The vibrations of the cell phone on the nightstand broke through Holly's dreams, shaking her awake. Pressing her face into her pillow, she groaned in tandem with her husband, his body rolling and shifting the mattress as he picked it up. Her eyes squeezed tight against the click and brightness of the lamp as it was turned on. As Steve grumbled a greeting behind her (barely polite, but it was a lot kinder than what she would say in the middle of the night) she looked over at her clock, brow screwing up incredulously. It was nearly four in the morning, the day after Christmas. Who in the hell would be calling at that hour?
Work, her brain supplied dully, her hand swiping over her face as she sighed. It could only be someone from the base. And given the shift in Steve's voice from sleepy to alert, she knew she'd guessed right.
"What?" he crowed. Looking over her shoulder at him, she watched as his posture stiffened, his free hand twisting into the comforter still wrapped around his waist. He listened intently to the person on the other end of the line, his jaw setting and eyebrows quirking. Darting a glance at his own clock, he let out a fast breath. "...I'll be there in twenty. Half hour, tops." Another pause, and then he nodded to thin air. "Bucky, too. Right, we're on our way."
His thumb hit the button on the screen, the device dropped in the bedclothes as he moved out from underneath them. Sitting up, Holly watched as he shed his sleep pants, letting them drop to the floor.
"That didn't sound good," she muttered, raking a hand back through her hair. Shooting a look at her, Steve gave her a grim smirk, scooping up the backpack that was always perched just inside the closet and letting it flop onto the bed. The travel backpack, the one with the mini-med kit and the small bag of grooming supplies. The one he took with him whenever he anticipated a longer mission. A sinking feeling bled through her, wrenching her gut when she saw it.
"It is and it isn't," he conceded, fishing out a couple of clean shirts from the drawers. Pushing them into the bag, he grabbed up a third, changing out of the athletic tank he slept in and throwing it on. Combing a hand through his mussed tresses, he let out another sigh. "Probably will end up more towards 'isn't' by the end of it."
The twisting feeling returned, her hands coming to rest at her abdomen. Snorting, she waited until he finished packing clean boxers into the bag, her rueful expression making him halt momentarily.
"It wouldn't hurt to lie a little once in awhile, Steve," she said, attempting to take on a humorous tone. The smile he gave her didn't reach his eyes, the blue remaining stormy as he went to her and dropped a peck on her temple.
"Sorry, can't help it," he retorted mildly, another buss planted at the corner of her mouth. Going back to his packing, he was pulled up short by Holly flipping back the sheets, adjusting her shirt and pajama pants to fall straight as she got out of bed. Blinking, he wondered, "What are you doing?"
Grabbing up the car keys from where he'd left them on the dresser, she rattled them, stifling a yawn as she shuffled towards the door.
"I'll go start the truck for you, you go wake up the assassin," she murmured. Pausing in the doorway, she cut a glance back to him, her eyes lighting up as she scanned over him. "And get your pants on."
Glancing down, he realized in his haste, he had not bothered to put on jeans.
"Oh, geez," he grumbled, darting back towards the dresser himself. Shaking her head, Holly tiptoed downstairs, careful not to wake her slumbering parents or brother in their rooms. Gathering up her coat from the hall closet, she slid her feet into her old boots just as she heard Steve descend the stairs, preparing to rouse his friend. Her deep sigh was cut off by a second, shuddering breath. The freezing cold air swirled around her as she made the trek from the back door to the garage, picking her way through the darkness. Firing up the engine, she rubbed the heel of her free hand against her eyes, the last of her sleep and tranquility gone in that instant. Leaning back against the headrest, she listened to the purr of the truck as it warmed up, musing about their fortune that year. At least Steve had not been called away during Christmas Day proper. There would have been no hiding how upset and sad she would have been if she'd had to see him off then, no matter how hard she tried to stuff down the worry and the fear.
The side door to the garage creaked open, and in flooded the super soldiers. Bucky spared her a fast nod as he jogged around to the opposite side of the truck, a small bag packed and in hand. Climbing out, she met Steve by the door, immediately going into his arms after he dropped his backpack and shield onto the floor. The warmth of his body encompassed her, and she held onto him tightly as her face pressed into his shoulder. The wool of the coat buffed against her skin, but it didn't stop her from staying near. A hand snaked into her hair, and she let Steve pull her back, his mouth descending onto hers in a hard, long kiss. The bittersweet taste on his lips mixed with hers, stayed with them both when they parted, his forehead resting against hers.
"I hate leaving you like this," he breathed, nodding back towards the house. He hated leaving her, period, let alone with a house full of family to host and look after on her own. Granted, it wasn't as if there was a platoon stationed on the property, but still. However, they couldn't be as lucky as they were last year; the enemy was unwilling to oblige them that time. Her hand came up, resting against his cheek as puffs of air drifted out of her nose.
"I know. It'll be alright," she tried to reassure him, fingers sliding back into his hair and her eyes closing. She could handle it, handle her family on their last days of vacation. Her concerns were elsewhere at the moment. Tucking her hand into the opened top of his coat, she slid it under the layers and over his chest, over his heart. "Be safe, both of you."
"Same goes for you," he said, smiling wanly and his fingers trailing along her sides. A flickering glance was cast to her belly, and she nodded in response. Palms cupped her hips, dragging her back into his embrace. One last, hungry kiss was snatched, breath taken away as he kept her close for another moment or two. "I love you."
"Love you, too," she whispered, forcing herself to let him go after several more seconds. He picked up his shield and bag, securing both in the backseat before swinging himself up behind the wheel. Thumbing the sensor, the garage door slid up without preamble, and she leaned against the side door as the vehicle backed out of the space, his blue gaze catching her strained brown eyes once more before rocketing down the drive. The rumble of the truck faded after a minute or two, the rustle of the freezing wind through the trees the only sound in the night. Exhaling slowly, she slapped her hand against the wall sensor, the garage door dropping again as she left to go back into the house. The code was tapped numbly, and she shivered as she stepped into the kitchen. As she began to drag off her coat, she was startled by a clearing throat in the archway. There Lisa stood, her silvered blonde hair tied back and her bright eyes scanning over her daughter's form. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and her sleep clothes were rumpled under her robe. Her gaze was filled to the brim with concern and sympathy, so much so that it made Holly ache deep down. Evidently, they weren't quiet enough, if her mother had been woken up. She dropped her coat on the nearby counter, and her boots were kicked off next as she lifted a shoulder in apology.
"I'm sorry, we didn't..." Holly trailed off as her mother's hand waved through the air, cutting her off.
"Don't worry about it, Holl," she told her, going to her daughter. Wrapping an arm around her, she began to guide her into the living room, the younger woman falling into step with her. "Come on."
Situating her on the sofa, her mother went over to the tree, plugging in the lights and letting the multicolored glow wash over the space. The glinting ornaments and star shone down on them as Lisa sat down on the far end of the couch, taking up one of the throw pillows and placing it against her leg. Patting it lightly, she waited until Holly unwrapped her arms from around her middle, laying down and resting her head against the pillow. Gently, she felt her mother's finger's comb through her hair, the two of them allowing the stillness and darkness of the early morning to enfold them.
"It'll be okay?" she asked after the silence had stretched, brushing some hair behind her ear. Holly picked at the cushion beneath her, inhaling and exhaling carefully. Tiredly, she glanced up at her mother before cupping a hand in the air.
"I...I hope so," she said, letting her palm drop. Her eyelids drooped, her mind whirring on even as her body fought against it. "It's all I can do, generally."
The forlorn note was muted, buried deep, or so she had thought, but Lisa had picked up on it, had noticed the jump of nerves when her daughter had come in from the cold. When she had come in from saying good-bye to her husband, a good man willing to give his life over and over for the world. She couldn't imagine living that kind of life, couldn't imagine being able to watch Paul go like Holly did for Steve. A surge of pity tore her, but leavened with a hint of pride at her stalwart streak.
"Okay," Lisa responded, leaving the matter at that for the time being. Instead, she focused on calming the worry and the nerves, lulling Holly back to sleep with her ministrations. She would sleep, and in the morning, the family would take care of her, she promised herself, leaning her head back and letting her own breathing go steady.
xXxXxXx
The trip from the base to the helicarrier was tense, terse. Steve was not talking much, all his mind focused on the upcoming mission, and the android who served under him had little to add, keeping to himself as they flew out. Bucky was locked into his seat, his brain furiously wondering why he, of all people, had been called in as well. He wasn't due for his trials yet, or so Natasha had told him. The only conclusion he could come up with, the one that made at least an iota of sense, was that he was one of the few qualified (a dubiously-applied title, to be sure) people left at the base, one of the few who could answer a call that was put out by the SHIELD field director. The quinjet they had boarded cut a swatch through the dark sky, light inching up the farther east they went. The sun was over the horizon by the time the looming carrier came into view, a gray swatch muted by the clouds.
As they landed on the long tarmac, they were met by Fury himself, his stark, black coat bundled around him as he lifted a hand in greeting. He led the way through the bullet-colored halls, sparse sentries at various posts snapping to attention as they went. It seemed that some reconnaissance done by the field agents, and by the secondary team, had produced some interesting results, shedding some light on the problem with a major arms dealer showing up on and off over the last few months. It was time-sensitive, and so the secondary team leader and the director had wanted the captain apprised of the situation as soon as could be. To Bucky's eyes,it seemed that they wanted Steve specifically to be brought in so an attack plan could be executed as swiftly as possible, but he kept his opinions to himself as they were eventually ushered into a closed-off conference room. The space was dominated by a glass-topped table, the digital display at the far end frozen on the picture of the eagle insignia of SHIELD. At the far end of the table, he spotted Wanda, her green gaze flicking over to him and a small smile gracing her lips as she nodded in greeting. Her brother, Pietro, was there as well, narrowing his gaze on the newcomers but saying nothing. A girl with cropped black hair and sharp cheekbones had her backside resting against the table, her head tipped down as she engaged in low voice-conference with another fellow. Hearing the door whir open, the fellow turned, raking a hand through his brown hair and his bright eyes twinkling even in the harsh lighting. He recognized them as members of the secondary team, the girl being called Finesse and the guy actually being the leader of the messy outfit. Greetings were shared, stilted ones spoken by the Vision and Bucky (one because he was still unsteady about everyday social interactions, and the other because the last time he'd spoken to those people, his future was hanging in the balance).
"Fill us in, Joe," Steve said abruptly, taking a seat at the table. Sharing a confused glance, Bucky and the Vision followed, taking the chairs that flanked him on either side. From his seat, Chapman slid across a file folder, languidly kicking his legs up to rest on the tabletop. Fury gave a hard stare at his antics, refusing a seat for himself and instead clasping his hands behind his back, letting them discuss.
"Got some movement along the coast of Africa, thought it was run-of-the-mill black market ops. It's not so simple," Joe indicated, nodding to the files. "Looks like one of them has been trying his hand at getting into Wakanda. Again."
At the implication, Steve's expression went sour, and he spiked an eyebrow.
"Klaue," he muttered, sharing a look with Wanda and her brother across the table. The two of them looked just as pleased by the news, with hunched shoulders and sharp glances to one another. Bucky hadn't heard much about the Klaue character, other than that he had a hand in the whole robot business back in May. Involving the twins, too, he suspected. Perhaps he would have to consult with Wanda later on for enlightenment.
Fury came forward, resting his hands on the back of a nearby empty chair. "He's getting desperate, trying to rebuild what he lost after Ultron and Stark's siphoning of his funds."
The kid, Jeanne, snorted and pinched the bridge of her nose. "No kidding."
"Feels like there's more at play here than just trying to steal vibranium," the captain stated before the director could answer her flagrant behavior. Tapping a thumb on the table, he pointed out, "Otherwise, he would have been and gone without the fuss."
"True. He's buying up weapons and munitions all over the place, but not all of it has been sold. Half of what he's got is being turned out, but the other half just...disappears," Joe said, standing and coming over to him. Taking up the file, he paged through them until he found the sheets of paper with agents' reports upon it, spies that had infiltrated at Fury's behest. They had tracked down the split shipments, but they consistently vanished before a credible trace could be made.
"Keeping it for himself?" Steve asked, taking the papers back and looking at them closer.
"Either that, or he has a private buyer." The director drew in a sharp breath, letting the words sink before going on. "One who is looking to outfit an army."
A deathly hush fell over the room, and Bucky swallowed against the dryness that had surfaced in his throat.
"HYDRA?" he wondered aloud, daring to speak the name they all were thinking. For his part, Fury inclined his head, taking a few steps away from the table.
"Could be. SHIELD didn't die, after all," the director said, crossing his arms over his chest. "They could have just been laying low the last few months, and are waiting to make their move."
"So why go into a place that literally branded him a criminal?" Wanda inquired, face contorting quizzically. "Seems that even if he's looking for money, he'd be going somewhere else."
"It might be compulsory," the Vision piped up, his electric blue gaze sweeping over to the Maximoff girl and back again. "Either he wants the vibranium for himself, or if he has a private buyer, they want it as well."
"Or it could be meant as a distraction," Chapman theorized, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Drawing attention onto him to avoid the real issue being discovered altogether. Whatever it is."
"No matter what, he's been left at loose ends long enough," Steve pronounced, the hand on the arm of his chair curling into a fist "We need to find him and detain him, see if he'll let us know the purpose of his little end runs. Got any idea where he ran off to?"
Chapman nodded, turning and letting his back rest against the wall, files taken back to page through. "After being chased out of the country—says here by the prince, no less, that kid has some balls—it looked like he was headed south. Can't imagine he's still in his digs in Johannesburg, but there have been sightings of him around Cape Town."
Fury tipped his head to the side, his eye traveling over to the captain again. "Gonna call in the team?"
At that, Steve frowned, considering his options. There was no guarantee that Klaue would remain in Cape Town for long, now that he had been outright spotted and nearly apprehended by the Wakandan government. He would know that once he broke cover, others would be coming for him. Specifically, others with immunity to travel and detain criminals in any country on the planet. The trouble was, they could not afford to wait any longer than they had. With Sam, Natasha, and Rhodey all out of range, they would have to go with who they had on hand. Shaking his head once, he turned to look at Joe.
"Who's all here, Chapman?"
"Just me, the kid, and the twins," he said, hooking his thumb over to Jeanne and the Maximoffs at the other end of the table. The youngest member of the team shot him a dirty look for referring to her as a 'kid,' but otherwise kept her mouth shut. Catching her snappish attitude, Joe just rolled his eyes at her before continuing. "Crystal and Duquesnes were out when the info came in. They won't get here in time, and we really should make a move."
Steve's mouth set in a thin line. It wasn't ideal, but they could make do.
"Okay," he breathed out soon enough. Casting his gaze around the room, he commanded lightly, "Everybody suit up, we'll all meet on the deck in twenty. See if we can't find Klaue's hideout."
The others rose from their chairs, intent on making their way to the uniform bay set up with spares for them all to change into. A hand, though, grabbed at Steve's arm, halting him in his tracks. Looking back, he found Bucky's eyes searching his face, eyebrows nearly hitting his hairline.
"Everybody?" he intoned quietly. Cutting a look across the room, Steve and Fury stared at one another, silent conversation flowing between them. When the director merely raised his shoulder, Steve sighed, carefully prying his friend's hand off his arm. Reiterating his command, the blond man left without another word, the brunet standing stunned for a moment. Inhaling shakily, he turned his gaze onto Fury, the fellow meeting the storm brewing in his person.
"Gotta go through your trials sometime, Barnes," he explained lightly, stepping up to the table's edge once more. It was past time, in his opinion, but he had not wanted to rush where Barnes was concerned. Or, at least, not where Rogers' perception of Barnes was concerned. Still, he could see for himself that the time he spent out of active duty had been for the better, and it was time to test his progress. Turning a palm up to the air, he reported, "We'll have an evaluator set up on the scene to monitor your progress."
Pulling himself erect, Bucky raised an eyebrow. "Who?"
The uncovered brown eye tracked past him, towards the inset glass of the automatic door. Just beyond it was the android, his golden cape materializing around his shoulders and his electric eyes meeting his unerringly.
"The Vision needs something to do other than hover midair and wait for things to reach disaster level." Off the uncertain look Barnes shot him, Fury let his mouth curl in a humorless grin. "He's a clinical, analytical, unbiased party."
Blue eyes darted skeptically towards the door. "Not so sure about that."
"Whether you are or not, it's happening. He has agreed to it, and will be compiling a report alongside your commanding officer's," he stated, answering the silent question of whether Steve would be in on it, too. It would come down to this, his performance during the mission. He had known there had to be a specific reason for his coming away from the safety of the base. It was just happening so quickly, and he could barely hang on for the ride. Shaking his head, the older man gestured for him to get moving. "Standing there slack-jawed isn't gonna get your suit on any faster. Go."
Tightening his stance, Bucky drew in a sharp breath before dipping his chin. "Yes, sir."
Arguing or stalling would avail him nothing. If this was how it had to be, then so be it. It was time, he told himself, holding it in his heart and mind as he picked his way through the carrier, ready to find the appropriate gear and meet the challenge head-on.
xXxXxXx
Another day dawned, the sun passing over the sky even as interminable heat swept over the place. Evening was fast approaching, though light still touched everywhere. The whitewashed warehouse just outside of Cape Town was meant to act solely as a business center, a place to handle and ship product. With his recent luck, however, it had become the base of Ulysses Klaue's dwindling operations. After the mess with Ultron, the Enhanced, and with the Avengers, he had little left to him. His reputation in the black market had suffered, his business was not sought. Employees suffered under his volatile temper, the shift in his personality so stark and abrupt that it terrified them. Contracts were becoming few and far between, and that had made him desperate. Even more so now that revenge had sat heavily on his brain. He had thought he had fallen as far as he could, that there was no were left to go but up.
Well, he was wrong. There was much farther to fall, and his current employers had helped him figure that out. Damn mercenaries, damn nameless faces. He did the grunt work; he got the equipment out of Sokovia, and for what? A tenth of the profit? Worthless. But more and more work rolled in, with promises of sticking it to Tony Stark, to Captain America, to those damned kids who forged the path between the automaton and him. They played right into his wheelhouse, or so he had thought.
He should have known that it would come to nothing. To worse than nothing, he mused as he sat in his back office. Promises instead of anything binding, it was bad business, something he swore he would never indulge in. He had been a fool, a raging, impotent fool at that, and he knew it well. Despite the very few perks, there had been no real pay-off for him. Pouring himself a glass of brandy from the stash he'd hidden in the lower drawer, he went around the room, dimming the lights until it all became shadow and shade. At least that would be to his advantage.
He knew they were coming. All right, so he didn't know which "they" it would be, but he did know that the moment he left Wakanda without the stolen shipment of vibranium it would alert all sorts of people. It was just a question of when at that point. Firing up the security camera televisions in his office, he sat and sipped, waiting. A sensor attached to his desk started to blink, the red light flashing eerily in the semi-darkness. The outer perimeter had been breached. Grunting to himself, he took up the phone, punching in the number for the correct line, orders given with a semblance of calm before he let the receiver fall into place. Setting the glass down, he moved his hand down to the gun in his holster, thumbing the safety off.
Brandy was swilled and washed down as he watched the outer doors being pried open, his men positioned and ready for the onslaught to arrive. A burst of light caught the camera, flaring as six figures darted and spread out. In the center, as clear as day, was a shield, gunfire silently reflecting off it. Of course, they would get there first. Most likely just how his employers intended it to be. Snorting harshly, he downed the last of his glass, a flare of rage making him dash the glass against the far wall. Scooping out the bottle, he drank directly from it as he watched the attack play out. The captain, he was easily recognized, but the nearby companion was masked. Upon closer inspection, it looked as though he had the British flag strapped over Kevlar, a knife and pistol in hand as he spun over one of the guards, taking him down with ease. Well, more power to him, Klaue thought perversely, his dark curls shaking on his head; he never liked that guy, anyway. Little smart-arse. One fellow decked all in black was joined by a winding blur, and he gritted his teeth at the two young women working together, billy clubs and mystical powers threading through the men like a needle through cloth. Another deep swallow, and then he'd go out and take care of things himself, he promised. Replacing the bottle, he stood in time to see that the blur had disappeared from the cameras' view, and the shouts of his personal guard had increased. Standing slowly, he felt the sweet rush of the drink in his system, emboldening him to face his door without fear as it burst open.
Klaue looked on, his suspicions proven true. Spotting the male Enhanced standing there, all trussed up in a blue and gray jumpsuit, he rolled his eyes.
"Christ, you again," Klaue muttered, accented voice thick with derision. Unable to help himself, the corner of Pietro's mouth curved.
"You miss me?" he asked facetiously, stepping fully into the shadowed room. The sparse lighting danced across the older man's face as he paced away from him. The grime and dirt that had embedded itself into his skin was still prevalent, his eyes narrowing in contempt before he shifted around. Deliberately, he kept himself in profile, his left side hidden from sight.
"Little bitch came too, yeah?" he remarked, silently laughing at the younger man's low-voiced growl. Klaue's dark eyes flicked over to the television screens, narrowing in on one in the bottom right. The female Enhanced was there, ringed by his toughest men, the only ones who were given the authority to approach her. Her hands twisted and jerked, mists springing from them and passing through her assailants with nary a pause in their descent. The older man almost smiled gleefully, well imagining her panic. "Reckon she's not having an easy time out there with the boys. Worst fears don't mean nothin' to people who've already lived 'em."
The Avenger codenamed Quicksilver ground his teeth together, his obvious concern for his sister warring with the need to complete his task. She could handle herself, she could take care of herself. Forcing his eyes away from the image, he glared at the man in profile, sidestepping to keep himself between him and the door.
"Stalling isn't going to work," he ground out, hands curling into fists. "Didn't last time."
Menacingly, Klaue turned his head, gaze blackened with poorly-hidden fury.
"Maybe I'm giving you the chance to leave," he told him, his tone even as his hand cupped the pistol in his holster. Thinking he saw his game, Pietro darted forward, moving to disarm him with all speed. However, just as he had succeeded in removing the gun from the other man's grasp, he felt something cold and sharp snap around his neck. Yelping, he gripped at it, his booted feet suddenly no longer touching the floor. Slamming into the back wall, he rasped upon seeing the plated metal prosthesis Klaue sported in place of his severed left arm. Wires trailed up and around to his shoulder, a ring of blinking chips embedded into his skin. His shirtsleeve was cut away, allowing him greater mobility, and the ring of the metal as it twisted and held him in place was familiar. Instead of a hand at the end of it, though, claws extended and curled into his skin, biting roughly. Noticing his aghast stare, Klaue grinned with manic glee. His ploy had worked; perhaps he would at least take down one of the damned Avengers before it was all over. "Yeah, didn't have this last time. Impressed?"
Squeezing his claws, the tips dug into the younger man, small dribbles of blood starting to drip down his neck. Struggling to catch his breath, Pietro kicked out, slamming his foot into his opponent's side. Klaue jerked back, enough to give him ground and let him take a ragged breath.
"I've seen better," he sputtered, digging in his heels and trying to get away. The strength of the claws, however, constricted his windpipe again, and Klaue leaned in, smirking at his audacity.
"Oh yeah? Where?"
Bright eyes flicked over his shoulder, widened, and then a corner of his mouth turned up.
"There," was all the warning that the younger man gave him before a vicious blow landed across his shoulder. Dropping the Enhanced, Klaue whirled around to find the black menace from before, tact gear running over him. Eye black was smudged around his eyes like a mask, dark hair falling across his brow. An array of knives and hand guns were holstered to a belt, one of which was drawn and extended. What caught his attention was the ragged left sleeve, torn away to reveal a robotic arm similar to his, whirring and clicking as he wound up for another punch. A streak of recognition danced over his irises as he stared down the dark-clothed assailant.
Dodging it, the older man engaged him, claws snatching out to catch the wrist of his knife hand. A half-bitten groan shot out of the newcomer as metal bit through to flesh, scraping over the skin and making him drop the weapon. In the small space, there was hardly any room for hand-to-hand combat, and so Pietro was forced back to the open doorway, acting both as sentry and watching out for the soldier as he fought Klaue. The older man had no discipline, no formal training, but he had risen up from the lowest levels to the highest heights in one of the most dangerous businesses in the world. And he didn't get there merely through manipulation and savvy marketing plans. The power in his punches was concentrated, sharp, and hard, making him a worthy enough opponent for a short time. In his younger years, he was a formidable fellow. However, having crested over forty several years ago, and being years out of practice, he could not maintain his defense. Not for long, not under the intense reprisals of the Winter Soldier. Metal clashed and rang as the appendages interlocked, Barnes bending the older man's arm out far enough to butt his head solidly against his. With a grunt and a stumble, Klaue crumpled to the ground, knocked out cold.
The distant yells and screams from the warehouse's main room echoed up to them, drowning out both Pietro and Barnes's harsh breaths on and off. Tapping him with his boot, the soldier turned Klaue over onto his front, satisfied that he was unconscious and unable to fight back any longer. Kneeling down, he removed one of the smaller knives from its sheath, delicately maneuvering it to pry away the connecting wires from the chips. As he rendered the dealer's metal arm inert, he heard Pietro take a few slow steps towards him, and he glanced up. The fellow threaded a hand through his silver hair before gesturing down to their mutual enemy.
"Thanks," he croaked, swiping at the pinpricks of blood along his throat. Wanda was going to be so upset when she saw his injuries, and he imagined he would have a hell of a time explaining to Crystal when she returned from her winter holiday. Shaking his head, he looked down at his erstwhile teammate. Though he still did not completely trust the man, he could understand him. With his sister pointing out what she could feel in his soul, coming to his defense as Pietro fussed over her being in the same vicinity as him, it was easier to look past his former sins. It was less of a challenge to see the need, the hunger that burned deep down. And he had come in, fought by his side, stepped up to get him out of trouble despite knowing his early dislike. That was enough, it seemed.
Barnes dropped his gaze, focusing on securing the electromagnetic cuffs that had been secreted in one of his pouches around Klaue's wrists.
"Any time."
"Just saying, yours is better," he reiterated, smirking at Barnes as he looked at him again, a befuddled expression lacing his face. Shrugging a shoulder, he muttered, "Saved my ass."
That earned him a wry smirk, and the soldier grunted, "Fair enough."
Thundering footsteps crashed towards them, and both men pulled themselves to their full heights, meeting their leaders' questioning stares with stoicism.
xXxXxXx
Walking back from his short stint in the infirmary, Bucky entered the gathering room the team members were stationed in. With the higher-up grunts and Klaue successfully detained for questioning, the hodgepodge members of the East and West hemisphere teams had let the local authorities arrest the remaining members of the arms dealer's enterprise, his goods seized and his assets locked down for investigation. Returning to the helicarrier, the detainees were to be held until NATO representatives could come for them, and in the meantime, Steve and Chapman saw fit to separate Klaue from his men, see if they could get any answers to their questions. The Vision was standing guard at the door down the hall, ready to apprehend anybody who attempted to get in without authorization. Upon spotting him, the violet-face android softened his sharp gaze, nodding once in an almost salute. A little nonplussed, Barnes barely dipped his chin back.
Slipping into the observation room, he let the door fall from his grip, with it nearly slamming on the one called Finesse as she sneaked in behind him. A muffled apology fell from his lips, but she brushed it off. Her dark eyes were consumed with thoughtfulness. She had been conducting walk-bys of the interrogation room on and off over the last half hour, pausing to engage the Vision every now and again in an attempt to make herself seem innocent. Not that he bought it, of course; nobody in their right mind would. However, she was determined to sate her curiosity. Hers, and her cobbled teammates.
Scratching at the bandages along his neck (and having his hand swatted away by his sister), Pietro asked her, "You hear anything?"
"Nothing useful," she sighed, flopping into an open chair. Wincing, she shifted her hip; a massive bruise was starting to form there, with it taking a decidedly boot-shaped form. The fellows they fought had brought their A-game. Flicking her fingers through the air, she tugged off her goggles, looping them around her wrist as she combed through her hair. "Well, other than profanity, he's not saying much. Sure we shouldn't call in the Widow? Heard she was really good at this sort of thing."
Wanda spared a glance over to Bucky, both of them inclining their eyebrows at their companion's watered-down reputation preceding her.
"If he isn't saying anything in the next hour, then she'll probably be called in," the auburn-haired girl supplied, running a finger over the cuts on her arm. She had been cornered by men with high resistance to her powers, and it was only thanks to her hours of dedicated physical training that had gotten her an opening. Union Jack had sprung to her aid the moment she'd broken through their circle, the worst of her injuries being superficial ones.
Speculation flew back and forth amongst them freely, with Bucky adding very little to the conversation. His mind was occupied with the mission, with the potential screw-ups and mistakes that would get him nailed to the cross, banish him from ever thinking he could wash away the blood in his soul. What would the Vision have to say about it all? What would Steve report? It was all up in the air, suspended, and it made him nearly sick to contemplate it. His metal wrist clicked and clanked as he rotated it over and over, the tick only stopped when he felt a winding pressure still his movements. Glancing up, he saw that Wanda barely even looked at him while she cast her auras, her attention still focused on Jeanne's conjectures. Taking the hint, he forcibly made himself stop.
Soon enough, the door to the room slid open, Chapman and Rogers both stepping in. All conversation was stopped, gazes latching onto them. For his part, the captain accepted the intense focus, and Union Jack cleared his throat.
"Says he wants to speak to Barnes," he said, his Scouse accent hitting them hard as he answered the unspoken question. Flicking his bright gaze up, he toyed with the face mask hooked along one of his knives. "And only Barnes."
Stunned silence met his words, before all eyes turned to Bucky. The soldier focused on the toe of his boot, his jaw working as he considered the request being made.
"Are you serious?" Jeanne eventually barked, her eyebrows nearly disappearing into her hairline. Chapman rolled his shoulders back, dark amusement in his face as he fiddled with the belt pack around his waist.
"It's important, apparently."
Bucky risked a glance up then, and saw the hard set of his friend's face. It was important. It was important for them to get any information they could out of Klaue, any clue that could be shed on his activities and potential allies that could come to the fore. However, he could also see the mild reticence surfacing in Steve's irises, his unwillingness to force him into the position of interrogator. Resting his hands along the buckle of his belt, the blond man lifted his chin, a sigh breathed slowly through his nose.
"It's up to you, Bucky," he pronounced cautiously, leaving the decision in his hands. Barnes looked around at the room filled with compatriots, the expressions of worry and hopefulness dawning as he turned to each one. Squaring himself up, he exhaled sharply, taking a step forward to accept his fate.
"...Fine."
As he made his way towards the door, a hand snatching at his shoulder halted him. Chapman's bright eyes lit up, though his demeanor remained unemotional.
"No pressure, mate, but if you could get something out of him other than F-bombs and death threats, it would be appreciated," he conveyed lightly, a dry smile curling his lips. Bucky let his brow furrow, his own mouth twitching in response.
"I'll do what I can."
Both leaders escorted him out of the room, marching alongside him to where Klaue was being kept. Three soldiers on the move, boot heels ringing in the passage as they approached the violet sentry standing guard. With a few quiet words exchanged, Steve had persuaded the Vision to step back, making room for Bucky to enter the space unhindered. Before he could hit the button to allow entry, Barnes looked back to both Chapman and Rogers, a single nod punctuating the silence around them. As he opened the door and stepped in, the other men walked out of sight, down the hall in the opposite direction they had come.
Eyes scanning the room yielded very little. Sparse table, two empty chairs on one side, the prisoner on the other. In the harsh lighting, the dirt and sweat ingrained into Klaue's skin showed all the more. With his clawed hand rendered immobile, he was slumped to the right, his flesh wrist cuffed to the table to prevent him attacking. The older man watched him as he sat down in one of the abandoned chairs, pulling it up to the table's edge and waiting for him to speak. Minutes ticked by as neither said a word to the other, their breathing the only sound piercing the quiet. The clock hands wound around, and neither moved, neither spoke.
After a few minutes had passed in that manner, Bucky intentionally sat back in his seat, his arms folding over his chest.
"You wanted to see me." He gauged Klaue's response, which had remained at mere staring. "Do you actually have something to say, or is this a waste of my time?" Still nothing, and he let an exasperated breath pour out his nose. "I've played this game before, and it never ends well. Not on your side of the table, at least." The first line, a crack in the arms dealer's demeanor showed: a wince. Tapping a finger along the tabletop, Bucky seized on it, and said, "Ten seconds, or you get the bad ending."
Bucky had made it down to six in his mental countdown by the time the other man opened his mouth.
"I know who you are, soldier," the older man croaked, snickering at the quirk of Bucky's brow. Leaning forward in a conspiratorial manner, he professed, "You know, they talked about you. My"—he spat out a string of curses—"employers. Always wondered when you'd turn up, whether you were captured or if you were cowering away in some hole. Looks like a little of both, eh?"
A smirk decorated his lips. The gesture was not returned. Ice met the other man's gaze, Bucky's face like flint at the implications.
"Point. Get to it," he demanded, an edge in his tone. Klaue shifted uncomfortably in his seat and coughed.
"Look, consider this a warning shot. They haven't come for you yet, but they're planning on seeing what they can do. See if they can retrieve you, bring you back into the fold. Or, at least, into their fold. Not now, of course. Not after they cut me and left me twisting in the wind." The question in Bucky's mind must have visibly flitted across his face, as Klaue nodded vigorously at it. "Yeah, distraction, and it worked. Worked too sodding well. They'll wait now." Sniffing, he spat onto the floor, the glob of saliva shining on the tile. "Well, screw 'em. They want the asset, and frankly, I'm not too keen on letting them have it so easily after all they put me through. Putting me on the map, making me the easy target." His dark, enraged gaze met his fully, the fire hitting him with every word lobbed in his direction. "So prepare yourself, soldier, for when they come. Because they are coming. For you, and for everyone else with you."
A moment of silence sat between them before Bucky sedately inquired, "Do 'they' have names, by any chance? Or was it more important for you to be distracted and not know?"
The older man shot him an evil look, and a wry snort shot out of him.
"It's complicated. Something under something else. And that's the last of it." Off the other man's raised eyebrow, Klaue scoffed and snarled, "Didn't think I was gonna make it that easy for you, did ya? Piss off."
With no more to be gleaned or cajoled out of him, Bucky rose from his seat. Exiting into the hall, he let out a slow breath, leaning an arm against the wall. Inquiries from the Vision as to his health were fobbed off, instead telling him that Klaue could be sent back to the detainment center for lock-up. Stepping away after a few moments, Barnes let his mind whirl on, his feet taking him away from the darkness he had stepped a toe into. He would report in to his superiors as soon as he got some air, got his bearings again, he reasoned to himself, purposefully striding down the hall. If they weren't listening in already, he mused darkly; he wouldn't put it past them, honestly, and particularly not past Fury.
Tuning out of the secreted listening device, Fury shared a look with the two team leaders in his office. One displayed visible distaste for the spying measures being taken, while the other had seemed to accept it as a matter of course.
"Well, now we know for sure what the ultimate goal for him was," the director remarked, leaning back in his chair. Glancing over to Joe, he watched idly as the younger man spun his mask around one finger, legs spread as he sat back and thought about what they'd heard.
"And we're left with no definitive answers as to everything else," he replied, letting the mask drop into his lap and scrubbing a hand over his face.
"Except for the threats, and the promises of more to come," Rogers announced, foot tapping against the shield perched on the floor, his helmet being rotated in his grasp. The news sat ill with them, but it was more to go on than what they had before.
"And now that he's out of play for the foreseeable future, we'll get to see who steps up to take his place," Fury predicted, his dark eyes raking over them again. Cupping a hand in the air, he spouted, "See if they can...make the same connections that he did."
Captain America and Union Jack shared a knowing glance at that, and the Liverpudlian arched an eyebrow at Fury's calm complacency.
"I assume you'll have someone on that, if they're not already," Joe said, with Steve nodding in concurrence. The director smiled at his perceptions.
"You're a smart man, Chapman," he praised him, the words carrying sharpness. The door to the office swished open then, and the Vision stepped into the space, reporting that Klaue had been sent to his cell, and the team was off to their quarters to rest. Cupping a hand in the air, the director ushered the android forward, he motioned for him to continue, the two leaders seated before him visibly squaring up for another fate-altering meeting.
xXxXxXx
A light tapping came from the other side of the door. Calling out permission for entry, Bucky stood when he saw who was at the door. The Vision strode in, devoid of cape and instead swathed in a pair of khakis and a sweater. Scanning his attire, Barnes raised an eyebrow. As if sensing his silent question, the android shrugged, an almost sheepish grin coming upon his lips. A moment of quiet stretched between them, with Bucky's metal fingers starting to click and fidget as he waited for the android to state his purpose in coming. He was hoping to catch up on some sleep in the next few hours, before they caught the next quinjet back to the base. However, it seemed that the Vision had something important to impart.
As the silence grew more and more oppressive with each passing second, he was about to demand an explanation. Before he could do more than open his mouth, though, the android finally spoke.
"I have forwarded my recommendations to Director Fury, and the review council has reached a decision after consulting with your psychologist," he announced bluntly, his tone even. Nothing in his posture or his voice revealed what the decision could be, and so Bucky could only tuck his hands into his pockets and wait.
"Already?" he mumbled, carding a hand through his hair. The Vision nodded, shooting a look over his shoulder at the closed door. If he feared eavesdroppers, then he was too late; Barnes had found no less than three secreted devices in his quarters alone. They were shut down with alacrity, the saying of old habits dying hard surfacing in his mind as he did so.
"Yes. I have been delegated to inform you of the results," the android confessed. Pulling himself to his full height, Bucky waited as the Vision stepped further into the room, his hand linking behind his back. "If you wish to take it, Fury would like to begin you on mission and reconnaissance work here, before introducing you into a more public aspect of the organization."
Bucky blinked, a little stunned by the sudden and swift nature of the decision. He had not thought that Fury and whoever sat on the deciding council would come to an agreement so fast, or that they would not make him go through more trials. His worth, apparently, was proved out in the field. At least well enough to merit him a place on the helicarrier, if nowhere else. Sinking down to sit on the edge of his bed, he felt as though his head was spinning.
"For how long?" It was an important question. While no longer on a trial basis, he did understand that working with a select team under Fury's supervision would only last for a set amount of time. Someone with his skills, his attributes, would not be kept in the shadows indefinitely.
"Two months minimum, with weekly reports into the base either conducted via video call or in person, depending on your proximity to its location," the Vision told him, tugging at the cuffs poking out beneath the sweater. Discomfort flashed across his features; he was still not used to typical attire. If Wanda had not insisted, nor had her brother concurred (with an impish smile, no less) it would have been unlikely he would have kept the articles on for very long. To Bucky, he conceded, "Likely they wish these to coincide with your sessions with Dr. Gregory. If you would like, you can begin work after the New Year."
Blue eyes narrowed, and the metal fist curled. "Why isn't Fury telling me this himself, or Steve for that matter?"
"I believe they assumed you rather hear from an unbiased source, and thus make your decision with no pressure towards any direction in particular. They are giving you, as they say, an 'out.' Or perhaps the captain is."
Slowly, Barnes nodded, the strands of his hair knocked loose swinging over his brow.
"And what do you think?" he asked, taking the creature aback with his question. While it was true that the Vision and the erstwhile sergeant were not close by any stretch of the imagination, one would be remiss in assuming that they had no opinions about the other. The Vision, in his short time on the earth, was not finding the place as cut and dry as would be ideal. Shades of gray muddled everything, from the complex to the mundane. Though he was inclined to sympathize with Mr. Stark over the loss of his family at the hands of a murderer, it wasn't as simple as that. Sergeant Barnes was not the killer that he was made into, made out to be. There was more to him than met the eye, as the saying went. The repentance and the drive he displayed in the subsequent aftermath of the fall-out proved that much For that, the Vision bore him no ill will. His opinion could be given with a free and clear conscience.
"I think that, while not ideal, it is a great chance. And those are few and far between in life on this earth, I have found," he expressed carefully, slowly, piecing together his thoughts. With a wry shrug, he continued, "Despite my relatively young age. If you take it, it will change things, perhaps for the better. Perhaps for the worse. The only certainty will be the shift."
The wisdom, the truth in his words could not be ignored, and they settled on Bucky like a lead weight. His shoulders drooped as he made his consideration, ranged his options. It was the next step, another one closer to redemption, in cleansing his bloody soul. Exhaling fully, he sat up straight after a few moments, nodding once before standing again.
"Suppose I better tell Fury I'm taking it, then," he said. "After the New Year, right?"
The Vision's expression turned into one of satisfaction and relief. "No later than the fifth, or so he told me. For what it is worth, I think it a good course for you to take, Sergeant." Lighting on another thought, he partially grinned and told the man, "And Ms. Romanoff will be pleased with your progress as well."
Bucky snorted at that. "She'll just be disappointed that I won't be around as much for her to try and beat me down."
The electric blue of the android's irises seemed to glow, perceiving something that Barnes could not comprehend. At least, not yet. It was not his place, though, to comment on such a thing, and instead he just smiled cryptically. Coughing, the sergeant merely gestured for him to make his way out the door, the pair of them going out into the hall and treading down it together. At the turn, the android had pivoted to go the opposite way, his task completed. Pausing in his steps, the man called out to him, halting him in his journey.
"Well, thanks, uh, Vision..." Bucky trailed off, the name an odd taste in his mouth. Tipping his chin up, he hazarded another title, less formal and off-putting. "Viz. That alright?"
The android canted his head, turning it over in his mind. Silently, his tongue formed the shape against his teeth. As of yet, he was only referred to by his full name, or by 'him,' or—even less politely—'it.'
"Viz...nickname, shortened form," he said under his breath, trying it out again. The corners of his mouth turned up, and he dipped his chin at the sergeant. "I can agree to that."
A tentative smile passed from man to android, and with a final nod, they parted ways, intent on forging their own paths for the time being.
xXxXxXx
Holly dropped her phone onto the cushion beside her, her head tilting back to look at the ceiling. Alone for the first time in days, she exhaled sharply, scrubbing a hand over her face. After Steve's departure two days ago, she had been nearly smothered in support by her family. Well, mostly her mother, who kept trying to find ways to keep her occupied and busy. Websites with baby names to be discussed were put forward, questions about her manuscript and what exactly had happened for the deal with the last publisher to fall through, playing games on the secondhand Wii she'd gotten three years ago (despite Lisa being absolutely hopeless at anything except the sword-fighting game, go figure)..she even got her involved in attempting a new cooking experiment for dinner one night. Anything to stop her from thinking about the dangers of Steve's life and work. And while she appreciated the effort, it was starting to drive her up the wall by the time the day of their flight home came around. It wasn't that she minded distractions; it was just the amount being thrown at her almost consistently since he'd departed. Paul and Hank were less oppressive about it, but she couldn't help but breathe a guilty sigh of relief when she was hugging them good-bye at the airport (her dad cracked a joke about her finally getting her freedom, and that lessened the tension somewhat).
With their flight taking off early in the day, Holly was left at loose ends, the twenty-eighth being her last vacation day and her hours free after that. Laundry chugged away in the washer as she did manage to make a call in to the literary agent, who had emailed her about a new prospective publisher. They had taken some time to read her submission, and thus far the prognosis looked good, but a more definitive answer would be had by the next week. One call turned to another, checking in with Sarah and inquiring about her Christmas as she put things away, put the house to rights. The petite blonde was looking into shopping for dresses in January, despite the fact that her wedding wouldn't even happen until the end of August. Still, she made tentative plans to meet her in New York City in several weeks' time, leaving her to wonder how much she would be showing by that point. And then...quiet.
The click of the furnace alternating blowing heat and sitting still, the creak of the floorboards beneath her feet as she trekked up and down the stairs to put away laundry and the presents still lying around the house, the tap of her fingers at the keyboard of her laptop as she was struck with an idea for a short story were all that she heard for several blessed hours. A text came in from her brother when her family's flight had landed, but otherwise her phone remained silent. No calls, no other messages. Steve had not called in for a long while, a single text telling her that he was alright the day before being the last she'd heard from him. She could only assume he was still, that some grave injury had not befallen him. The news had reported that, beyond a raid in Cape Town—South Africa, again, she scoffed to herself—the Avengers were well, or as well as they could see through shaky cam footage and guesstimates. Either way, it looked like she would be going on her third night sleeping alone, she thought to herself. Wrapping the blanket on the back of the sofa tightly around her shoulders, she grabbed up one of the new books she'd received up from the shelf before walking around and arming the house security for the night. Trudging up the stairs, Holly tried to psych herself up for going back to work the next morning; at the very least, it would provide ample opportunities to indulge in new information on her own time.
Nestling in the bed, she subconsciously shifted over towards Steve's side as she read, his pillow propped up behind her head as she rested. Hours slid by as she was lost in the author's world, crisp pages turned as the minutes wore on. It was when she realized she'd read the same passage a minimum of four times without comprehension that it was late. Warding off sleep was a bad idea; she already went into work tired and bleary as it was, and did not wish to exacerbate the problem intentionally. Taking a last look around the empty room, she rolled over, letting the book drop to the floor as she turned off the lamp. Quiet, calm, her own breathing bringing her into the darkness, blocking out the steady hum of anxiety and fear...
It came in waves, the little noises that woke her an hour or two later. The snap of an opened and closed door. Hushed voices, their timber deep and steady. Footsteps working their way around the stairs, names called to each other as they bid one another good night. The creak of the bedroom door as it was pushed in, the click of it when it swung shut. A muffled thump of cloth hitting the floor was followed by a vibrating metal clang muted by the carpeting. The mattress dipped behind her, a low grunt reaching her ears as boots dropped one by one to join it. She shivered slightly when the sheets were lifted up, the waft of cooler air soon banished as body heat washed over her. An arm slipped under her, coming across her chest and the hand coming to rest on her shoulder. The other drifted down, pulling her against him as his palm splayed over her belly. Relaxing into his touch, Holly smiled to herself.
"—Home, Stevie," she muttered sleepily, eyes still closed. At the rarely-given nickname, he grinned, noting how far gone she was to be using it. His grip around her increased, one jean-clad leg entangling with hers and the belt buckle flush against her lower back.
"Yep, home," he affirmed, exhaustion coloring his voice as well. A deep sigh coursed out of him, warm breath tickling her neck as his lips pressed against her skin. "Missed you."
"Missed you, too," she said, relishing his touch, his heat. The hand along her abdomen pulled away then, and she just stopped herself from pouting. The thud of something hitting comforter next to her caught her attention, glowing light burning her eyelids. She squinted when she opened her eyes, blinking rapidly to dispel the pain.
"You left your phone downstairs," Steve mumbled cheekily, reaching over and tapping the dropped device, the notification blinking across the screen. One missed call, she noted; of course, he would call her when she'd abandoned the device entirely. She snorted at that, drawing her hand out from beneath the sheets and pulling his arm back under as the screen went black.
"Yours is still in your pocket," Holly retorted, shifting her hip and pressing back against the other lump digging into her. Groaning, he quickly removed the offending device and tossed it out to join hers. The hand returned to her side, sliding beneath her shirt and stopping along her curve again. Tracing a finger along the forearm cradling her, she inquired, "Wanna talk?"
"In the morning," he slurred his promise, another kiss dropped into her hair before he settled down behind her. It would take time, explaining the capture of Klaue, the promise of more on the horizon, and Bucky's advancement, and at that moment, he wanted to just hold his girl, be at peace with her. At that moment, he just wanted to be home. "Sleep, sweetheart."
Dipping her chin, she brushed her lips against his arm, savoring his hold and glad enough to have him back as they both drifted off.
A/N: See, I told you guys you just had to hang on for the fluff to give way to something else. :) Got some mixed team action going on here, which is something I wanted to try for awhile. And Bucky's rising little by little. Good thing, right? Christmas is over, and we will be advancing into the New Year very shortly.
I don't own anything from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text, including those from Marvel comics, etc.
Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!