A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for the lateness of this (again), and I wish I could promise updating in a timely manner again, but I'm terrible. I do have Chapter 9 outlined at least, and I've got some free time this weekend, so hopefully I can crank it out fairly quickly.

Hope y'all enjoy!

Chapter 8

After a brief stop at the grocery store to restock and get herself hair dye the next morning, Sandy went to work on Sam's shield, since it takes her less time than Bucky's hand—and she'd already disarmed and picked apart the bomb she brought back. Frank had taken watch that night, so while they tinkered away, he'd taken a nap and tried to quell the uneasiness in his gut. It hadn't worked, and he finds himself now meticulously scrubbing down the kitchen while the food simmers. He's not familiar with traditional Brazilian food, but the feijoada recipe Sandy presented him with sounds good enough, and it's simple, so he's trying his hand. Smells good, at least. Something Sam's said multiple times already as he's doing his pushups a few feet away.

He's been in the game long enough to know that nothing really goes according to plan. Especially not in his own life. Which is why he tries to have backup plans for his backup plans. Sandy helps with that, too, and over the years, she has made things easier. But there are still times where the loops life throws at him make him… uneasy.

Despite the fact that the Magnate is obviously a millionaire, and possibly owns a corporation if Sam and Sandy's hunch turns out to be true, Frank really wasn't expecting the guy's fingers to be dipping into the stolen vibranium market. From the limited information he's been given over the years on the metal, he knows it's basically indestructible. And fiercely protected by the only place it can be found naturally: Wakanda. So what the fuck was it doing in a bomb in a warehouse in Brazil? And why is it popping up in their mission?

Frank knows he shouldn't be surprised by this turn of events, but for some reason, he is. Maybe it's because with the added and very experienced hands, he'd let himself fall into the trap of expecting things to be fairly straightforward and quick. Obviously, that was never actually going to be the case. And Frank feels dumb for not realizing that sooner.

The whole thing is starting to smell like last night's warehouse.

Which reminds him that he needs to run the washing machine for a third time because their clothes still fucking smell. It's more like spoiled milk now than the dead, rotting fish smell it was before, but still.

"You want some help?"

The question derails Frank's train of thought and he just looks at Sam stupidly for a solid five seconds until the train is back on track. Then he shrugs and turns back to scrubbing. "If you want."

As Wilson is grabbing another generic brand Magic Eraser that actually works better than expected, Frank takes a short moment to study him. He then really notices the exhaustion in Wilson's features. Probably stayed up worrying about the same stuff, wondering how much more shit they're going to uncover on this mission. Among other things, most likely. He feels bad for Wilson, truly. Frank doesn't spend too much time on the Internet—that's more Sandy's domain, and he doesn't much care for other people's opinions—but it's hard to miss some of the harsh comments Wilson's had to endure since his public announcement of taking over the title. The world still misses Steve Rogers; Frank gets that, he does. But Wilson was right there by Rogers' side for years before The Blip. And Wilson's a good man. Plain as day, anyone can see that. He always has been, way before he joined the Avengers. Those that have voiced their doubts are either just plain stupid or racist. Both, in many cases probably. So, he makes it a point to show that he trusts Sam's leadership. Non-verbally, usually, because Frank's strong suit isn't always words. And it doesn't mean that if something doesn't sit right, Frank won't make it known, but he does trust Wilson enough.

Frank casts a side glance at Sandy, who's now perched on a stool in front of Barnes, muttering things that occasionally cause Barnes to duck his head slightly. The glance doesn't last long before he's back to studying Wilson.

"Thank you."

Really, he's meant to say that for several days. But it's been hard to get a moment alone with him, what with Barnes' super hearing and Sandy's constant need to interject herself in conversations—which he's used to by now. But the both of them are preoccupied at the moment, so Frank jumps at this chance.

Wilson looks confused at the hushed words, until Frank inclines his head slightly in the direction of their partners. Then understanding dawns on his face, and he nods, keeps his tone equally low as he says simply, "She's my friend, too."

"You ever wonder how the fuck she's managed to do that?"

The small smile doesn't go unnoticed by Sam. "What, make us like her despite her best efforts?" A quiet snort. "Yeah, every time she opens her mouth."

They chuckle for a few moments, then Sam turns his attention to a particularly large glob of sauce on the counter. Frank mentally winces. He's a good cook, but that doesn't mean he isn't messy. And he ultimately doesn't feel too bad, considering the somewhat bemused expression lingering on the Captain's face. The silence they work in for the next few minutes is only broken a few times by soft chuckles coming from the living room. Mostly it's Sandy's voice, but Barnes does seem to be in good spirits, too, though Frank can't make out their conversation.

When he first agreed to help them—as opposed to needing help from them, because he does have a bit of an ego still—he hadn't thought he'd warm up to the duo as fast as he has. It's another thing that surprises him when it really shouldn't; Sandy is a fairly good judge of true character, and both the men are also ex-military. All different branches, which sometimes will cause any manner of rivalries to blossom, but not in this particular line of work. Thankfully, since Frank has never had the patience to deal with petty shit like that. Also thankfully, they're likable as human beings. Enough so that, in an alternate universe of some sort that didn't involve the world at war, he'd be just fine inviting them over for football Sundays.

Trust and respect are hard to come by in his life, and he's been told he can be a complete asshole on more than one occasion, so Frank thinks that maybe he should try not shutting himself off so much in present company. Besides, he's not the only one with issues.

"And, uh, for the record, I think it's good, what you're doing. Rogers chose right."

Sam looks earnest and a little wide-eyed for a moment before he nods a muted thanks, then, "Don't think I'll ever quite get used to hearing that, but I appreciate it. Just… Trying to fill in some pretty big shoes. Do what I can."

"I know. 'S not easy. Gets better with the right company."

Lips quirk up at the corner before he replies, "Yeah, guess so. Not that we should ever tell either of them that."

"God no."

"And, for the record, you're not as bad as they say." Wilson full on smirks while casting him a wry look. "A little more surly than I expected, but you ain't that bad."

Frank matches his easy tone. "Give it time."

There's a bit more lightness to Frank's chest as Sam chuckles and tosses the Magic Eraser into the garbage. The kitchen is as clean as it will be, so Sam begins raiding the fridge for something to drink.

Frank discards his own eraser a few seconds later, then proceeds to check on lunch. It tastes better than what he was expecting, and not just because he's really hungry. "Food's ready," he announces before making his own bowl. Since Sam's already in the kitchen, he follows suit while Sandy and Bucky mumble things that sound like "thanks" and "in a minute."

One second he's watching them carefully over the rim of his half-finished bowl from the small dining table as she pokes Barnes' fingers with some tool, and the next she's pushed back on her ass by some weird blue transparent wall-like projection. And it isn't her water shield. Frank's in front of her in an instant, gun pointed at Barnes. Who, for his part, looks just as confused as any of them. His eyes are wide as he's twisting his hand and watching as the shield contracts and expands in response to every movement. He's very expressive when he's confused.

"Blondie, you okay?" Frank asks over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off Barnes.

"Whoa," is all Sandy says for a moment, and though he can't see her, the wonder in her voice is hard to miss. "Bucky, is that…?"

Bucky's eyes shift from Frank to Sandy to Sam, who has suddenly appeared beside him, arm extended but not touching. "I… I don't know," he admits. "I think so?"

Seeming to recover enough to recognize what's going on, Sam lets his hand fall to his side and stands up straighter. "You know her better than I do, but I'm pretty damn sure Shuri would have added some nice ass upgrades to that arm." When Bucky's eyes are on him again, Sam goes on, "The real question here is, how did you not know you could do that?"

Bucky's face shifts into a scowl, and he looks back at his arm. "I think she just failed to mention it. I know it kind of works like a kimoyo bead, but I asked the wrong question and she went off on… other details. I think she just… forgot to tell me. Guess that's something else I can ask her about today."

"What the hell is going on? What is that?" Frank growls. He trusts the two of them enough, but if there are features of that arm that could seriously hurt others, he'd much rather be on the defensive. Sandy is kind of important to him, after all.

Speaking of which, her hand is suddenly on his arm, lowering his gun for him, and he lets her. "Relax, dear. It's a vibranium shield. Not gonna hurt us. I mean, it did knock me flat on my ass, but I'm not hurt. You know," she says, turning to Barnes with that twinkle in her eye, "if you wanted me on my back, handsome, all you had to do was ask." A wink at Barnes, who is beet red again, then, "I would very much like to meet whoever made that."

"Maybe after all this is over," Sam says. Not that he wants to spend more time than necessary away from New York, but Frank does have to admit that possibly going to Wakanda for a day or two sounds incredibly interesting.

"I'll, uh," Bucky clears his throat, regaining his composure, "I'll look into that. But for now…" A clenched fist disengages the shield. He looks surprised that even worked and tucks a few strands of loose hair behind his ear. "Let's finish up on my arm."

"Sandy, don't fucking say anything," Frank warns as he returns to his previously forgotten food.

"God, you guys are no fun."

"Avellar is definitely our ticket!"

Sandy slams her hands gleefully on the table, startling Sam. He's been looking at the email Shuri had sent him after her phone call with Bucky a few hours ago. When Sandy was cleaning off and fiddling with the wiring in his hand (which she apparently didn't need to, but Bucky had just decided to let her satisfy her curiosity), she'd somehow activated the shield feature, which was off on purpose. Shuri said she needs to do upgrades on it before it's totally ready ("I didn't have a specific design in mind at the time, but now I do, so you need to get your ass back here so I can give you the proper shield!"), but she left instructions for Bucky on how to activate it in the meantime. It was a very useful feature, and Sam would have thrown a fit on Bucky's behalf if she had remotely turned it off again or something. Then she left another command to stop by once everything was said and done. They didn't tell her much about why they were in Brazil or exactly who they were with, and Shuri didn't press. But unfortunately, much to everyone's dismay, per her email, none of their spies or guards have any leads on how that vibranium got there in the first place.

It's frustrating that they've still got more questions than answers, but apparently Sandy's at least figured something out.

"I mean, not literally, since…" Her eyes lift up from her laptop screen and settle on Sam expectantly. Though she still looks like she's halfway lost in thought.

He opens his mouth to take her bait and ask what the hell she's on about, but Frank snatches the words right out of his mouth.

"What the hell do you have?"

"The beginnings of a plan," she answers devilishly. Her eyes are now fully focused on the present as her gaze shift between the three men.

"You wanna keep being cryptic, or…?" Sam prods, making a hammock for his chin with his fingers.

"So… Avellar is going to this fancy gala in two days that's gonna be chock full of people Frank and I are getting really good at taking out."

Well now. "Is this you suggesting we kill her, or just try and interrogate her?"

She just gives him a look. "What do you think would be more beneficial in this case, Sammy?"

Yeah, okay, he deserved that. Sort of. "Okay, so, what's the beginnings of your plan?"

Turns out, Sandy's been able to get ahold of the guest list for this party, and, true to her word, there are plenty of people on there who were previously associated with H.Y.D.R.A. The only reason they're not in jail already is because it's all names of people who have, so far, been able to avoid capture. Sam notices Frank's finger twitch out of the corner of his eye, but Frank only sighs. Avellar's their main target in this instance, though Sam makes a mental note to… do something about the others. He doesn't know exactly what, too invested in the details Sandy's giving, but he'll figure that out later. This is a great chance to test their theory about Avellar and Myers, but there are a few snags in the plan, as Sandy eventually points out.

"No offense, but none of you guys could pass as rich and high class enough to get her talking."

Sam frowns, but the other two don't dispute her. She's mostly right, after all.

"I can do it." She sounds much less excited than Sam expects her to be.

"This sounds like your kind of mission, Blondie." There's a definite question in Frank's voice. Apparently he'd heard the trepidation, too.

Sandy sighs and avoids eye contact with anyone for a moment, choosing instead to palm the disarmed bomb that was sitting next to her laptop. "Yeah, it used to be. I'm still good at it, I just... The last time I was at a party specifically like this was in Beijing. So they're not my favorite thing anymore."

Oh.

"We need to set up back up plans this time," Sam says, trying to get her back into her planning mode. He doesn't want her spending too long thinking about the past. It's not good for any of them to do that, really.

"We had a back up plan last time…" she trails off. Half a moment later, she seems to come back to the present and looks back up at each of them, smiling. Though it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Well, at least this time we'll have four people instead of two. People with pretty impressive resumes and a lot of experience." And suddenly there's a frown. "Which brings its own set of problems."

"There's a really good chance there's gonna be some of them that know your face at this thing. Especially the one person we're trying to get close to. How do you expect to go unnoticed?" Bucky asks while pinching the bridge of his nose. Sam knows she's good at her job, but he's kind of curious about this, too.

Sandy's cheeky smile returns. "I actually have a plan for that." She digs through one of her bags and pulls out a small, gray box. When she opens it with a triumphant noise, Sam's jaw drops.

"You have one of those? How?"

"It's S.H.I.E.L.D. tech, Sam." She shrugs nonchalantly, as if it's just so obvious. Which he supposes it is. "I am an engineer, remember? Once we got the schematics for the first one, I helped build and design better versions of these. Not by myself, but it is mostly my baby." Her expression falters briefly before she composes herself again. "I took a few of them with me when I left the last time. I've burned through most of them since then, but I have been able to make two extras for emergencies. And we'll need both for this."

"Both?"

"Yeah!" It's readily apparent that she's going to continue, but Bucky interrupts.

"What exactly are those?"

"Photostatic Veils. Officially. Most people call them Nano Masks. Little easier to say. They'll make you look and sound like whoever you want, as long as we have a digital face scan and a voice sample. Used to be we needed DNA, but that was way too much trouble."

Bucky eyes the box, thoroughly intrigued, and Sam bites back the nerd comment because, well, this is pretty cool stuff. "Is this how...?"

Sam catches where his mind is going. "Actually, that asshole just made a prosthetic. Like from the movies. This is much more advanced."

Sandy and Frank look confused, but they don't press. Good. Rather avoid that conversation for now. Both he and Bucky are still very sour about that whole situation. And everything after, really.

"Oh. So this can get you into the gala." Bucky starts to chew on the inside of his lip, lost in thought. "You're gonna need an invitation. And someone to impersonate."

"I've been combing through the list, and I think I've got someone already lined up. They're flying in from the US for this gig tomorrow. I can't snag them at the airport because of their security, but there is a small window before they go into the tunnel where we can get them."

"Why not just get them at their hotel?"

Sam shakes his head. "Knowing these types of people, security will be too tight at whatever ritzy place they're staying at. Too risky."

Bucky gives him the that makes sense look.

"So it should be hella easy. I'm gonna let you guys handle that while I go find myself a nice dress." Sandy's trusting them to come up with a good plan. Which Sam is grateful for. Means she'll be less likely to interrupt, and he can't stand that. As smart as she is, and as much as he loves her, she can be a goddamned nuisance.

"You'll need a wig, too," Frank reminds her.

"Indeed I will. Sam, you're gonna need a suit. Wanna come with, or do you want me to just pick it up for you? I think I've got your measurements down."

This catches him off guard. He squints at her. "Why do I need one?" He pointedly does not ask why she thinks she knows his size.

"You're going too," Sandy says, leaving out the duh at the end.

"As who?"

"My date."

"After you just said we're too low class for this shit?"

Sandy smirks. "I didn't say that exactly. And anywho, I'm the one who'll do all the talking. You can just stand there and look pretty or mingle however you want."

"Why do you need a date?" Sam doesn't really want to go to this thing, but, given the circumstances and Sandy's history, he doesn't have much of a choice. Why can't he just go as a waiter or something?

Her voice is almost a purr. "Sam, do I really look like I need a date to have fun? I want you there on my arm." She winks at him, turning to grab her bag. "You're my immediate backup. And you can't really stay near me if you're just a staff member. That would look a little weird. So, you gotta be my date." Sandy looks pointedly at Bucky and Frank, who had moved to the computer to study routes and the guest list. Sam follows her gaze and finds that they both look entirely too happy to be planning. Assholes. "I can't very well take them."

Sam snorts loudly. He can't really argue with her on that. "Especially not Barnes. I doubt even you could get rid of that hobo vibe he's got going on." If they didn't know each other so well, Sam would have actually toppled over backwards at the dark look Bucky shoots him.

"And yet, he still manages to look that handsome." Sandy clicks her tongue at Bucky, and Sam nearly does fall out of his chair when Bucky suddenly hides his red face like Sam's nephew does after getting too much attention. Bucky's sheer embarrassment whenever Sandy flirts with him is a never ending source of joy for Sam.

"If Myers is there," Frank cuts in, "I'd prefer you not to flirt with him. He doesn't need to pay any extra attention to you. Low profile."

She rolls her eyes dramatically while waving him off. "He's not gonna be there. He's not on the guest list. Avellar's the main target here, and she's more likely to talk to me, woman-to-woman. Besides, he's not my type of guy. I prefer tall, dark, handsome, and maybe a little damaged."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

A shrug accompanies her thoughtful expression. "A lot. Where would you like to start?"

Sam doesn't have time for this, so he eyeballs the guest list that's pulled up on Sandy's computer. "Castle's right about the low profile. As much as I really want to take out a few birds with one stone, maybe we shouldn't use lethal force on the people we'll be impersonating."

Sam thought Bucky was scary the first time they'd met. But the look Frank is shooting him at that moment makes Sam very visibly flinch.

"Yeah," Sandy drawls, lolling her head to the side, "see, he really doesn't like when people tell him not to kill bad guys. Even Captain America." She pauses briefly. "That's probably the only reason he hasn't cussed you out."

Sandy doesn't sound bothered in the least. However, Frank's anger seems to shift more towards her. Even with this very good information they've just been gifted with. Jeez, is this guy ever not feeling a negative emotion?

"I can speak for myself, thanks, Blondie."

"I know, dear. And you know that I just love to hear myself talk."

"I think Sam's right." Bucky looks up at them, eyes bright and alert, but calm, as his gaze lingers on Sam. Sam feels something prick at the back of his brain, but lets it go to focus on the matters at hand. "Maybe we should just tag and release, after everything's done. We've been tracking some of the names on this list for a while, and if we can't take care of them here…" he trails off, because his intent is clear. Even Frank seems to relax a little once he understands.

Sam claps him on the shoulder in approval, then they turn to Sandy when she speaks.

"You've got like seventy years of experience of doing it. Anonymously, which Sinatra seems to be allergic to." Sandy blinks leisurely at Frank's intense scowl and continues a moment later. "So I think this should be your mission, Bucko. And if Frank doesn't play nice, just lemme know."

"You're not my mother."