A/N: HI YES HELLO I'M BACK! I know I update so infrequently, and I am sorry, but life happens and I sometimes drag my feet on certain parts (this one I really shouldn't have, but I did lmao). The venue is a real place, and if my description isn't good enough like I fear because I'm bad at describing things, you can look it up for easier visuals.

And I say this now, but I may end up dragging my feet again, but the next chapter should be up sooner considering I already have most of it written, I just need to fluff it up and do some heavy editing. We're almost halfway through the story at this point... Maybe. It might end up being closer to 30 chapters depending on how I eventually split things up.

Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy! ❤️

Really, the venue is a fucking sight. The live singer is crooning "Feeling Good" in a voice that sounds remarkably close to Nina Simone. Sandy's in awe of that and that only. Everything else is pretty standard for your typical fancy gala. Nice, but standard.

The Belmond Copacabana Palace, situated almost directly on the picturesque beachfront, is the perfect vacation spot, if Sandy had to choose one. The building itself is made of white stone on the outside, but the inside and the beach views from the balcony rooms are the biggest part of the appeal. It's a short walk from the lobby entrance to the main event hall. The Palm Room, specifically, since the hotel has three main entertainment spaces. And it lives up to its name; several tall tropical plants are spaced evenly along the edge of the room in front of the large white marble columns, smaller fern-like plants in between those. Various high-end finger food and dessert tables are placed along the edges of the room as well. On the left side of the room, two bartenders dressed in crisp, white suits and black bow ties mill about behind a curved golden bar. The shelves behind the bartenders are chock full of, for lack of a better term, top-shelf liquor. There's a makeshift stage set up at the far end of the room in front of the beautiful floor-to-ceiling window that looks out onto the beach. Three chandeliers in the center of the ceiling and a few wall lights give the room a romantic glow.

If it wasn't for the various strong perfumes Sandy can smell from several patrons near her, it would smell just like the greenhouse of her dreams.

So, maybe she's not impressed with just the singer. The assorted local plants really are such a nice touch.

"God, you think with the amount of money these people have that they'd do something more extravagant. Like when and why did they stop throwing masquerade balls?"

Sam casts her a sideways glance. "You really expect these people to throw themed parties?"

"When they get bored and have money to waste, yes. It's what I'd do," Sandy says matter-of-factly. "Why waste your money on the same old shit when you could try and one-up Jay Gatsby's level of weird extravagance?"

"You know," Bucky muses over the earpiece, "she has a point. The few times H.Y.D.R.A. paraded me out for other big wigs, it looked just like this. Really boring. If I'm gonna be stuck with these memories, I'd prefer they be filled with at least some interesting imagery, you know? But when do I ever get what I want?"

"That got dark real fast."

"I'm here all week. Probably longer."

Frank sighs, and she can practically hear him rubbing his eyes tiredly, "Sandy. Most of these people are trying to kill us. It's already dark."

"Thanks for the reminder," Sam mutters bitterly. He rolls his eyes when Sandy squeezes his elbow that she's holding.

They have to stay quieter since they're now surrounded by patrons. The music's loud, yes, but not loud enough to drown out conversation at normal volume. Sam unhooks their arms and snakes a nano mask-covered hand around her waist, pulling her closer. Makes talking lowly easier. They have a cover to keep up as well.

She does the same with her arm and rubs her head gently on his bicep. Her scalp is so fucking itchy. "I paid so much money for this wig, and it's still the worst one I've ever had to wear. What the fuck?"

"Elsie, honey, please. Focus."

The nano mask isn't nearly as distracting as her wig. At least physically. The one Sam's wearing is, however, only because it covers up his beautiful face with Josh Carlson's, an older white man. Not unattractive by any means, but Sam's is prettier, especially when coupled with how well the nice black suit hugs his muscled form. She misses looking at his face already. Plus, obviously, bad guy. At least he still smells like himself: cocoa butter and whatever light drug store cologne he wears with just a hint of gunpowder. The gunpowder is the only new thing in ten years, and she likes it. Mostly.

She feels this pang of regret that he's been dragged back into this life from self-imposed and wanted retirement. It's not directly her fault, at least, and she wonders if Bucky has the same thoughts. She sees the way he sometimes looks at Sam when he thinks nobody else will notice. It's soft and sweet but there's also quite a bit of guilt. Painfully familiar, those looks are.

No time for introspection now.

"Oh, Josh, my love—" she begins, cutting her eyes up at him.

Sam's eyes flicker towards a different part of the room and narrow, mouth drawing into a hard line. "She's over there. By the bar."

"Perfect," is said quietly and seriously. They're on a mission, after all. But she adds, louder and sweeter for the benefit of the other guests, "I think I could use a drink. Go mingle, darling, and I'll bring you your favorite in a few."

A gentle smile and nod, a kiss to her temple, and Sam's meandering off, disappearing into the crowd. Sandy starts towards the bar and spots Letícia almost immediately. She is very hard to miss. Black backless long sleeve dress that dips just low enough to stay mostly modest. Long, thick black hair swept to one side and falling over her shoulder in soft loose curls. Bright ruby red lipstick and makeup so well done it puts every single Instagram model to shame. Really, Letícia's whole self puts them all to shame.

Pity she's evil.

Also a pity Sandy has to parade around in this extremely modest, floor length, long sleeved pink dress herself, disguised as a "former" Nazi twenty years her senior. If the option to just not be here at all had been viable, she would have taken it, extra backup or not. But unfortunately, they need information and Elsie and Josh are their best shot. They fly under the radar enough while still occasionally communicating with Letícia and Jonah; phone calls mostly, because they're more old school. They're the perfect covers for Sandy and Sam. Even if Elsie does need a little bit of fashion advice. Especially on the hair; Sandy had to buy a long blonde wig with basically no volume, because even though her own hair is now back to blonde, it's too short and too good looking to pass as Elsie convincingly. And no chance of leaving behind DNA, because that's something her brain always latches onto during undercover ops with rich and powerful people. She does not miss this aspect of overthinking at all.

At least she's not the only one suffering in borrowed clothes and identities.

Luckily for them, Elsie and Josh have a personal guard and a driver, so Sandy was able to easily talk Frank and Bucky into stealing their suits and staying closer than they would have otherwise been. Instead of the building across the street, they're a few floors below her feet, comfortably seated in the Carlson's car that they've borrowed—the owners are tied up and unconscious where they'd ambushed them near the tunnel. She'd also been able to convince Bucky to cut his hair and shave; less risk of it getting in his face and makes him just a little less recognizable. More handsome, too, fact she's reminded him of multiple times already. Frank's fine. For once, he's not cut up and bruised. It's a short ride in an elevator or up a few measly flights of stairs to get to the party, and Sam's never going to stray more than a hundred feet from her. Additionally, Sandy's literally got a few tricks up her sleeves in the form of the malleable metal from her uniform. And there are plenty of pipes she can pull water from if need be.

With all of the precautions they've taken, plus multiple escape plans should things go sideways, Sandy should feel comfortable.

But she doesn't. And it doesn't have to do entirely with having to flirt with Letícia, the literally crowned Most Beautiful Woman on Earth. Regular business conversation would be much easier, but no, she actually has to lay on the charm this time. Letícia would likely get suspicious otherwise. The texts and emails she skimmed through oh Elsie's phone before arriving were all very flirty with just a sprinkle of work discussions.

Oh, Elsie and Josh are also swingers, since Sandy's just that lucky. She talks a big game, but she doesn't actually want to flirt with the enemy. It's always left a sour taste in her mouth. And she's bad with women.

"Elsie! Um beijo!" Letícia greets jovially as she sets down her drink, throwing her arms around Sandy's shoulders and pressing her lips to each of Sandy's cheeks. Sandy feels her nerves kick in a bit more at Letícia's voice. The husky, thick Portuguese accent just adds to her whole appeal. And she smells like she's literally a rosebush.

Sandy hates this so much.

"Letícia, my beauty! How are you doing?" Sandy asks with equal enthusiasm, returning the cheek kisses.

Letícia flashes her pearly whites in a genuine grin. "Absolutely fantastic, as always. How are you? Everything okay getting here?"

There's a suppressed chuckle over her earpiece. Frank. Figures. He had fun setting up and carrying out the intercept.

"Better now that I'm here, looking at you. A vision, as always." A batting of eyelashes is the punctuation at the end of her obvious once over.

To her credit, Letícia manages to look shy, but twirls good-naturedly anyway. "Obrigada. You're looking wonderful yourself. Josh is a very lucky man."

"Well, he'd be even luckier to be your man."

Oh my god. Really? Not something about how Myers is the luckier man? Jesus, I am really out of practice.

Letícia raises an eyebrow and nods. "Life's not always about competition."

"Says the woman who wins just about every one she's in. Is there anything you aren't good at?" Moderate recovery.

"Business and board meetings. They're so boring. I don't know how you stand it," she chuckles, taking another delicate sip of her drink. The last sip, actually. When she realizes this, she turns to the bartender and asks in Portuguese for two more cosmopolitans. Not Sandy's favorite drink, but obviously Elsie's, since Letícia winks at her. Whatever, she'll grin and bear it. At least it's not Natty Lite.

"I've been thinking about proposing more business meetings to be held in places like this." Sandy looks around and gestures for emphasis. "The party atmosphere does wonders for boredom. I'd venture to say that people would leave the meetings a little happier once they're full of expensive alcohol."

"You're on the right track," Avellar amires. "That sounds like my kind of meeting."

"Plus—thank you." She accepts the drinks made in record time. Not bad, she admits at the first sip. "Plus, all the eye candy wouldn't hurt."

"Also true. Bet you had a lot of that—" Letícia spots something over Sandy's shoulder and cuts herself off. She sets her drink on the counter and apologizes, "Oh, excuse me, Elsie dear. I have to go greet someone. I'll be right back, I promise. I want to hear about your second honeymoon." With a delightful smile, Letícia turns and walks towards a small group of people chatting somewhere behind Sandy.

See? Bad with women. Swingers or not, you don't steer the conversation to a second honeymoon if you're actively trying to bed someone.

"You're terrible at this."

Frank is ever so helpful. "Look, I can handle men just fine because I've had plenty of practice." She turns back towards the bar, glossing over the many shelves lined with the most expensive looking liquor. Putting Elsie's phone up to her ear, she sighs. "This woman is very attractive and The Being Bisexual Handbook does not properly cover flirting with someone of the same gender who is that pretty. And it's been a while. Being the enemy makes this very hard. Harder than normal. Why do you think I was always such a mess around Bobbi?"

"I just thought that was because you're a fucking mess all the time."

"Shut the fuck up and let me work."

"Yeah, okay. Keep blowing your cover. Great work there."

"Hey," Sam hisses, and Sandy can see him rubbing his mouth across the room to cover up the fact he's talking to nobody, "will you two stop your squabbling?"

"Fine. Focus, Blondie."

"I'll stop arguing, but I'm not going to stop complaining. I hate this." She's alone enough that nobody else can eavesdrop, but she still needs to pretend to be on the phone a little longer so she's not caught talking to herself. "Men are easy. All I have to do is bat my eyelashes, lower my voice a smidge, say stuff in a sultry tone, and bam! They're putty in my hands."

Apparently, even though Sam just told them to shut up, he can't pass off an opportunity to fuck with Bucky. "Oh, you mean like Barnes?"

There's a brief snicker—from Sam or Frank, it's unclear—before Bucky grumbles, "What the fuck, Sam?"

Sandy feels some of her natural swagger come back. "Oh, believe me, boys. If I was really trying to seduce him, he wouldn't stand a chance. None of you would."

"You are so full of yourself." Frank again.

"Nah, I just know how to do my job really well."

"Then how come she didn't give us any more information and just ran off from you?"

"Give me a fucking minute, Frank."

As if right on cue, Letícia breaks off from her guests and makes her way back to Sandy. She makes a big to-do about saying a brief professional goodbye over the phone as Letícia settles in beside her again. "Everything all right?"

Sandy nods and offers a smile. "Just fine. Ironically, business. Nothing that can't be handled later," she assures, stuffing the phone back into her clutch.

"And how is business?"

Admittedly, Sandy's the least informed about that aspect of Elsie's life. She'd been too focused on getting a good reading on her interactions with Letícia and Elsie's more personal details. That's what's important here, since she needs to get Letícia talking about herself more than Elsie. Her plan is for Sam to sweep her away for a dance as soon as they get what they need. Or if she needs a momentary interruption to keep things from getting too off-plan. From the corner of her eye, she sees Sam turn slightly away from the chocolate fountain. Just in case he's needed.

The basics are that Elsie and Josh are struggling a little with their very legal tech startup, though they're not lacking in money; they have their hands dipped in some of the illegal weapons trade Sandy and her boys are working to take down. The Carlsons aren't exactly business partners with Avellar and Myers, but they run a small operation in Savannah, GA. One of the locations Sam and Bucky had given to the CIA. More specifically, a valued contact within the agency.

It's not Madani, but Sandy and Frank feel comfortable if it's someone Sam and Bucky trust.

"Oh, business as usual. Nothing to worry about." Sandy shrugs, then gives Letícia her full attention, resting her chin on her fist. "What about you?"

Something in Letícia's face changes for the briefest of moments, and Sandy fears that she's been made. However, Letícia quickly continues with a laugh, "Oh, you know. Business as usual."

Thank the gods that there's something in Letícia's voice and expression that betrays everything being totally fine. "What's really going on, beauty?"

Sam visibly relaxes and returns to his food.

One of her perfectly manicured hands, the one with the opulent wedding ring, curls around the glass and lifts it to her lips, lets it hover there for a moment. "Well, there's been a setback recently." She sips her cosmo, letting a little anticipation build for a moment. "Jonah, minha paixão, one of his… enemies… has been making a bit of a mess for us. Destroyed all the brand new, state-of-the-art equipment we had ready to ship out to our Russian friend, Markoff. So he's a little angry and wants an apology present. Good thing we've got plenty of those presents for him on standby in Ipanema. Just in case, you know."

That's fucking ominous.

"Evgeni Markoff? Christ, more good news." Oh, seems Bucky's not happy. But, actual good news is, those bombs were their only stash. And that's the confirmation they need. Actual not good news: now there's something else they need to keep an eye on hidden in Ipanema. Maybe more stolen vibranium. Looks like that's their next target.

Sandy takes the intentional pause to affirm, "Always good to have a backup plan."

"If you want to stay alive and stay in business, yes." Letícia blinks slowly at her, lips twitching up into a sly smile but giving away nothing else in her expression as she sets her glass back down. Sandy quickly smothers the thought that she'd be a good spy with the right training. "And we'll have to start from scratch again, which will take time. Bunch of headaches. But fique tranquilo. We've got a plan to deal with the enemy as well. They won't be a problem for long."

Oh, we'll see about that.

This time, Sandy gives her a slow blink and a smirk. "That's good to hear, Letty."

Letícia hums and nods. "So, enough talk about business. How was your honeymoon? Is it as perfect in Naples as they say?"

Before Letícia's even finished the first sentence, Sam appears again in Sandy's periphery. And no sooner has Sandy opened her mouth to come up with some bullshit about how it's nothing compared to Monaco, Sam's there, apologizing about stealing his wife away for a dance. After formally greeting Letícia, of course. Sam's not rude.

Once they're on the marble dance floor, swaying to another Nina Simone soft jazz piece—and, yet again, Sandy's marveling at how good the singer sounds—Sam takes the opportunity to address the team.

"Looks like we have definitive proof. And our next target."

"Yeah, and McIntosh surprisingly didn't fuck it up."

Sandy rolls her eyes. "Would you rather be out here, Frank?"

"I think you and I both know what I'd rather be doing right now."

Sam's shoulders heave with a heavy but muted sigh. "We would all rather be doing that right now and just get this over with, but…"

"Too many innocents," Bucky finishes.

Both sets of eyes land on various wait staff and the bartender. Sandy's muscles tense up at the thought of more unnecessary blood on her hands. Her sense of sound begins to dull slightly and she blinks a few times, willing the room to turn back to the present.

They'd been playing jazz that night, too. Sung in Mandarin, though. And an even larger number of servers. Probably how they'd been able to keep such a close eye on her and—

"Hey, little nerd. I gotcha."

Sam's concerned voice in her ear, lips dangerously close, causes her to snap back to reality with a small start. He felt the change in her posture and must have been able to tell where she was going. Bitterly, she thinks it shouldn't be this easy for her to mentally drift back. She's spent so much time trying to move on that she should be more in control of her thoughts.

"Thanks, my love." She pulls back slightly to get a better view of his face. Well, Josh's face, anyway. Might be easier to stay grounded if she could see his beautiful brown eyes, but she'll take what she can get right now. "I'm okay."

His face relaxes slightly at her smile. "We'll leave soon. Promise. Just gotta bide our time a little bit, wait for Avellar to be distracted enough."

"Don't wait too much longer. I've never liked these monkey suits, and this one clings in all the wrong places," Frank grumbles.

"And I'm hungry," Bucky bemoans, a little more theatrically than usual. Frank snickers.

Sandy lets herself smile a little. Her back is facing Letícia and the bar, and Elsie's shamelessly in love with her husband, so it works in her favor to keep her eyes trained on Sam. "She still watching us?"

The smile on Sam's face is wide as his eyes flit from Letícia to Sandy. Bucky's comment is likely the reason for that. "For the most part. Robinson's chatting her up now. Must not be an interesting conversation."

Sandy has no shame in using Elsie's personality to her own advantage this time. "Well, you and I are about to get hella interesting."

Sam lets out an amused puff of air through his nose. "We already are more—Wait, why? Please don't kiss me."

Oh, he knows her too well. However, it doesn't help him, as Sandy's lips quickly find his. She keeps it chaste and soft, though a little longer than necessary. But it would be so much better if that thin veil of the nano mask wasn't making things so awkward, giving her the taste of laminate instead of Sam. This isn't how she imagined their first kiss going, if they ever were going to have one, but whatever. He's still good. And shy. It's cute.

But it works. Sandy's no longer thinking dangerous thoughts.

"How was that, my love?" she asks breathily as she pulls away.

He's frowning, and it only gets worse when he notices her smug look.

"You're blushing. It's cute."

"Because I'm embarrassed for you. That was terrible. I think you need more practice."

"Is that an offer, Josh? We can practice more, if you'd like. Later, without the disguises," she adds, much quieter.

"I'm gonna kill you when this is all over with. I hope you know that."

Laughter erupts over the comms, making Sandy's grin even more smug. "You're so romantic."

"And you're so fuckin' irritating."

"You love it, and you've missed it."

"Like being kicked in the balls, sure. We'll go with that."

"Kinky. I'm into it."

Sam's jaw clenches tight, both in an attempt to keep from laughing—which she can clearly see that he wants to do—and to keep his irritated facade limited to just his eyes, where only she can see. It's mostly working; to outsiders, it looks like he's sharing a loving moment with his wife.

Sam's gotten good at this, she thinks again.

"It's a little sad that this is just a cover, you know. Because I was thinking that you can be my lover, cause love looks better in color," she sings softly.

He fixes her with the most annoyed look yet. "Why are you like this?"

"Hey, I've got ten years to make up for. So buckle up, my love."

"Hey, not to interrupt because this is highly entertaining," Bucky starts, "but what should we do now? Follow Avellar back to her place, get them when they're least expecting it?"

"Is that what you want to do? Right now?" Sam asks, a little incredulous.

"Not really, no. I think we need an actual plan. But I'm not in charge here. Sam?"

Sandy nods and leans back into Sam's shoulder. She decides to put in her two cents before he makes a decision, though she's pretty sure what that is. "We can't just attack them now. His security detail is still too tight. Too many unknown factors. And even though we are four very capable beings, I'd rather not be dumb about this." She also realizes she's not in the perfect headspace to carry out an attack tonight. As Frank said almost two weeks ago, they can't go into this shit show in anything but tip top shape.

"So, we need to cripple his supply of people," Sam confirms. He tilts his head so that he's almost talking directly into Sandy's earpiece. "Keep doing what we're doing."

"Make sure he thinks we're still just doing small time stuff and he's safe," Frank adds. "Better make it quick, though. The more we drag this out, the worse it could get."

"Agreed. So we need to get out of here soon and regroup."

"About that…" Bucky sighs. "I think things are going a little too smoothly. Are you two sure you're not under suspicion? I don't see anything on the video feeds, but…"

Sam lifts his head slightly to look around, turning the two of them in a spin in time with the music as well. Party goers are barely paying attention to them, too engrossed in alcohol and the delicious array of food. And each other. Some are openly gawking at the band, too. Typical party scene. Even Letícia has stopped paying attention to them. Robinson, one of the more prestigious guests and number four on Bucky's current shit list, is still there chatting her up, but she looks significantly more engrossed in the conversation now. Good. Takes some of the edge off Sandy's nerves.

"No, we're blending in pretty well," Sam eventually says. He starts to slowly move them closer to the entrance. "So we should be good to sneak out of here in a minute or two. We'll rest up tonight, come up with some stuff tomorrow."

Sandy hums lowly. "I'm not gonna jinx anything by saying what we're all thinking, but yeah. And go team! We totally figured it out on extremely limited information. The biggest clue being gathered by yours truly."

"Stop being proud of that," Frank scolds. "That was reckless."

"You're not my mother," she repeats. It's received with a growl from Frank and a chortle from Bucky.

"Children," Sam sighs, annoyed but with a faint touch of fondness. "I work with children."