's shoe.
"Ouch," said Sam.
Maggie glanced over, breathless, to see him frowning at the two of them, though there was a hint of a secret smile in there somewhere. "Having fun?"
"I'll say this, Sharon does know how to throw a party," Maggie beamed, Bucky's hand on her hip. His hair was slightly mussed.
"Zemo certainly thinks so," said Sam, nodding at the dark haired Sokovian in the crowd, who was fistbumping and bopping his head. Sam then pointed to the art he'd been examining. "So all this stuff is really real?"
Bucky rolled his eyes, and Maggie laughed as she pulled out of his arms a little. She pushed a few strands of hair off her forehead, where they'd stuck to the sheen of sweat on her skin.
"I'm going to head upstairs," she announced, shooting Bucky a smile. Then she turned on her heel and left.
Bucky stood, bewildered, for a moment. He was still overwhelmed by the day they'd had, that strange experience as the Winter Soldier, and then… everything since had been Meg. He was concerned about the whole situation with Sharon, sure, and his stomach turned at the thought of finding this Nagel guy in the morning, but it had all faded to the back of his mind and they'd danced in the shifting lights of the art-gallery-turned-club. He could still smell Meg, even as she vanished; sea salt and skin and the faintest tang of metal.
For a few minutes he stuck by Sam's side, barely hearing Sam's words about the art as he pointed this or that out for comment. His ears were ringing. His skin felt hot.
"Man, you are not in the frame of mind to be talking about art, are you," said Sam, the first thing Bucky heard clearly.
He looked at Sam and blinked. "What?"
Sam snorted. "What the hell are you still doing down here?"
"I-" Bucky looked the way Meg had gone, toward the stairs. "Yeah."
One of Sam's first good ideas.
He drew a deep breath, fixed his suit lapels, then strode his way toward the stairs. On his way past the bar he stole a bottle of champagne from an icebucket, the glass a shock of cold against his flesh hand.
The pounding music faded to a distant thrum as he ascended the stairs, dimly lit by a few low lights. His footsteps were silent as he made his way up to the suite, and as he looked at the closed white door, he didn't know why he felt nervous. He ran a hand through his hair, fixed his suit again, then knocked on the door.
"Who is it?" came Meg's voice.
"It's me, doll." He looked at the bottle in his hand, glistening with condensation. "I brought up some champagne, I thought we could drink it together."
"Thoughtful," she said, and her voice was right by the door.
It abruptly opened, almost making him jump. And Meg was standing there behind it wearing nothing but a smile.
Bucky didn't know how the champagne didn't just tumble out of his hand. She stood completely naked, save for her prosthetic leg and the strange shimmer to her warm skin that must be a makeup of some kind, and she was grinning at him like a temptress out of a story. One hand leaned against the door frame, and the other curved over her hip.
"Should we drink before, or after?" she asked, a wicked glint in her eye.
Bucky didn't know where to look. Well he did, but in what order-
Meg tilted her head, brown curls falling over her bare shoulders.
Bucky swallowed. "After," he managed to get out. "Definitely after."
And he strode forward, into Meg's arms, and kicked the door shut behind him.
Can't take full credit for that last moment, it's a reference to the ever wonderful Laura Bailey from Critical Role.