The eve of the United Nations summit, made to commemorate the year-long standing between them and the Avengers, was at hand. The last few weeks of April had been spent in constructing and organizing the event, but as the Avengers themselves were going through internal restructuring, most of the itinerary was compiled by the participating nations and Hawley. A general outline of events had been forwarded to the captain and the other directors, some of the ideas either calling for adjustment or outright vetoed, but there was one that had not been dealt immediately. With the summit on the horizon, it was time to choose who would be representing the teams. After emailing the selected parties for their consent, of course.
"Delegating, Rogers?" Maria Hill had said when she sat in the visitor's chair of the captain's office. A private meeting had been set up to cement the final plans for the following day, decisions to be forwarded as needed to Fury, Hawley, and Chapman afterward. Noting how he had listed of a few choice representatives for the summit, and had not included himself, she had looked at him in mock astonishment. Quirking a brow, she muttered, "Figured if anyone were willing to take one for the team, it'd be you."
Steve gave a wan smirk to the base director. "When it comes to bureaucrats? I don't quite have the level of...finesse it takes to deal with them. Romanoff and Rhodey will represent us well enough."
And after the previous week, he was in no shape to be humoring politicians and policy makers. As someone who very much preferred the work to the talk, it would have bothered him anyway, but he was still mending, still healing, and it would be better for all that he did not force himself into that situation. Certainly, he could be polite and eloquent, but his temper would fray quickly, and it wouldn't do the team any favors.
Maria's eyes had a glint to them as she glanced up from her tablet, one that seemed to imply that she understood what he wasn't saying. Dipping her chin, she drew her finger over the screen, tapping to open another file for perusal.
"T'Challa, too," she noted aloud, tucking back the sweep of her bangs. "It's something of a coup, getting him in on one of the teams. The U.N. reps see it as a bone being thrown. The ones who know, at least."
Steve hummed low in his throat, his head tipping to the left. "They can think what they want; they agreed to the immunity and autonomy clauses, and those aren't changing. He was up to the challenge. Wouldn't have gotten the job if he couldn't do it, simple as that."
"Right. So, contingency plans?" Maria inquired, moving onto the order of business she was most concerned about. Straightening his back, Steve gave her a brief overview, the details of which could be hashed out within the next few hours.
"There's the typical security measure for inside, but it won't hurt to put in some back-up. Minimum of three members inside, and some of the helicarrier crew on the street with the others. The rest of us will be on-call in case anything truly goes wrong." And he meant that, honestly; both teams would be prepped and ready to head out at the first sign of distress. The newest iteration of the World Security Council was hasty to assure them that they would cover the security of the event, but the Avengers had countered that they would be, as well. Purely for that fact, Fury had directed the helicarrier to hover as close as possible to New York City for the express purpose of fast landing. Chapman and his remaining team members would be there, and he made sure that the rest of his would be no less than fifteen minutes away from the base at all times for the next two days. Even Tony was on alert, though he supposed the billionaire would have been, regardless if he'd been emailed prior to the event or not. If trouble came, they would be ready for it. Shrugging his shoulders, he crossed his arms over his chest. "The rotation needs a try-out, so we'll see how it goes."
The brunette managed a tight grin, one that did not reach her eyes. "Hope for the best, plan for the worst."
"Realistic optimism. Or so my wife has termed it."
An eyebrow rose minutely at that, and she let her grin turn genuine. "I see. Haven't spoken to Holly in a while. I assume she's fine."
The corner of the captain's mouth curled, but it was unable to hide the slight wince that preceded it.
"Well, she got up in the middle of the night to eat the last of our peanut butter and pickles, so yes, I'd say she's alright," he retorted, an involuntary shudder coursing through him. That was a disgusting combination, even worse than her mustard phase. It was definitely not something he expected to discover when he went to investigate the rummaging noises downstairs. For her part, Maria merely grimaced and tutted in minor revulsion. Shaking her head, her bright eyes focused intently on him.
"And you?" she asked, gesturing with her free hand. The question she dared not voice was in her eyes, the one that sat with those who knew him and his past. How was he, now that he had buried one of his remaining companions of the old days? How was he holding up? It was plain as day to his eyes, and it rankled. It was truly something he did not wish to discuss, not at that moment. Instead, he chose to answer flippantly.
"Pickles and peanut butter aren't a combination I like, so it's hard to tell," he told her with a wry smile. When that elicited the barest chuckle in response, he sighed. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to at least give her something to go on. Swallowing, he met Maria's eye-line fully and murmured, "I'm doing okay."
Truthfully, he was. Each day was slightly better than the last, once he fully admitted to his grief and allowed himself to mourn. It also helped to be in interminable meetings and conferences in regards to the summit; time was consumed at an alarming rate just attempting to get everything in order and still participate in missions.
And Holly herself had been guiding him, nudging him on with her steady affection and inner well of strength when he was home. Once the initial unloading had happened, things between them started to slide back to the regular state of equilibrium that they had grown accustomed to. Though it was edged with the darker truth of the world, it did not take away from what they had. From what they were on the verge of having, he mused inwardly.
Hill inhaled deeply, and dipped her chin. "Good."
The rest of the meeting went by swiftly, and Maria had the list of attendees to forward to Fury and Chapman when discussions were concluded. After another round of emailing was put through, Steve went on with filing his reports, his mind occupied thusly until the alarm on his phone went off. With Holly's help, he'd programmed the device to do so, the alert reminding him to get home at a reasonable hour (if he wasn't on a mission, naturally). The last of his reports were saved to the server and dropped in the physical outbox, his keys, shield, and jacket snatched up, and he was out the door. Entering the elevator, he stood towards the back, the crush of agents going in and out on seemingly every floor pressing him into the wall. Many were still onsite, despite it being a Friday, and their chatter contained many speculations in regards to the summit. The local affiliates would be covering the opening ceremonies, and the closing speeches, but each one had an opinion as to how the U.N. would conduct the affair. They were welcome to it, in his mind. The itinerary was out of his hands, and the rest would be up to those actually organizing the affair. The remaining few left with him as the elevator finally stopped on the garage level bid him farewell, and he politely did the same. Mentally, though, he was already miles away, already home.
It was unsurprising that his wife had beaten him back to the house, her car already situated in the garage. As his own truck pinged in its cooldown, he swung out of the cab, casting a glance to the covered motorcycle in the corner. It was time to give it a check, take it out for the season, he thought idly as he passed between doors. What was (mildly) surprising was seeing Holly nesting at the kitchen table, her laptop open to the Facebook page she was constructing for her book and shoved to the side in favor of the pie tin seated there. The half-empty pie tin that Holly was scooping into. Crust and cherries disappeared into her mouth, moans of appreciation floating out of her. Clearing his throat, he pulled her attention away from the dessert dish, her eyes wide as she greeted him. Evidently, she had made a stop at the store before coming home, he mused as he shucked his jacket off and laid it on the nearby counter with the shield. And still managed to beat him back home.
"Sweetheart," he crowed, the faux sternness of his expression melting away as she gave him a guilty smile. Rolling his eyes playfully, he shook his head at her. "Couldn't wait for dinner?"
"Honestly, no. It would've been impossible," she said, excusing herself as she shoveled up another forkful. Snorting, she muttered, "Cravings are a bitch."
Personally, Steve was of the opinion that the mood swings were the worse of the two effects of pregnancy; it was alarming to see how fast she could go from well to weepy in a matter of moments. But he had learned by then to not even hint at those occurrences; generally, Holly would realize she was acting like a total psycho—her words, not his—within minutes and was embarrassed by it. Instead, he merely clicked his tongue and pulled the nearest chair closer to her before sitting down.
"I just pity your poor stomach," he told her, reflecting on her midnight consumptions and how the pie would likely take things over the edge. Spying the smear of filling at the corner of her mouth, he reached out and brushed his thumb to sweep it up. Her eyes tracked him as he brought his hand away, darkening a fraction. With a slight incline of his eyebrow, he brought his thumb to his mouth, licking away the excess and smirking. She canted her head, but not before he spotted the flare of her pupils.
"Hey, this is making it happy."
"Whatever you say, doll," he agreed peaceably. Grinning, she dug her fork into the pie again. However, the bite of cherries and crust was held out, her head tilting in question. Off his short nod and opening mouth, she brought it up, feeding him the treat with ease. Around the flakes of the crust and the sweetness of the filling, he mumbled, "Than' 'ou."
Another forkful disappeared into her mouth, and she giggled. Scooting forward, she raised herself up enough to lean over and plant a kiss on his lips. A hum of contentment rushed through him, overwhelmed by the deeper emotions as he swallowed and chased after her retreat. Tender, slow sips were taken and given, the affection warming them both. When the kisses slowed and stopped, his bright gaze scanned over her face, palm cupping her cheek and the pads of his fingers tracing along her skin.
"You're welcome," she breathed, bumping the end of his nose with her own and chuckling low. Rising fully and pulling away, she went to the silverware drawer and fetched up a second fork. "Got everything worked out?"
Glancing over, he spotted the obvious concern in her eyes. The anticipated summit was hardly a secret, after all, even if she didn't have all the details. Canting his head, he sat up a little straighter, taking the fork from her when she shuffled back to his side.
"Everything's ready to go, and the others will be on the first flight out tomorrow," he affirmed, a slight emphasis on the words that indicated he would be staying back. Barring any major emergencies, of course. Resolutely, he set his jaw and nodded once. "We're ready."
Holly's eyebrows rose a bit when he adopted his serious persona, and she exhaled slowly.
"Forgive me, but I do hope certain aspects of the prep will be rendered moot."
A pointed look passed between husband and wife, worry and fear pushed under the light tone she'd taken. His hand came up, palming her hip through her clothes and rubbing gentle circles with his thumb.
"Me too, doll. And who knows?" Steve responded, shrugging a shoulder. "They probably will be."
That was his genuine want and wish for the next day's events. He wanted nothing more than to come across as over-prepared, or even paranoid, for the sake of things going off without a hitch. Perhaps they would get lucky; fortune often came at the oddest times in his life, and maybe that would be one of them. In the back of his mind, though, he couldn't quell the notion that something, anything would go wrong. Still, he looked up at her, meeting her gaze squarely and hanging onto that desire. Her only answer to that was a tight grin, one that didn't reach her eyes. She wasn't an idiot; she knew that if things went badly, for whatever reason, he and the others would be called in to handle it. One way or another. It didn't sit well with her, that much was obvious, but she said nothing further, nary a complaint passing her lips. Maybe his wishes would be realized; maybe she would be able to enjoy the weekend with her husband in peace. After the last couple of weeks, it would be nice if it could turn out that way. Instead, she simply grabbed her chair and moved it so it was right next to his, dropping into it before dragging the pie pan over. And as he took her hand in his, he hoped that he would be proven incorrect on that score as they both dug into the last of the pie.
At least once.
xXxXxXx
"You know, this is breaking the whole 'low profile' edict I've been under for the last year," Bucky grumbled, playfully acerbic as he dropped onto the couch later that evening. The quarters he'd been provided with upon moving permanently to the base weren't opulent, but in comparison to the cramped space he was allotted on the helicarrier, it wasn't so bad. At the base, he actually had a couch, for starters. And a private kitchen, which was a godsend due to his anxieties (that, and it was good for some privacy. It had seemed that the last two weeks had been nothing but back-to-back training bouts with the entire team, whom he couldn't get away from).
Also, the redhead at the opposite end of the couch, sipping from the bottle of beer she'd pilfered from his kitchen, was lovely, too. She glanced over at the opened email on his laptop, the email from Rogers bright and blaring on the screen. Granted, he had only indicated that Bucky be one of the few selected for security duties for Rhodey and her, but she could readily understand his anxiety.
"It'll be fine," Natasha asserted, placing her bottle down on the coffee table. It sat among the emptied plates, their shared dinner having been finished mere minutes beforehand. As he'd taken up residence just down the hall from her, they switched off spending time in each other's places. Much better than pilfered sandwiches and video calls, he mused privately. Swinging her legs up and onto his lap, she arched her back in a stretch as he snorted. "It's not like you're actually going to be in the spotlight."
Momentarily distracted by the curve of her body, and the cling of her leggings and sweater, Bucky shifted in his seat, clearing his throat loudly.
"Maybe not, but, well, anybody looks sideways at me and they'll wonder," he retorted, a wry twist to his lips as he answered. If he was recognized, truly recognized, the risks would increase, and he was unsure of what he would need to do in that case. His hand, his flesh one, encircled her ankle, the pads of his fingers brushing back and forth over her skin.
"Then make sure they see nothing. You are rather good at that."
"I don't see the merit in going as it is," he groused, lines cutting into his forehead as he considered it all. He knew he had been selected with a purpose, had known Steve wasn't going to just throw him to the wolves, but the nagging feeling in the back of his mind told him it wasn't going to be a simple meeting and discussion of terms. Not with everything that had happened in the last several months. Something was on the horizon, he could sense it. And the summit would be the perfect time for that something to descend upon them. Which would be his luck, frankly. Carding a hand through his dark hair, he observed, "It will expose some of us unnecessarily. If anything goes wrong—"
Legs tucked, Natasha swung up onto her knees, and her finger was laid across his lips, hushing him.
"James," she began, interjecting before he could try and talk around it. Her tone was purposefully low and gentle as she told him, "It doesn't make sense for the U.N. to hold a summit in honor of a year of a successful partnership and not have members of that partnership be there. We needed representation, and Hawley can't do it all."
Finished, she removed her finger from his lips, her palm resting on his chest. Thinking herself successful in getting her point across, she was a little chagrined when the furrow of his brow had not dissipated. Instead, it was joined by the sarcastic quirk of his mouth, the grin less than genuine.
"Thanks for the reassurance that things won't go wrong," he spouted, chuckling humorlessly as Natasha rolled her eyes. Letting his head tip back against the cushion, he felt the slow rub of her fingers on his shirt, the heat bleeding through the fabric to his skin. His metal arm curled around her waist, holding her to his side as his eyes closed.
"You and I aren't foolish enough to pretend that it might not happen," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. The soothing ministrations of her hand traveled up, grazing his neck and causing a stray shiver to course down his spine. "The Security Council has their own force on-hand, and, well, we will be there. If anything happens, then we can get the word out for back-up. If we need it, of course."
The verbal reminders of their own personal expectations, about the realities of the world they lived in, was something she needed as well. The people, the civilians, had hope and faith that the institutions designated for the good of the world would be untouchable, that their selected leaders would remain unharmed even in the face of great opposition. However, it would be almost moronic to ignore the fact that the Avengers had many enemies out there. Any one of them would leap at the chance to attack if they thought they could get away with it. The United Nations building would not be off-limits, if someone chose to take a stand during the event. All they could do was remind themselves of what would be at their disposal, and what wouldn't be.
"Right," he replied, eyes opening slowly. A few seconds of quiet passed, and he couldn't repress the words any longer. "I just can't shake the feeling that...that something will happen. And what, what might need to be done..."
He trailed off, unable to complete the sentence. All his fears and insecurities hovered at the back of his mind, threatening him like they always had done since his first days of freedom. He had been an active agent for a few months, and had acted upon his own accord on and off the year prior to his rehabilitation. Bucky knew full well that if anything were to go awry, it would be on a grander scale than what he'd been part of recently. It would be on par with...the helicarrier disaster, and though he hadn't been acting of his own volition in those days, he had known something that extensive would require major effort on his part. Effort that could end in the worst ways, and not to everyone's benefit. Threading her fingers into his hair, Natasha tugged gently, nudging him to look at her fully.
Meeting his gaze unflinchingly, she said, "If it does, then whatever you have to do, do it. You're an Avenger now, Barnes."
An Avenger, and he would not be alone. That was the material point, the one she held in her gaze when he looked at her. Several long moments passed, no words exchanged and no other sounds besides the click of the refrigerator and their breathing.
A snort shot out of him when he dropped his gaze to his knees. "Don't know if I'll ever get used to that."
Natasha scoffed audibly, tipping her head to the left. "You'd be surprised how quickly you can adjust."
"Hmm," was his apt response, his chin dipping lower. Perhaps there would be a day that being an Avenger would be second nature to him, but it certainly wouldn't be then, not two weeks after the initial placement trials. What he was sure of, was that he stable (relatively), maintaining, and likely to remain so for awhile. Titles and such did not apply, and so he would not consider them. Instead, he considered the woman beside him. She would be there, too. It was undeniable that they were two functioning adults, with the training and intelligence to care for themselves, but part of him felt something like relief that she would be at his back. And he would be watching hers, too. If his first real mission participation had to happen that way, he could accept it. On that thought, he leaned forward, grazing her lips with a small buss. Teasingly, she drew back a little, and a low growl echoed in his throat as his hand slid up her back to her neck, the cool metal making her shiver. Her mobility was limited, and if she went back any further, she'd be flat on her back. In his mind, that wasn't a bad option, but that could only happen if he could kiss her properly. A tiny grin, and the bare brush of her mouth over his, and suddenly the weight of her body was removed from his grasp, leaving him a little dazed at her escape.
"C'mon, soldier. You can get a preview of what I'll be wearing, at least," she told him, lithely rising from the couch and holding out her hand to him. "There's one good thing to come out of all this."
A dark eyebrow spiked, and his bright eyes glimmered as the corner of his mouth curved.
"I get to see everything? That might be alright." His good mood fully restored, Bucky got up as well, his burning gaze wandering over her form as she led the way to the door. Feigning solemnity, he intoned, "We'll have to check for vulnerabilities, see what can and can't fit under it."
The look she shot over her shoulder smoldered and burned, and he felt a spiral of fire shoot down his stomach. A smirk curled Natasha's lips as she remembered all the times when she had to smuggle weaponry under ball gowns, inside leggings and tights, and she almost laugh aloud.
"Again, I say that you'd be surprised."
xXxXxXx
The flurry surrounding the General Assembly Building of the United Nations' headquarters was overwhelming as the assembled members of both teams made their way to the building. Though the governing bodies and representatives of the participating nations met daily, it was rarely enough to merit the amount of prestige and security that this singular event could. The flight in had been a tranquil journey in comparison to traversing the streets of New York that morning. The closer they all got to the building, the worse the traffic was. The roads were clogged with arriving dignitaries, everyday workers, and honorary representatives trying to get to the great hall. Even though the event itself would be more of a celebratory thing, with an overview of the Avengers' progress and discussions of the actions of the companies involved with their rebuilding efforts, it appeared that it would not be taken lightly. Certainly, the media coverage would not be light, as even passersby had their smartphones out and cameras at the ready, pointing at the parade of shaded cars rolling their way up to the front steps. In the midst of those cars was the Avengers' escort, unmarked and plain black.
Soon enough, the selected team members were on the front steps, the flags of the assembled countries flapping on their poles behind them as they entered. Rhodey was encased in his AF dress blues, insignia and name plaque shining on his jacket. Flanking him was Natasha, her chosen attire a black pantsuit (it allowed for greater mobility than a skirt, she'd pointed out to Bucky the night before, which was about all he heard before they'd moved onto...other things). Bringing up the rear were Barnes and Sam, choosing to dress darkly so as to blend better with the onsite security guards, and shielding themselves with ball caps and sunglasses. Jacques Duquesne, who had been chosen as the third of their private security outfit, sported a deep purple shirt beneath his jacket, setting himself apart and looking a mite smug about it as he adjusted his aviators. The fact that each of them had weapons secreted on them went without saying, as well as body armor (special permission had been obtained prior to the event, and even so they would have to submit to a search upon entering to make sure nothing truly heinous was strapped to them. Prepared as they could be, they all moved indoors, passing the sculpture of the twisted pistol with stony expressions. Faces ducked, cameras flashed, and Bucky held his breath, the erratic thump of his heart mot alleviated upon entry.
To say the place was crowded was an understatement. It appeared that despite the normal office workers having the day off, the building was practically swarming with people. Journalists, representatives, and the navy-suited security detail filtered and mingled around them. Moving as a single entity, the selected Avengers moved through the crowds, Natasha and Rhodey spoken to on and off as they went. The remaining member of their outfit was waiting, and they had to make contact before all were herded into the Assembly Hall.
The prince was already playing his role as a single part of his father's delegation. His acceptance to the roster of the Avengers was not yet public knowledge. That announcement was to be made in the midst of the discussions and proceedings, sometime near the end of the day to avoid too many motions or inquiries being made. Standing tall and smart in a dark suit, his piercing gaze swept across the milling delegates. Spotting them in the crowd, he tilted his head carefully, gesturing for them all to come over. The Black Widow and the colonel led the way, the heels of their shoes clicking as they crossed the tile floor. Behind them, Bucky grouped up with Sam and Jacques, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible (automatically, he tucked his left hand in his pocket, glad he had chosen a long-sleeved shirt as well as a jacket). When they were near, the young man laid a hand on the shoulder of the fellow closest to him, muttering something to him in his native tongue. At once, the man turned, and Barnes noticed the minute stiffness enter Natasha's body. She clearly recognized him, and that made his eyebrow arch. His bight gaze wandered over him, wondering if it was one of those times when his memory was failing him. He came up with nothing. The older man was a few inches shorter than T'Challa, but stocky and built despite his age. His hair and beard were gray, threads of the original dark shade peppering it on and off. Wire-frame glasses circled dark eyes, intelligence shining in them. He was dressed in a dark blue suit, the cut fitting him perfectly. The only aberration of the look was the necklace hanging over his tie, a sharpened tooth bound in strips of leather and matching the one T'Challa owned. The air of coiled placidity permeated his person, and was much stronger than the prince's brand of it.
"Father, this is Natasha Romanoff and Colonel Rhodes," the prince began, gesturing to each teammate in question as he made his introductions. "Jacques Duquesne, Sam Wilson and James Barnes will be responsible for some of the security today. Everyone, may I present King T'Chaka of Wakanda."
The older man looked upon each, a respectful incline of the head his greeting. Almost as one, the group bowed their heads to him, Barnes copying the others a split second after they started. It wasn't often that he greeted foreign dignitaries, and it felt odd.
"I'm pleased to meet you all," he said, his accented voice deep and cultured. Like his son, the words rolled and flowed, compelling the listener to pay attention. Extending a hand, he cupped it in the air before laying it over his chest. 'I wanted to thank you personally for all you've done. Your service is greatly appreciated."
Taken aback by his frank show of gratitude, the selected members of the Avengers looked to one another in askance.
"Thank you, Your Highness," Rhodey replied after a few seconds, taking it upon himself to act as their spokesperson. A little part of him wished Tony had decided to be a representative for the event, if for no other reason than to watch him go toe-to-toe with the king. That would be quite a sight to see. Aloud, he continued, "We should be thanking you, for you advocacy."
While the Avengers had not lost the support of the people in their time as advocated defenders, there were a few officials who had thought there should be a tighter lease applied to their efforts, or at least a committee to oversee the genuineness of their efforts. T'Chaka had been one of their firmest allies in the last several months, having a fairly decent idea of what it was like to represent a small faction and fight for its rights to its own autonomy.
The king's face broke into a slight grin. "It is nothing to support those who seek to do what is right, no matter the cost. I will continue to speak in your favor, although you hardly need it, I think."
Eyes scanned the crowded lobby, to the decorations and the delegates muttering praises for their guests. The gesture was not lost on any of them, least of all Natasha. Brushing back a few strands of her loose hair (straightened and curled back at the ends, her latest adjustment to the fiery mane), she grinned knowingly at the older man.
"Well, you've got more of a reason to do so, right?" she inquired, her gaze flicking to where T'Challa had gone. Another delegate had come up to him, was speaking to him in hushed tones.
"My son's inclusion was never a contingency," T'Chaka stated plainly. However, despite the seriousness of his expression, the briefest shimmer came to his eyes as he glanced over to his heir. "Although, I won't deny it certainly does change things."
Wry smiles were exchanged before T'Challa made his return, palm laying on the king's arm.
"Father, the representative from Spain wishes to speak to you," he said, knowing it was time to extract them all from the situation and continue on with their tasks. Nodding in compliance, the King of Wakanda bowed his head to them all in farewell, moving in the direction of the representative and his entourage trailing behind him. T'Challa nodded once to them all, discreetly tapping at his ear to indicate the comm-link settled within being turned on. At once, the others returned the gesture, systems on and everyone separating to their stations. The swiftest glance passed between the Black Widow and the Winter Soldier, the moment suspended in their minds as they went upon different paths for the day.
Steve had provided them with the itinerary the evening before, but the choices of where everyone would be at given times was left up to them. With Rhodey and Natasha providing the public face of the organization, it fell upon the three men in the shadows to determine their places. Due to his extensive experiences of working outside the system and in the darkness, Bucky began to anticipate possible entry points and weaknesses on the floors as they walked. As the minutes passed, he found that Duquesne and Wilson deferred to his judgment more and more often (well, Wilson's deferment included sardonic quips at his expense, but that had been his general experience with the guy, so they both took it in stride). It made sense, in a twisted way; having been under the thumb of manipulators and criminals, he was the one who could easily imagine how they would think.
It was what had him in one of the security rooms with the head technician, Jacques at his side while Wilson went on into the Assembly Hall. Crossing his arms over his chest, he listened as the tech rattled off an explanation about surveillance coverage, the superiority of the U.N.'s systems extolled while he resisted grinding his teeth. The guy seemed to have an aura of untested cockiness about him, despite his relatively young age. It was probably why he was in the darkened room, made to call out to the security officers on duty rather than being among them, the sergeant surmised. For the sake of the others within the hall, he would listen, but not for very long.
"We've got cameras on every entrance and exit for the building, and in the hall surrounding the chamber," the fellow said, a hand gesturing to the bank of screens before him before running through his spiked brown hair. Gray eyes scanned each screen behind square-framed glasses as he typed up a command on the keyboard before him, the cameras swinging in a slow arc. "We've got CNN inside to get some coverage of the opening events, and there are four cameras posted for each cardinal direction in there. Security coverage extends five city blocks in every direction, some in civvies, some not."
Bucky nodded. It all appeared sound to him, and so he would let it be.
"Good," he said aloud, reaching into his pocket. A spare earpiece with comm capabilities came to hand, and he passed it over to the technician. Tapping it, the comm came to life, and the fellow raised an eyebrow before tucking it into his ear. Pulling himself to his full height, Bucky instructed him, "Keep the radio line open, call out everything you see that's out of the ordinary. Even if one camera glitches, I want to know about it."
"Why, you think you can take down video feed issues?" the technician retorted, the sass of his sarcastic smile making Bucky roll his eyes.
"I think you have no idea what some really determined people are capable of, Shane," he replied harshly, tacking on the name belatedly as he spied the tag on his shirt. The technician narrowed his eyes and huffed, turning his attention back onto the screens. Obviously ignored, the ex-assassin darted a glance to his erstwhile teammate. Gesturing for him to occupy the empty seat beside the techy, he muttered, "Jacques, keep an eye on everything, yeah?"
"Oui, Sergeant," the other man agreed, the neutral title dancing across his tongue. Dropping into the seat with ease, he leaned his elbows onto the broad tabletop, gaze riveting onto the cameras' offerings. Deciding it would be best to leave them to it, Bucky resolved to start doing floor sweeps, beginning with the upper balconies. A final admonishment to call if there was trouble was cast over his shoulder, and it was met by a grunt. Well, a grunt and an insult.
"Ass," the technician growled under his breath, not counting on the person in question to hear his jab. However, given that Bucky had good hearing even before Zola's experiments, it was very much heard. Pausing on the threshold, the ex-assassin cleared his throat, waiting until the fellow turned in his chair, his glare pinning him in place.
"There's only one ass around here, and you just proved who it is, kid," he snapped, blue gaze icy as he stared down the younger man. He had to hand it to the guy, he didn't immediately cower before his cold wrath. Still, there was that flicker of fear, the one that told him he understood how closely he was toeing the line. Upon seeing it, Bucky exhaled sharply, exiting the room and proceeding to start his rounds.
"Merci de me laisser avec le crétin," Jacques grumbled into the comm line, and Bucky pressed the heel of his hand to his head. Sam, for his part, chuckled, having heard all that.
"You should go easy on him, Sergeant," the other man crooned over the line, mock sympathy for the technician in his voice. Barnes pinched the bridge of his nose as he boarded the nearest elevator, taking it up to the top floor.
"Can it, Wilson. How's it looking on your end?"
"I though you told me to shut up." Before Bucky could lose his temper, Sam laughed to himself and continued, "Green, so far. Widow's making contact with T'Challa again, Rhodey on the west end. Crowd's full of all the usual suspects, it seems. Outside control is silent."
"All right," he responded, eyes scanning the nearly empty walkway he was traversing. Content with the code designation, he decided to focus solely on surveillance for the time being. "Call back in twenty, no matter the color, both of you."
"Roger that," Wilson said, the cut of the comm crackling after.
"Will do," the Frenchman stated, all business before the silence. The echoing voices of the attendees several floor below in the open lobby and foyer areas were all that Bucky could hear, save for the whisper-soft patter of his own boots. One floor after another, he went around, noting niches and easy hiding spots that were, thankfully, bereft of anyone else. Virtually alone for his sweep, it was something of a shock when he rounded the corner of the second floor walkway and almost knocked down the person who crossed his path. Springing back, his body automatically reacted, defensive stance taken and a palm wrapping around the hidden holster under his jacket. Shortly, though, he realized the person in front of him had his palms out, a gesture of surrender and complacency. No danger, and so Bucky removed his hand from his weapon.
"Oh, uh, sorry," he said, relaxing his posture minutely as he came out of his stance. Surveying the stranger in front of him, the guy look naturally unassuming. Mousy brown hair was combed to the right, his wire-rimmed glasses were a nondescript silver, his suit bland gray. His eyes, though, were bright, flicking over him with interesting. An itch coursed up Barnes's spine, and his posture stiffened.
"My fault, I assure you," the stranger returned softly, lowering his hands. Almost as an afterthought, he brandished the name tag and pass he'd been issued for entry. Waving them so quickly that Bucky could not pinpoint a name or barcode number, the fellow flicked a few fingers at him and asked, "Security?"
"Mm," was the only confirmation that Bucky would give, shifting his weight onto his back foot. The man seemed to sense his reticence, and did not pursue the matter further.
"Ah. Well, I won't impede you," the stranger assured him, keeping his tone smooth and polite. Sidestepping him, the fellow pattered a few feet beyond him. When his treading paused, Bucky risked a glance back, catching the man casting a pointed look at his hand. His left hand. A grim smirk came to the stranger's lips, and he shook his head before continuing his journey. "Soldier."
"What?" Bucky barked, ice flooding his veins as the fellow kept walking. As he disappeared around the corner, the ex-assassin stood stock still. In this place, he was a nobody, where his name was only given out over the private communication channel. The allusion to his past put him on edge, made him freeze. How did that fellow know that? Guesswork, perhaps, but that was quite a bit of luck and chance to get it correct.
"Barnes, they're moving into the chamber," Sam called over the line, pulling out of the furious race of his thoughts. "Green so far."
Swallowing hard, he glanced back over his shoulder to where the stranger had retreated, though he was long gone by that point. The tightness in his stomach had not dissipated, and so he relayed his concerns.
"I...may have a yellow. Glasses, brown hair, light gray suit," he rattled off the description of the guy. Creeping over to the balcony, he scanned over the crowd as they were ushered into the hall. Spotting him hovering round the edge, the fellow had the audacity to look up, a feral grin and nod thrown at him before he stepped under the overhang of the upper floors and out of sight. "He's in the flow."
"Gotcha. Hear that Nat, Rhodes?"
Affirmatives were fired off from both, the barest quaver of a question in Natasha's tone. However, he was not about to give a response to it, not even as he backed away from the balcony. Bucky's intuition about the day, the awful twist in his gut that refused to vanish, came to the fore of his mind as he tread carefully down the back stairs. They were poised on the edge, and he just knew they were about to fall.
xXxXxXx
As the final representatives filed into the main chamber, the cacophony of voices swirled up and around Natasha, echoing against the high ceiling. She and Colonel Rhodes had been directed towards the front of the hall, a table set for the honorary representatives. The remaining attendees were being corralled to their designated tables, voices bouncing and carrying due to the high ceiling. Hawley came in through one of the side entrances, having been holed up in her office and fielding a final phone call from Nick Fury during the arrivals. An apologetic smile and greeting was given to both of them as she sat, assurances coming from Rhodey that it was not a problem. Wilson's croaked in her ear, wondering how close Hawley had come to missing the event altogether, and how damn lucky she would've been if she had. Risking a glance up, the female Avenger spotted the shadow of her teammate shielding himself behind a pillar and smirked. Damn lucky, indeed. Despite the residual nerves in her stomach (which she would vehemently deny the existence of), thus far the proceedings had gone as per the projected itinerary. Boring introductions, welcomes, faces filtered in and out of her vision, her bright eyes taking note and at the same time seeing nothing at all. It was going to be a long day in that chamber, and she was already anticipating the return back to the base, back to her own bed.
The opening speech was in the midst of being made, the chosen speaker one of the United States representatives. The redheaded woman paid his drawling speech half a mind as she let her gaze roam about the wide room. Glancing over the grand seal, she noted the assembled committee member seated behind the speaker, older men and women from various nations listening with apparent rapt attention. When her eyes flitted over to the crew from Wakanda, she caught the king giving her a discreet wink, delighting in her polite façade and wandering attention. T'Challa's mouth curved at the corner, posture rigid beside his father as the speech continued. The speaker directed his attention to the camera operators briefly, nodding and welcoming everyone once again. It was time, he stated, to proceed to the motions of the day, if there was no other business to attend to first.
An objection rang out from somewhere towards the back of the hall, murmurs rising as the objector came forward down the aisle. The nerves in her gut increased tenfold as the man came forward: brown hair combed over, light gray suit, glasses. Bucky's tone when relaying that information had put her on guard, and now that the fellow was stepping out into the open, it rang ever-sharper in her ears.
"Excuse me, we are not recognizing individual representatives at this time," the speaker called out to the approaching man, intent on halting him. The fellow barely paused in his travels, a quizzical look decorating his features.
"Really?" he intoned, a sardonic slant added to the single word. Shrugging a single shoulder, he stated, "I believe that this would be the best time to recognize one."
"Who is that?" Rhodey asked Hawley out the corner of his mouth, his posture stiff and his brow furrowed in suspicion. Unconsciously, Natasha mirrored him, though one of her eyebrows arched high.
"I don't know," Hawley whispered softly, her light eyes widening in dread. And that was saying something, considering it was part of her duty to interact with every nation associated with the organization. She had connections, knew nearly every person there. Taking in the paling cast of her countenance, Natasha felt her body scoot towards the front of her seat, ready to spring into action if needed.
"That's not good," she exhaled, gaze darting around to the security guards on the floor and dotting the upper balconies. The guards were on their radios, channeling to the others and prepping for take-down, were he to pose a threat. Frankly, she was of the notion that he was a threat; assuming otherwise was madness. As she considered how best to get in between him and the speaker at the podium, the fellow continued to move down the aisle, disdain painted across his features as he came closer.
"Given that this whole event is built on the decimation of the country I represent, I think I should be the only one who deserves to speak at all, sir," he was saying, hints of desolation and rage fluttering in his words. The challenge had been issued, and all that remained was the response.
The speaker's spine stiffened, his face turning red as anger crawled up. "No country had been decimated under the watch of the U.N. or the Avengers."
The fellow in the gray suit shrugged, his shoulders jerking sharply. "I suppose you have to tell yourself that simply to sleep at night."
The flush of red deepened. "Sir, if you don't step down—"
"I won't," the man said, his face like thunder and his voice echoing without him raising it. Lifting his chin, he raised his palm, crossing it over his chest and seemingly dipping into the breast pocket. Forefinger and thumb clenched around something within, and as Natasha was narrowing on exactly what it could be, he growled, "I don't intend to, ever."
Suddenly, around half of the commissioned guards turned on one another, gun shots and punches ringing in the air. Not so much as a look passed between Natasha and Rhodey, the pair of them springing into action immediately. The colonel pushed Hawley beneath the table as pandemonium erupted in the chamber, her safety assured before he sprinted over to the podium. The Black Widow vaulted across the table, running hard to grab at the nearest guard. Wrapping her legs around his torso, she carried herself through to toss him to the floor, launching herself at the next. Fluidly, she passed from one to the next, Rhodey at her back once he'd gotten the speaker and assembled people on the top platform out the back door. Whomever they could get out, they did in the midst of the attack. Assaults rained down on them, met with a few of her stunners and shots from the colonel. When those were exhausted, she fell back on her training, her arms and legs weapons as well. Charging against a behemoth of an opponent, she felt fingers curl into her hair, jerking her back and throwing her into the wall. Dazed for a moment, she screeched and bowed her back as the hands grabbed at her again, trying to gain momentum to swing out her legs and free herself. A thick arm braced itself over her throat, pressing to cut off her air supply. Armored legs pressed against hers, the sheer force and weight pinning her. Her arms came up to grasp the one at her neck, and she gritted her teeth, unable to accept defeat; she could secret as many weapons on her person as she liked, but it would mean nothing if she wasn't alive to use them. Looking up, her eyes widened as she was met with the sinister gaze behind the mask, the skull painted on it fading in the face of the unholy rage directed at her. Beyond him, she could vaguely see Rhodey jogging over, three guards overwhelming him and shoving him down to the ground. The rogue guards began barking orders and forcing delegates to remain where they were as they assumed power of the building, terrified camera operators swinging their mounts around frantically as they did so. The creak of a door met her ear, and Natasha was barely able to spot the newest arrivals, waves of men in black coming in to round up the hostages.
"And neither will they," the man in the gray suit stated, teeth flashing as he stepped up to the podium. The pleasure in his form was unmistakable, and with a single nod directed to her captor, he strode forward, ready to take control of his conquered domain.
xXxXxXx
Chaos had erupted in the halls as Bucky passed. Guards were turning on one another in the lobby, brothers in arms turning to enemies in mere seconds as they began to engage in combat. It was baffling; security officers were not meant to brawl with one another, no matter what the circumstances. Something was wrong, seriously wrong, and the sharpness in his stomach stabbed harder at him as he booked it to the security room. As he descended to the correct floor, he spotted the ring of rogue guards crowding around the door to the room. At once, his mind went blank, the jump of fear burned away by the anticipation of a fight. The Winter Soldier's attack training took over his movements, pushing him through as he grabbed one antagonist by the scruff of his neck and threw him into the far wall. The ring shuffled around him then, one after another coming at him. Tight, controlled jabs and punches were dealt, the limited space accommodating little to no leg attacks. Only when they started to drop did he find the room to incorporate kicks and knees drops into his attacks, feet and fists flying so fast the others had no time to anticipate the movements. Soon enough, he was the last man standing, harsh breath rasping out as he smashed a final jab into his awaiting victim's jaw. Down he dropped, and Bucky took control of himself again.
Through the half-broken door, he could hear the muted grunts and hollers of the occupants within. Stepping up to it, he reared back and snapped his leg out, the last panels of the door falling away under his strength. The Swordsman was still standing, his blade drawn, the collapsible metal structure rigid and ringing true as he parried away his attacker's swinging billy club. The sharpened edges of it and the knife he held cut through the air. Spinning, he managed to get a touch, the cut slicing through the cloth and dull armor on the fellow's arm. A shriek of rage followed, but it ended the minute Jacques drove his knee up into the guard's stomach. Wheezing and choking, the man had a mere second of reprieve before the Avenger lashed out one final time, the butt of the hilt cracking against his skull and dropping him. Inhaling deeply, the Swordsman straightened, pressing the button on the hilt of his sword to collapse it. Glancing over at the broken door, he had the temerity to roll his eyes at Bucky and snort.
"Sure, now you come!" Jacques crowed, sheathing his weapons and leaping over the fallen fellow at his feet. The security room was in shambles, the kid who had been sitting in front of the screens out cold on the ground. Leaning over him, Bucky pressed two fingers to the fellow's neck, the heartbeat telling him that he was merely unconscious. Leaving the others where they were, his icy eyes narrowed in on the Frenchman.
"How'd they get in?" he asked, the tone in his voice dark and wondering all at the same time. Jerking a thumb to the upper left-hand camera screen, Jacques frowned.
"Southeast hall, got up here before I could call the color," he stated, fingers coming up to comb back his skewed hair. Going forward, he stepped lithely over the knocked out technician, tapping harshly at the keyboard and retracting the time on the camera to show Bucky. The replay revealed the barest blip of black obscuring the screen, with the assailants slipping in mere seconds later. It was at that point, the Swordsman relayed, that the cameras were disrupted—most likely by an electromagnetic device or some form of disruptor—to give them the time to get deep into the complex. Grimly, he noted, "Seems that they have an idea of the layout of the building, given how easily they found their way back here."
"Premeditated attack," Barnes breathed, the dread in his stomach growing with every passing second.
"Oui. To an extent, I think," Jacques amended, tapping out of the replay mode. Suddenly, the cameras began to blink and sputter, save for the ones point towards the outdoor entrances. Several black-clad bodies stormed into the building, meeting with the turncoat guards in the foyer, and before either man could react, the comms crackled to life.
"Perimeter breach, down 1st Avenue," called in one of the agents outside. Echoing crows and screams filtered in over the line, followed by grunts and the muted sounds of bodies smashing into one another. Huffing breaths coursed in their ears, footsteps pounding the pavement distantly. The agent tapped in, the alarm in his voice rising. "Got what looks to be...dear God, an army sweeping up the street."
"Nom de nom," Jacques gasped, and Barnes could not respond, could only listen as what sounded like gunfire and screams started to break over the line.
"Repeat, perimeter brea—"
The radio cut off abruptly, the sickening sense of foreboding invading the small room. And then, the chamber cameras all went dark. At once, Bucky and Duquesne sprang away from the table and consoles, rushing out the security room and into the hallway with all speed.
"Sam, Sam!" the ex-assassin hollered into his comm, hand cupped to his ear in desperation. For a moment, only the garbled sound of the line fading in and out screeched in his ear, but soon enough a muffled grunt and harsh whisper shot out.
"Red, red!" Sam hissed, another round of grunts and thumps accompanying the words. "Chamber's under lockdown, can't get out."
A spring of fear and panic bloomed deep inside him, but he would not allow himself to feel it. There was too much that needed to be done, and he would not succumb to it. Too many were in danger, including…
"More red's coming up the street," he replied woodenly, sharing a distressed glance with Jacques. Winding their way out of the back halls, the sunlight burst forth through the windows of the lobby, illuminating the invading bodies coursing through below. The onsite security were making a valiant effort, meeting the onslaught head-on, but it could not last indefinitely. And Bucky's priority ran to the defenseless inside the chamber. Removing one of his commissioned Glocks and the knife he'd secreted in his boot, he swerved sharply away from the balcony of the walkway, Jacques pulling out the hilt of his blade and allowing it to snap out. Quickly, he murmured, "Hold tight, we're going to try and find a way in."
'Hold on, Natalia,' he whispered inwardly, his heart pounding even though he knew full well how capable she was of handling herself. Coming across a set of doors that opened onto the upper balconies, he returned his knife to the boot sheath before rattling the handle. It wouldn't budge; the doors had been sealed since earlier that morning, and the keys were out of reach. There was the option of kicking in the door, right at the join of the handles, but drawing attention was untenable. With a preemptive hand, Jacques stopped Bucky's examination, pulling him out of range. Pressing a button on the side of his hilt, the activated blade seemed to glow, the edges of it rimmed with what appeared to be a thin, purple laser. It was a newly-integrated upgrade, one that he had yet to test, but he could not imagine a better time to do so. Sinking the blade into the wood, the particles surrounding the handles and locks parted from one another like a knife cutting through warm butter. As the last piece gave way, he lunged forward, catching the falling hardware before it could clatter to the floor. Bucky watched all this, fascinated with the sight for a few moments. When the handles were placed gently to one side, he came back to himself, fumbling in his pocket for the device in his pocket. It was an emergency communicator, one of the few distributed to them. Though he had no doubt that Sam had activated his, the colonel and Nat would not have been able to, being so exposed as they were. It wouldn't hurt to trigger his as well.
"Good Lord, Steve, get this fast," he muttered as he thumbed the sensor, the distress signal flowing forth and calling out for aid as Jacques silently opened the door. As one, they crawled through, wondering what hell they would be entering upon in the midst of the chaos.
A/N: …I'm a little late. I know, I know. Holidays, man. That, and this chapter just did not want to be written. It was kicking my butt so hard. Also, my work schedule(s) were skewed, and ate into the writing time I normally allot for chapters. Excuses, excuses, I know, and I'm sorry for the minor delay. But it's here, now!
Things are liable to get crazier over the next couple of chapters, so hang on for that! Also, I don't think the United Nations has upper balconies inside the Assembly Hall…just take it as creative license, same with the interior layout of the rest of the building.
I only know a few select phrases in French, and so had to use an online translator for the Swordsman's words (if inaccurate, I apologize):
Oui.—Yes.
Merci de me laisser avec le crétin.—Thanks for leaving me with the idiot.
Nom de nom.—A slightly more polite version of, "For God's sake." (Roughly. Not the exact translation, but the gist of it.)
I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, Facebook, etc.).
Also, RIP Carrie Fisher. Brokenhearted over losing Princess Leia, among all the others lost this year as well. So sad…
I hope you all had a happy and fun holiday season. Next chapter will be coming in the New Year (so ready to get out of 2016, my goodness).
Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!