A/N: Hey guys! Happy New Year! I hope everyone's having a great year so far (ignoring the.. uh... shit going on here in the US anyway).
Sorry for the slight delay, this chapter was supposed to be out sooner since I had like 70% of it written months ago, but the Holidays got in the way so editing and stuff was slow going. No promise on when Chapter 11 will come out, but it should be by the end of the month. This particular chapter is a little angsty because we get into Sandy's past, and things are just gonna keep being kinda dark after this. Plus more action-oriented. But there will still be some quiet character moments.
Anyway! Hope y'all enjoy!
It's 3am when Bucky finally climbs down from his rooftop vantage point. He stayed up there longer than they normally do on night watches, but it was necessary to calm his nerves. Things went a little too smoothly at the party, and it's been eating at him ever since. They had no tails, the anonymous tip about people tied up in the woods is scheduled to be made mid-morning, the Carlson's phones and clothes have been returned to them—all without showing their actual faces. Everything is going according to plan.
Which is probably why Sandy's also still awake, too, Bucky thinks.
The apartment is dark, but he can hear her breathing and the soft clack of her fingernails against each other. Something she does when she's lost in thought, bored, or just acting like she's not paying attention. It's an odd habit, but whatever. Bucky's got a few of those himself, so...
She doesn't respond when he closes the front door just loud enough to alert her of his presence but not to wake Sam and Frank, who each have a bedroom for the night. She also doesn't respond when he takes purposefully noisy steps into the living room. And she doesn't even look at him when he stops a few steps in front of the couch, hands shoved in the pockets of his sweatpants.
Odd.
As he watches her stare at her lap while still doing that thing with her nails for a solid minute and a half, waiting for some kind of reaction to his close proximity, his mind wanders back to the party. Again. She sounded reluctant to go originally, but she seemed to be in her element earlier that evening. Despite the awkward bit of flirting Frank pestered her about. She was fine from what Bucky could see, throwing out her usual quips while staying mostly on mission. At least, up until—
Bucky winces. Sam's used that same voice with him plenty of times when Bucky's having bad days, and occasionally vice versa. Something in Frank's posture had changed too. It's why Bucky tried lightening the mood a little before voicing his concerns.
And he's been so hung up on their safety that he hasn't paid attention to anyone else. And apparently Sandy's not okay.
She's already a small person, but being curled up on that couch, knees pulled to her chest and almost being swallowed up by the oversized sweater, a hollow look on her face… it makes her seem so tiny now. Her big personality isn't there to make up for her stature anymore, and Bucky realizes—stupidly—that she's probably got some serious shit in her past, too. More than she lets on, at least.
"Hey," he says, so soft he barely hears it leave his own mouth.
The flinch and wild-eyed look she gives makes him immediately regret saying anything at all. Really, he should have done this earlier. Then maybe she'd actually be sleeping by now, getting some well-deserved rest.
They just stare at each other for what seems like an eternity before she musters up a weak smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Hey, handsome. We all good?"
Her voice is broken and ragged, as if she's been crying, but he can tell she hasn't. Not yet, anyway.
He nods to answer her question before frowning and lowering his chin. "Wanna talk about it?"
He knows he probably should just let her be. Maybe get her a cup of water or something. At least just sit there in silence, let her know she's not physically alone. But he also knows it's sometimes worse not talking. And oddly enough, that seems to be what she'll do without a gentle prod. One he's willing to provide.
She drops the smile and shrugs, turning away from him again to stare at her knees. "Guess I shoulda figured you'd see through me."
Answer enough, but not flat out rejection.
Quietly, because he's still scared he'll startle her—a troubling thought in its own right, considering this is Sandy—he sits down on the couch next to her. It's not very large, so he tries to make himself as small as possible so as not to touch her. Personally, he doesn't have much of an aversion to that these days with the right company. But given the current situation, he doesn't want to overstep some hidden boundary. With her, physical contact never seemed to be an issue before. But this... She looks so fragile.
"Stop looking at me like that."
He blinks and meet her eyes. He hadn't even realized that she started looking at him. "Wha—"
"Like I'm made of glass and I'm gonna shatter at any moment. I'm still here, aren't I? I'm a tough bitch. I'll be fine."
He gives her a sad smile. "I see that. But everyone has their limits. Whatever... happened, it's best not to keep it bottled up. It'll fester and grow until it eats you alive. Don't let it do that."
"Talking from experience, huh?"
It's rhetorical, but he nods and answers anyway, "Yeah, you could say that."
The laugh she gives is dry, and even though she's not looking directly at his face anymore, she's not turning away from him, so he takes that as a good sign. "You're sounding more like Sam every day."
"Oh, god." The lopsided smile betrays the scathing intention of his words.
Her laughter that time has more heart to it. "It's not such a bad thing. He can be helpful."
"Talking from experience?"
She finally meets his gaze again. Even in the low light, he can see plenty of emotion churning in her eyes. "You could say that."
He lets himself smile for a moment while they just watch each other. Gives her a small nod, as in it's okay to talk, I'm listening.
"I suppose I should start at the beginning." She takes a deep, steadying breath. And though her voice is stronger than when he first entered the room, it still shakes a little. "Guy named Coulson recruited me into S.H.I.E.L.D. while I was still in college. Just for data analysis, engineering, stuff like that. Sounds like a great idea at the time. I'll get to develop cutting edge tech and help save people in one way or another. An office job with great benefits, and despite it being a spy organization, no real danger. Not that I shied away from danger back then. But still. Wasn't ever meant to go out into the field and be a spy. Time goes on, I get to know some of the other agents. Ended up getting them to try and teach me advanced self-defense. You can never be too careful, especially when you look like me."
Bucky chuckles quietly, and she goes on.
"Long story short, I get a CO, Melinda, who starts training me for the field. Even got the famous Black Widow to show me some stuff." Her voice cracks ever so slightly on Natasha's code name. He frowns. He didn't know her well, but the loss still stings. Sandy goes on after a beat of silence.
"Anyway, I end up starting to branch out, go undercover when they need me to. One day, Fury calls me and this other agent, John Bronson, into his office and gives us an assignment in China. It was just supposed to be finding out where these terrorists are getting their funding, where they're hiding this high-tech equipment they shouldn't have access to. Doesn't give us a time table, says to do what's necessary." A fond expression crosses her face and she laughs, "Bucky, I thought this guy was gonna blow my cover before we even had a shot at getting the mission started. He had the thickest Southern accent I've ever heard, and I was like, 'Why the hell is Fury pairing me up with this dude? Is this a test?' But, since this is Fury we're talking about, I shouldn't have had any doubts. John spoke Mandarin just fine, even though he pretended not to, knew his role and stuck to it, played the part of suave businessman husband really well. We got along like two peas in a pod, actually. Sometimes it's easy to get close to someone when you spend nearly a year living with them."
She looks up at him for a moment, and whatever good things she'd been feeling are gone now. Bucky thinks he knows where this is going, and he doesn't like it.
"Every time we'd get close to figuring out where they were getting the money and equipment from, we'd hit a roadblock. John was good at schmoozing up people. Almost as good as me. But whatever intel we could gather from these people wasn't quite good enough. Had trouble hacking into anything, which is why we were so reliant on word of mouth. Woulda been easier…" She huffs bitterly. "Eventually, at one of these big fancy events in Beijing, like the one tonight, we got made. We didn't know it at the party, otherwise things would have gone differently. Better, probably. We were ambushed on our way back to the hotel. I was trying too hard to save the data on my laptop and…"
She takes a very shaky breath and bites down on her lip to try and stave off the tears.
"It's my fault. It's always my fault. I was supposed to have his back."
There's a sickening feeling brewing in his gut now. Bucky shakes his head and puts a hand on her shoulder. "You were following orders, trying to finish the mission."
That tastes a little less sour than it used to.
"That's just it, though. The data on that laptop was basically irrelevant. It all led to dead ends anyway. I didn't need it. John was more important. I should have never…"
The grip on her shoulder tightens. She nods, eyes squeezed shut. "It's not your fault," he repeats, more firm but still gentle.
"It is. And it ruined everything when I got back. A little while before I left, I'd started seeing this other agent, Bobbi Morse. Funny, smart as fuck, and probably one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. We were good together, and I really liked her. But after losing John, ruining the mission... I pushed her away. Pushed everyone away. Wouldn't see any of the S.H.I.E.L.D. therapists because I knew what they'd tell me. And they haven't been through what I've been through, so why should I listen? Thought it was all gonna be bullshit. And I wasn't sure I even wanted help. I was just... in a really bad place, Bucky."
"If it helps," Bucky begins slowly, "it took me years before I'd talk to anyone about what happened."
When she looks at him again, there's a tiny glint in her eyes. "Sam finally get you to talk?"
His smile grows more genuine as he thinks about Shuri and Steve. T'Challa and Okoye, too. "Not at first, actually. Other friends. But he's definitely helped. Even if he is a giant pain in the ass sometimes."
And Sam did try the few occasions he and Steve visited Wakanda. Bucky wasn't as open then, but he appreciated the effort. And that Sam treats him like a normal human being now, rather than like he's made of glass, as Sandy put it. And he knows Bucky as he is now, not as he used to be. Which is more refreshing than he would have thought, honestly. So Bucky's complaining has no real bite behind it. He quite enjoys their banter, actually. Enjoys Sam's company overall.
"I love that man," she chuckles softly. "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him." He watches her patiently, noting how she looks at least a little better. Sam does have that effect on people. "Eventually, I got cabin fever and had to go somewhere. Anywhere, really. Just as long as it was out of my apartment. And Coulson had mentioned the VA once or twice in the past, so why not start there? Thought I'd try to make myself feel a little bit worse by listening to people who've had much shittier times than I have. Be a masochist, y'know. So, I found myself in one of Sam's group sessions. Didn't say anything, but something about Sam and the way he treated everyone, and he'd lived through this shit... It stuck with me. So I kept coming back. Started talking a little bit. Eventually, we started having more private sessions."
He gives her a raised eyebrow, not really entirely sure which way she means it. But when she laughs in response, he knows the answer.
"Not like that, unfortunately," she sighs ruefully. "Though the thought did cross my mind. He's a beautiful man. But that would have been a bad idea for both of us. Sex and relationships weren't going to help me at the time, and we both knew it. 'S why I couldn't go back to Bobbi." She suddenly leans over and nudges him with her shoulder. "I don't know how far along you feel like you are in your recovery, but I'm sure he'd be willing if you asked."
Bucky falters, and Sandy's mischievous grin does nothing to help him formulate a good response. Even if it's just a shadow of her normal attitude. "I...uh—"
Another nudge. "Just teasing you, handsome."
And that. That doesn't help either.
"Though I can totally see it happening."
"I thought we were talking about you," he says after clearing his throat awkwardly.
The grin falls away, and she's clutching her legs to her chest a little tighter now. Bucky really doesn't want to keep intentionally adding to her sour mood, but it's become apparent that she's been bottling things up for a while. How long, he's not sure. What he is sure of, however, is that she needs to let it out before it decides to come out on its own, likely at an inopportune moment. One that will cause her even more pain in the long run.
And he'll be damned if he's going to let anything happen to any of them. So he nudges her ever so gently.
"The way I saw things, the way I'd changed…" Sandy shakes her head sadly. "There was no way I could go back to Bobbi, even after I'd recovered enough to start going back out into the field. Thought I'd messed that up too much. And I couldn't let fellow agents get close enough again. Not when I could get them killed. That mindset is… it's still here, but basically my friends started giving me no choice but to get close again. I'm thankful, really. Means I'm not so alone all the time."
"So did you start dating again?"
She shakes her head. "Nah. Too hung up on Bobbi and too afraid I might mess something up. I know this might come as a surprise, but I'm not good with romantic feelings anymore. This job isn't—wasn't, though I guess this one still isn't—the best for relationships. Other people can make it work, but I wasn't willing to risk it. Messed it up once when something really bad happened, so who's to say I wouldn't just do it again?"
Bucky hums lowly, then says, "I think I know how you feel."
"Glad you get it. Not everybody does. Another reason I wasn't even willing to try." There's no sound in the room for a moment besides the low rumbling of the air conditioning unit until Sandy sighs and glances at the ceiling. "But I think the worst part is, when I had no other choice than to ask for her help again a couple years ago, back when I first met Frank, she told me that she would have welcomed me back, back then. No questions asked. So I screwed up again. No second chance while she was in front of me, either. Couldn't permanently drag her into Frank and I's mess. And, she got remarried a couple months earlier, so even if I wanted to, it wouldn't have worked out. Guess you could say that she's the one that got away."
Bucky lets his mind briefly drift to Steve. He wonders if there's any sort of universe where they get to have their own normal, happy endings, one without constant wars, torture, loss, and other forms of trauma. The thought tastes bitter, since the timeline he's stuck in seems to have other plans for the both of them. And not all of those plans are good.
"So, I went back to work full time a few months before the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. happened. We went underground for a while, I teamed up with who was left, mostly tracking down old H.Y.D.R.A operatives and taking care of them. Did a lot of individual field work when I could. Bunch of shit happened while I wasn't at home base. Fast forward a little bit, then I somehow ended up discovering I have alien DNA. And as good as I am, I can't figure out where that happened in my bloodline. Can't very well ask my family about it."
This heavily piques Bucky's interest. "Why not?"
The crease in her brow deepens. "When S.H.I.E.L.D. fell, I made it look like I died, too. They didn't know I'd started going undercover. They knew my work was secret, so it wasn't hard to keep up the lie. And it's... It's just better if they think I'm dead. Less risk of them getting hurt, should my identity ever be revealed."
He severely regrets asking for clarification. Her bottom lip is trembling and her knuckles are white from how hard she's gripping her knees. It makes Bucky sick to his stomach. Well, more than he already was.
"I can't tell if it's better to just not have anyone, or have people that you can't ever see again."
"You have us."
His words surprise him only a little, but Sandy a lot. She searches his face for a long moment, looking for any proof that he's joking, he assumes. When she finds none, she lets herself smile. "Guess so. Even if I keep getting everyone around me killed or almost killed. I'm a little surprised Frank hasn't kicked me to the curb yet."
In any other conversation, he wouldn't have thought so much of her comment. But something tells him there's more to it than just I'm annoying. "Something happen?"
She shrugs with one shoulder. "He almost died. My fault, as always."
"Doesn't seem like he blames you."
She scoffs. "He usually thinks almost dying is always his fault. I get called out for every other time I do something wrong, which is more than I'd like to admit. But that… that was actually my fault. We walked into a trap laid out by the guy trying to frame me for the Vice President's murder. Frank's capable of taking care of himself, but the guy had sense enough to separate us while making it look like it was our idea. Didn't realize that until later, but still. Shoulda seen the signs. And I've watched enough movies to know you should never separate when you don't know exactly what you're walking into."
"Hindsight's always 20/20."
"Yeah, but that doesn't make it any better."
Well, maybe he should have just kept his mouth shut.
"I was able to get back to him in time, get him back to our hideout. I've been trained a little in field medicine, but the extent of his injuries… I couldn't save him on my own. Which is why I called Bobbi. To borrow your hindsight thing, it's a good thing I didn't know Curtis then. He's seen Frank and me scuffed up enough times since then that I'm glad I didn't have to add nearly watching Frank die again to that list. Plus, I got closure on some stuff with Bobbi. Stuff neither of us really found the will to talk about when we were back at S.H.I.E.L.D. Besides just the 'I would have taken you back' thing."
Bucky grunts in agreement, nodding. "Takes time to talk about stuff like that."
"True," she hums. Then, her head tilts to the side and she gives him a mirthless smile. "Everything happens for a reason, I suppose." Almost immediately, regret overtakes her features. "Shit. I really shouldn't be saying that to you of all people. Sorry, Bucky, I—"
In truth, Bucky's tired of people apologizing to him. It's totally understandable and he doesn't blame them, but he's tired. He hopes his expression conveys this because he doesn't actually want to say it. It's important to move forward, but that doesn't mean he enjoys talking about these things. Aiding other people with similar issues has always been easier. Which is why he wants to keep Sandy on track. "It's okay. And Frank's alive now, you're alive."
She clearly catches on. "Yeah, yeah. I mean, we're both pretty cut up all the time, but yeah. Him usually more than me. Which is one reason I decided to leave S.H.I.E.L.D. Being alone is hard. And, even though he won't openly admit it, it was wearing on Frank. On me. I know I said I just got tired of the spy games and shit, wanted to do something to help those that get overlooked, and that's all true. But… Something had changed at S.H.I.E.L.D. So I left. And here I am." She spreads her arms out. "Got nowhere else to go."
"I'm sure S.H.I.E.L.D. would take you back. If you wanted." In truth, he doesn't know these people, doesn't know what they would do, but reassurances don't hurt.
Sandy scoffs again, "After all I've been doing? This isn't just petty theft. I can't go back, even if I wanted."
"You'd be surprised what family is willing to forgive." Shit, he certainly is.
"I'm sure some people would. And they are still kind of my family, but… I don't feel like I belong there anymore. Took some time, but I realized I need Frank as much as he needs me. So it's okay. Besides, gotta say, as morbid and sadistic as this sounds, it feels really good getting to watch the life drain from the lowlives we kill. Personally, rapists and sex traffickers are my favorite to kill. And being able to give their money away to the victims is icing on the cake."
Something clicks for Bucky, and he laughs quietly. "So that's you, huh? Might just take a page from your book once all this is over."
"Feel free, handsome," she chuckles. "I write a pretty good book, so take a few pages."
Silence settles between them for a few moments. Not uncomfortable this time, though. Sandy reaches for her water bottle and chugs it, asking something almost the second she's pulled the bottle from her lips.
"Stupid question, but you know what blood smells like, right?"
Yes, but she doesn't give him the chance to respond.
"I still smell it sometimes. Randomly, I mean. Like sometimes when I'm out in public. Or in the bath the few instances I'm not cut up. And not just… Not just the generic blood smell. What it smelled like that night in Beijing. I'm not even sure what triggers it, or even if it is triggered by anything. Kinda gave up on figuring that out a while back. Just deal with it now."
Bucky nods. "Me, too. And I get phantom pains in my arm." He motions at the metal connection on his shoulder, which is covered by his black long sleeve henley. "Used to be just from my fall, so it was centered right here." His fingers drift lower on his bicep. "Now, I get them here, too. From the last time I was in Siberia. It's a different kind of pain, but still."
"Ah." Her eyes flicker briefly over his arm, then back to his face. "That why you have a new arm? Or did Shuri just wanna give you an upgrade and non-Nazi arm?"
Bucky snorts. "The first. Though I'm pretty sure she would've given me a new arm anyway. She's always talking about improving existing tech. Besides just making new stuff."
"Sounds like my kinda girl."
"I think you guys'd get along. I'll do what I can to sneak you two into Wakanda before we drop you back into New York. Sam and I have been dying to get back there anyway."
God, Bucky could use a vacation. Whatever form that takes, whether it's occasionally sparring with T'Challa and some of the Dora Milaje, tending to his (hopefully not actually long forgotten) farm, or spending days in Shuri's lab catching up on five years of memes and pop culture while she tinkers with things, he's game for it.
As if reading his mind, Sandy shrugs, but offers him a sly smile. "Wouldn't wanna spoil your vacation. When was the last time you took one of those, anyway?" Her tone indicates that however long will be too long in her eyes.
"What, this doesn't count as a vacation?"
"I do love the South American sunshine, but my idea of vacation usually involves less getting shot at. There's enough of that in my daily life." She clicks her tongue. "But hey, to each their own."
"No, you and I probably have the same definition. I think we could all use one, honestly."
"You're not wrong. But," she sighs miserably, "we've gotta take care of a few more shit stains first. Which I am glad to do. But now you've got me thinking about going surfing and shit."
"Not my intention when I walked in, but that works." He offers her a kind smile, one which she returns with equal enthusiasm. "We'll be all right. We'll get through this together."
She nods at him, and he notices a little of her enthusiasm fade, but not much. "Thanks, Bucky. I've got your back," she says seriously.
He was right to get her to talk. He knows he's not Sam or Frank, someone who she knows intimately, but he's glad she felt comfortable enough to open up to him about stuff she obviously doesn't like talking about. Now he totally gets why Sam spends as much time as he can doing this stuff.
"And I've got yours," he affirms. After a moment, he leans back and throws his arm over the back of the couch, casting her a look that he hopes conveys his unspoken invitation.
She smiles at him again, more suggestively this time, and settles into his side. "If you wanted to cuddle so bad, you didn't need to butter me up first, handsome. All you had to do was ask."
"Don't make this weird, please."
"Oh, fine."