By the time they had landed in Moscow, nearly eleven hours had passed since they'd started their flight. Multiple times, Ivy had fallen asleep and slumped forward, hitting her head on the ghost's very uncomfortable metal arm.

She rubbed the pain on her right temple away and stretched. The ghost had managed to sneak in a landing at Domodedovo International Airport, and they quickly packed up their things and headed inside before they were caught.

"Give me the bag," the ghost said, and Ivy obliged. He dug through it and found the clothes he had been wearing when he'd met Ivy.

"Oh, look," Ivy quipped wryly. "If it isn't the abomination."

On the plane, Bucky'd been forced to switch the plane to autopilot and change into different clothes at Ivy's demand. Apparently, it had been causing her physical pain to look at the thick layers of his dark, imposing outfit. He'd retreated back and changed into a long-sleeved button up and boring blue jeans. Ivy had tried not to grimace at his fashion sense (or rather, lack thereof) but had been glad he was at least normal-looking.

When Ivy handed the ghost his plastic bag, she watched as he pulled a scrap of fabric out from the pants pocket of his suit. He slipped it over his arm, and with a glimmer and a couple of gold flashes, the ghost's arm turned from metal to organic as easily as Ivy could press a button on her computer keyboard and switch PowerPoint slides.

Ivy squeaked. "Wait, what?"

"My handlers thought ahead."

"Hold up. I make you change out of that grotesque outfit, and you end up putting on something else just as ridiculous?"

"Certain measures need to be taken in order to fulfill the mission."

Ivy arched an eyebrow. She couldn't say that she wasn't worried by the new way he was talking. Before her worry could grow into words, however, his brow furrowed and his eyes glinted with frustration.

"Let's go," he said gruffly, taking off at a quick pace.

"Wait a second," Ivy said, the wheels of her suitcase clacking against her heels as she ran to catch up. "Do you really need that? Everybody has prosthetic limbs."

"Most prosthetics aren't this advanced. Besides, I still have to get through metal detectors. This will hide my arm from those."

"Ah. Your handlers?"

"Yes."

"Are they seers or something?"

"No. They were simply well-prepared."

Ivy noted he'd thrown her a dirty look when she'd said "are," and he'd emphasized "were." Without a word, they continued to make their way out of the airport and walk down the street.

"Your base is in Moscow, then?"

"No. A forty-five hour drive away without sleep or any stops."

"Ugh!"

"You have no money?"

"Well, I'm sure we can go to an exchange place— hang on, is that me on TV?"

She ran to the window of an electronics store where her S.H.I.E.L.D. ID picture was blown up on the screen.

"Oi, Bucky, translate."

"Yes, ma'am." He didn't sound like he was joking. "'Twenty-seven year old S.H.I.E.L.D. employee Ivy Bennett facing charges of aiding and abetting Captain America's attacker, breaking and entering, thievery, and the kidnapping of seven American citizens, one being her own brother, Oliver Bennett.'"

"What?" Ivy could feel an asthma attack acting up. A sour taste settled on her tongue. "Oliver?"

"Oliver and six others have gone missing. They think you're the kidnapper."

Ivy swayed a little bit. "Oliver?"

"Yes."

"Missing?"

"Yes."

"Oliver?"

"Yes."

"Do you suppose he's..." Dead?

"Yes."

Fifteen minutes later, Bucky was checking into a hotel with a limp, unconscious Ivy slung over his shoulder. This had attracted quite a few stares; Bucky had stared down any onlookers. She had fainted not even three seconds after the ghost had confirmed that her brother was most likely dead; if not for Bucky's reflexes having been sharpened over time, Ivy would have cracked her skull open on the pavement. Thus, he had been forced to hack an ATM and take a taxi to the nearest bed and breakfast.

It was quite irritable to climb the stairs whilst carrying his bag, Ivy's bag, and Ivy herself. Then there was the issue of how to open the door. Rather than a key, they'd handed him a slim piece of plastic that quite resembled the credit card his handlers had used once or twice.

Bucky soon found himself needing one of his hands in order to decipher how to complete the daunting task which was opening the door to the hotel room. Faced with the conflict of whether to put down the bags or the sleeping girl in his arms, he draped Ivy gracelessly over her suitcase, and with a clack and a creak, the door swung open. He hauled her back up and tossed her carelessly onto the bed, sitting himself down on a chair and closing his eyes.

When Ivy woke, only half an hour had passed. She sat up groggily, her green eyes dulled by sleep.

"What the...?"

"You passed out when I told you Oliver's gone missing."

The sour taste was back, and Ivy clawed her way up to the top of the bed and fell to the pillow; her legs jerked in spasms which vaguely reminded her companion of a marionette in the hands of an inexperienced puppeteer. He smiled bitterly.

"Now what?" she whispered.

For once, she was grateful for the silence he provided.

Katya and the Brookers are now on my profile list of OCs. Also, sorry about the short chapter.

Review, please!