He was here. This whole time, he had still been here, hiding in plain sight.

Steve Rogers exhaled sharply, closing his eyes. In his mind's eye, he could see the security footage Sharon had sent him. A small bargain store in Foggy Bottom had something of a domestic dispute. There had been a child involved.

In the video, the child had been attacked by a woman, and in retaliation had thrown her into a shelf with more force than someone so small should have been able to.

In the video, James Buchanan Barnes, Bucky, had taken the child and ran.

For the past month, Steve had been recovering from his fight with Bucky, Natasha and Sharon had dealt with - and were still dealing with - the senate trials, and Sam had taken to the streets to search for the Soldier. For Bucky. It had been to little avail. Bucky wasn't called a ghost for nothing; he knew how to disappear. Steve had little hope that he'd still have been in the city after that day on the river.

But this, Steve thought to himself, this is ridiculous.

"This is where he was the whole time, huh?"

Steve had heard Sam walk into the warehouse behind him. Rather than answer that, Steve asked, "What'd they have to say?"

They, in this case, were the homeless couple that had led them to the warehouse. An anonymous tip had been left about the warehouse, and when Sam and Steve went to search it, the couple had appeared. Only the woman spoke. Sam stayed to speak to her, while Steve went on.

He knew better than to hope that he'd find his friend that day, but still, he hoped.

"Said the little girl showed up a couple months ago," Sam supplied, "and the 'bad man' showed up a week after our fun filled week with your buddy." He paused, and Steve felt a rush of frustration. Bucky wasn't bad. He was hurt, and he was confused. But he wasn't bad.

He had saved him on that bridge. Had jumped after him when, in another life, Steve had let him fall.

"She didn't have much to say about him that was pleasant. Sure as hell didn't like that the kid wanted to stay with him."

Steve's brow furrowed in confusion. "The little girl from the video?"

Sam nodded. "Guess you weren't the last scrawny punk our man picked up." He almost sounded amused as he went on. "Lady said she was a scrappy kid."

Steve frowned at this information.

Why would Bucky keep the kid around? And, if he was not Bucky, why would the Soldier keep her? What purpose would that serve? He kept the questions to himself as they surveyed the warehouse.

They stepped further into the empty warehouse. Stairs that led up to the loft above lay on the ground, but at such an angle that suggested they hadn't fallen naturally. Across from them was a pallet of blankets. Something about their haphazardness seemed childish, and he knew that this had been the girl's. That this warehouse had been hers.

Why had she let Bucky stay? Why had Bucky decided to stay? Surely he had known his best bet was to get out of the city as soon as possible.

"Did they say anything else?" Steve asked, walking to the stairs that lay on the ground. He crouched down to inspect what had been the top, and noted how the metal, though rusted, seemed torn at the edges. The step, he saw, had an indent, like a footprint. A child's footprint.

"They only ever saw him with the kid," Sam said, looking through the cabinets. "About a week ago he faced off with four drunks in the back alley. Said they didn't stand a chance."

Steve furrowed a brow. Why would he have done that? "Did they say why?"

Sam let out a huff that might have been a laugh. "Because the kid went and shoved one of them." He sounded impressed. "You know," he went on, and there was a careful quality to his voice now. "He probably has that kid with him now, Steve." Steve looked at him sharply, but he went on, unbothered. "I know he's your friend, and I know he saved you, but he isn't right. And he's the last person I want to leave a little girl with."

"Bucky wouldn't hurt a kid," Steve said, automatically.

Sam leveled him with a look. "Would the Soldier?"

Steve didn't have an answer for that. He changed the subject. "I'm going to see if there's another way upstairs. Someone went up there, and didn't want to be followed."

He found a fire escape outside, a rickety thing that barely held Steve's weight. As he climbed in the open window, he noted the little indents in the metal, groves the size of a child's fingers digging in. Near where the stairway would have met the loft, he saw a small spattering of miscellaneous things, things that might have been packed, and then left behind in a hurry.

"You make it up okay, old man?" Sam called out. "Didn't slip a disc, did you?"

Steve huffed and walked to the edge so Sam could see him. "All disks accounted for, thank you." He turned and looked around. The loft seemed untouched - if this had been the girl's domain, she had left this area alone. If the stairs were anything like the fire escape, he guessed she didn't trust them for constant use.

He made his way to the pile of things, noting the mangled metal where the Stairs had been connected to the loft. Again, it was clearly torn.

He left the can of ravioli and the pack of pens, and picked up the small pink notebook covered in stickers. Turning it over, he saw how more than three fourths of the pages had thickened the way paper does when written in, and the spine was creased from constant use.

A journal.

He flipped it open and was greeted with the scrawl of childish handwriting on the inside cover.

Ximena Santiago. DO NOT READ OR I BREAK YOU

"Ximena," Steve said to himself, and then ignored her written warning and began to flip the pages.

"You find something?" Sam called out, and Steve snapped the journal shut and tucked it away in his jacket's inner pocket. He walked to the edge and jumped down, missing the stairs only just.

"Maybe," he replied. "The girl. If we find out who she is, we might be able to find Bucky. Why he took her with him."

"And make sure she's okay," Sam pressed. Steve barely noticed. The journal, he felt, was the key. The girl could lead him to Bucky, and he'd be able to bring him home. To get him the help he needed.

"Steve." He looked up, and the expression on Sam's face was severe. "If he has that kid with him, this isn't just about him anymore."

Steve felt his jaw set. He couldn't fault Sam for what he thought of Bucky, but it didn't stop the flare of irritation.

"We need to find her," was all Steve said, and he walked out of the warehouse, the weight of this new information heavy in his pocket.


The phone was ringing, and if Inessa Morozova had been born with the ability to feel emotions like she was meant to, she'd be terrified. Her eyes flicked to the phone left on the motel room's nightstand, a burner given to them prior to their botched mission, and then back to her work. Hadrian Volkov sat before her on the bed, still and pliable beneath her hands. She stood over him, straddling one of his parted knees, and with a gentleness only reserved for him, tilted his head to the side to get a better look at the gash along his temple where the Soldier had struck him.

"The phone, 'Nessa," Hadrian said, and she shushed him, dabbing at the wound with the wet cloth in her hand. She braced his head with her other hand, cradling it just above his neck. He sounded unconcerned - like her, he knew nothing of the emotions that plagued the rest of the world. But he knew the pain they would face if they ignored their handlers, and it was a discomfort he wasn't interested in reliving.

"They can call back," she told him, and there was a gleam in her eyes, as though daring him to argue with her. He hummed, and closed his eyes.

She didn't think he trusted her, no more than she trusted him. But she was the most familiar thing in the world to him, and he to her.

She might have loved him, if she had been capable of such a thing.

And maybe… after what she had experienced that day, after what that little creature had done to them… Maybe she could be.

"What will we tell them?" Hadrian asked. "About his escape. About the girl?"

Inessa went still, dangerously so, and Hadrian opened his eyes. Her expression was dark, contemplative. "He took us by surprise." She looked down at him. "We say nothing of the girl."

Inessa had thought, briefly, of taking advantage of HYDRA's fall and disappearing with Hadrian. If the Soldier could do it, they could too. But how boring then, to not have the purpose HYDRA gave them. What would they do? Live in a domestic hell, pretending to feel anything more than the faintest twinge of something around each other?

No.

HYDRA kept them busy. Staved off the boredom. The closest thing to excitement she had ever felt was when she stood over her latest target, close enough to be mistaken for a lover, and watched the terror in their eyes, the agony when she slipped her blade between their ribs and twisted.

But the girl. The little demon the Soldier would have given his freedom for. She did something to them.

She made them feel.

Never mind that it had been the terror she had seen so often in her targets' eyes, it had been exhilarating. And she wanted it back. She wanted to share it with Hadrian, to see if they were capable of the love that had eluded them for so long.

She smiled down at him, but it didn't reach her eyes, and she caressed the back of his head.

"We will give them the Soldier," she told him, and he leaned into her touch. "And we will keep the girl."


"Well, this is a whole fuckin' mess," Gideon Morrell said, looking between the different security feeds he had been sent over the past weeks. One from a YMCA, others from the Smithsonian, a laundry mat, a corner store. The final video had come to him just hours ago from his DC contact, and was from the bargain store.

In each was the Soldier, and in all but one he had a child with him. In the final, he had taken the girl and ran.

Gideon, though a couple years past the age of fifty already, was still lean and toned, and with a head full of long dark hair that he liked just above his shoulders, began to feel his age. He puffed out his cheeks and blew a raspberry when he exhaled, rubbed at his face, the callouses of his hands catching on his beard.

He sat in his office, and while he usually kept his space organized, there were now files and news papers scattered on his desk.

"Sonovabitch couldn't just disappear like he was supposed to," he muttered, and then looked up at Cesar Rivera. Cesar, who's current form was his true form - or at least his favorite - of a tanned, toned young man with dark hair, rocked back on his heels apprehensively. He knew that whatever it was Gideon was planning, he wasn't going to like it. "We know anything else?"

Cesar stilled. "Len says the Captain came back to town to look for him. And the Dogs stayed to lick their wounds, but they won't waste too much time going after them."

"And anything about the little girl?"

Cesar hesitated. "Apparently she got a name on her last week."

Gideon arched a brow. "And why wasn't I told?"

Cesar could only shrug. "Len might be good at her job but she's shit at remembering to share what she learns. You knew that already." Before Gideon could get annoyed, Cesar shared what he knew. "She's an orphan from the Battle of New York, Ximena Santiago. Disappeared from her foster home back in March."

Gideon leaned back in his chair, thinking. After a moment, he straightened.

"I want you to find them," he said, and his voice left no room for argument. "I don't trust anyone else for this, Cesar. Bring them here."

Cesar's brow furrowed. "The little girl too?"

Gideon's lips quirked up, but it wasn't quite a full smile, and he gestured to the videos playing before him. "I don't think our friend would be willing to part from her just yet." Cesar didn't answer, but Gideon sensed that he wanted to say something. He gestured for him to speak.

"I dunno, man. Is it a good idea to go after him? He doesn't exactly seem... friendly."

Gideon smiled sardonically. "Oh, he's plenty friendly," he said, feeling the phantom pains of the parting gifts he had left with after his final encounter with him. "Besides, the Soldier and I have some catching up to do."


hello friends, I come baring the gift of a little chapter. can't promise that there'll be any sort of regular posting but I think we know me by now to not expect that anyway

anywho, stay safe, stay schway~