Traces
Skye was less than pleased with being sent away yet again, just when the action was about to unfurl. Really, Coulson and May had grown more and more withholding, and she didn’t like it one bit. If this development persisted, she would have some very angry, impassioned words for them. With a frustrated huff, she turned around, coming face to display with her phone that told her there was another voicemail courtesy of you. Skye instantly felt very guilty. She’d been meaning to call you, she really had, but mission had chased mission and somehow she’d never found the time until it had become close to a year without you two being in contact. She’d never gone anywhere near as long without talking to you in all the twenty years you’d known each other. And it wasn’t like she had nothing to tell, quite the opposite. Gulping heavily, she listened to your voicemail, then pressed the call back button and waited for the line to connect with her heart beating uneasily in her chest.
---
Your roommate was resting, seeing as the previous episode had completely depleted him. Actually he all but collapsed, not even making it to the floor but instead curling up on the couch for a change, head just a few inches shy of resting in your lap. You placed a blanket on him and dared to gently thread your hands through his hair when he didn’t stir at Becky cat cuddling into his side. It tore at your heart, the way he was so obviously starved of even the simplest human touch yet too wary to seek out what he needed yet. Perhaps he didn’t even realize it was something that was missing. You jumped when your phone rang, shooting a worried glance down at the sleeping man, but found yourself relieved when he didn’t wake at the sound.
“________?”
“Skye!” you exclaimed, momentarily letting your elation at hearing your friend’s voice again get the better of you. However, you reined the sentiment in, determined not to let her get away so easily. “I can only hope you have a good excuse, like ‘I only just escaped from a gulag on a self-made raft’ or something like that.”
“Something like that.” Skye echoed thinly. You could hear both a smile and unshed tears in her voice. Looking down, you found your mysterious amnesiac still soundly asleep. Smiling fondly, you began a long overdue conversation, always making sure to keep your voice soft and quiet.
You were almost certain Skye wasn’t even supposed to let you in on even half the stuff she told you now, but you felt she needed to let it out by the way it was just pouring out of her and you let her. It wasn’t like you’d go around snitching on your best friend. Still, it was no small shock to find out that she’d spent the last year or so working and training for SHIELD.
“Before you knew it was actually run by a fascist cult bent on world domination, I hope.”
“Yes of course!” she replied, affronted.
“How’d they get you to anyway? I seem to recall a lot of rants about faceless menacing government organizations out for our civil rights and whatnot.”
“You see, the thing about people who deal in secrets like they do is that there is just so much more beneath the surface, so many things you or I could never even dream of!” you snorted softly, looking down at the still peacefully sleeping man on your couch. You could imagine quite a few things actually, seeing as your horizons had recently been more or less forcibly expanded. You briefly wondered whether you should tell Skye that you had the Winter Soldier here with you, since she assured you they were definitely the good guys and were probably looking for him, but decided against it. You couldn’t break his trust like that, not when he was only just starting to open up to you. Instead, you would put the matter to him and let him decide.
“So what exactly are you even doing now? Hunting down HYDRA?” you questioned.
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“And what about that Winter Soldier guy? Should I be worried? That was here in DC after all.” You felt a bit bad for being so roundabout, at the same time praying that Skye wouldn’t notice that you had ulterior motives for asking that particular question. The man in question shifted lightly, a few strands of long brown hair falling over his eyes. You brushed them away tenderly.
“Well, we’re not out for him specifically. To be honest, the guy has pretty much dropped off the grid completely. It’s like he just up and vanished into thin air. I don’t think he’s in the DC area anymore, but you shouldn’t take any chances, maybe get an extra door lock. You still got that baseball bat?”
You would have laughed if you hadn’t felt so guilty. There were things she wasn’t telling you either, you justified yourself. Besides, you couldn’t just hand him over. He needed help, and lots of it. You couldn’t possibly anticipate what SHIELD might do to the traumatized, broken man who had been made into the Winter Soldier.
“Listen, I gotta go now.” Skye said apprehensively before you had the chance to ask her anything to that effect. “It was good to catch up with you though. I miss you loads.”
“Okay, just don’t let it grow into another year before I hear from you again. Maybe answer when I call, or, if you’re on a mission or what it is you people do, at least call me back right after, okay? Because I really miss you too, you know.” You replied, now struggling to hold back a few tears from spilling.
“I will.” Skye said solemnly, “Promise!”
“You better!” you half-sobbed and then the line disconnected, leaving you with a sleeping ex-assassin and more questions than you had answers to.
---
Heaviness is what he remembers most, not the rush of icy wind or the image of Bucky falling, becoming smaller and smaller until he was swallowed up by the whiteness, not the noise of the train - there had been a weight that settled itself in his very bones, so inhumanly heavy that for a moment he thought he might fall, too. Until the numbness makes way for a flash of searing rage that blossoms quickly and spreads instantaneously. Zola is still there and he's gonna pay. Steve had plucked himself away from the gaping hole in the train's side, picked up his shield and caught up with Gabe. Together they'd grabbed Zola and hoisted him back up on the ridge where the others were waiting. Steve distinctly remembers how Gabe had peered into the space behind him for a moment, waiting for Bucky to emerge with a snappy remark as he always did, until that day when he didn't. It was much the same with the others, none of them mustering up the courage to ask the obvious, but when Zola had dared open his mouth Steve had socked the goblin-y little man in the jaw and no one stopped him. There might have been subtle cheering, even. Monty had snarled something at the scientist when he'd tried to complain, in that dangerously flat tone of voice that meant he was absolutely livid and just waiting for an excuse to break a bone or two. After that it was all mechanical, the short trek back to their camp (short, then, constituted anything under two days' worth of trudging), where they'd tied Zola up like a ham and left him in the custody of the local partisans they were cooperating with. The understanding passed between the men without words - they would have done the same if it had been any other than the Sarge, too - and Steve had asked one of the locals if he would be their guide when they descended into the ravine. Now, it was a fair assessment to say that the men of the Howling Commandos weren't exactly accomplished mountaineers. It took them the better part of three days to get back and down the snowy slopes. There had been a storm in the meantime, delaying their departure from the camp for a day, so by the time they'd reached the ground and started combing it had been close to a week since Bucky's fall. No one dared say it but there wasn't exactly reason to hold out hope to find more than his body, but they silently agreed that it was the least they owed him - bring him home to his family, bury him properly, like the hero and friend and brother he is, was, is. They searched the area meticulously. By the end it felt like there was neither a stone nor a snow heap left unturned, yet all they found was a small piece of dark blue cloth, with an embroidered wing on it, just big enough to cover Steve's palm and with blood spattered around the lower edge. Later, when they had finally made it back to headquarters with their prisoner and gone through all the necessary debriefs and reports, Colonel Phillips wouldn't even get so far as to select the stamp that said 'Deceased' to mark Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes' file, the six remaining members of the Howling Commandos protesting ever so ardently until he marked it 'Missing in Action' instead just to get them to leave and maybe start grieving.
Steve barely heard the voice calling them in for their appointment, and had to be nudged back to attention by Sam.
“You okay?” Sam asked.
“We were so close…” Steve whispered, looking down the corridor that leads to the room he was in not so long ago. How could he have been in the same damn building as Bucky and not know it? Sam refrains from commenting and steers him inside an office with a firm hand on Steve’s shoulder.
Doctor Agramonte was a short, still rather young woman who refused to be star-struck by Captain America seeking an audience with her.
“You realize that this information is confidential, don’t you? I can’t just go around giving out my patients’ particulars to anyone who asks. Even if you were law enforcement and had good reason to I would still need a warrant or something like that.”
“We do understand that, really,” Sam said warmly, turning on the full charm offense on the poor young doctor, who proved reluctantly susceptible to it. “But within of what you can tell us, we’d really appreciate it. It’s very important that we find these two. They might be in some real danger.”
“It’s not that I don’t believe you, personally, I mean obviously recent events are proof of your integrity, Captain Rogers, but these rules are in place to protect the patients. So unless you can convince me beyond a doubt that you having this information is better and safer for Mr Reed than not I cannot help you. I’m sorry.”
“Mr Reed?”
“William Reed. That’s what Miss Carroll said his name was. Said they were cousins. Frankly, I’m not buying that, but there’s only so much I can do.”
“Those aren’t their real names.” Steve pointed out. “I know for a fact that’s not his name and a Jessie Carroll doesn’t exist, we’ve looked into it already. Please, we need to find that woman!” Steve was becoming agitated again. What if the mystery woman was HYDRA? What if she meant Bucky harm? Not something he could risk, not now.
Dr Agramonte gave an exasperated sigh, then looked to Sam. “Honestly, I’m mystified you even have to ask. I thought I’d seen you have coffee with her a few times.”
“Who? Me?” Sam asked, dumbfounded. He racked his brain for alternatives, but the only person who came to mind was you. “She told me her name was ________. Are you sure it was the same woman?”
“Very sure. She came by every single day, between around five thirty and six.”
Steve made to say something, but a look from Sam shut him up. A hasty ‘Thank you for your help, Doctor Agramonte’ and they were off, Sam not stopping until they were both back in the car.
“Please tell me you got her number.” Steve said hollowly. Sam shook his head sadly.
“Nothing, not even her last name.”
“So we’ve just run into another dead end.” Steve assessed hopelessly, glowering at the dashboard in front of him.
“Not necessarily.” Sam argued, making a mental inventory of every conversation he’d ever had with you. “Come on, Watson, time for some deductions!”
Steve shot him a skeptical look, which Sam good-naturedly ignored.
“Firstly, the doc said she came by each day around 5.30 to 6. That suggests she has an office job, and relatively close by. Within driving distance I’d wager, which means she has a car and therefore a driver’s license. We can work with that. She knows quite a bit about medicine, but she’s doesn’t work at a hospital or clinic, ergo, we should look into medical companies in the area.”
“You make it sound so easy.” Steve complained, still unconvinced, fists clenched in his lap. He wanted to go where Bucky was right now, this very moment. He wanted to find a time machine and go back two weeks and run down the hospital corridors until he arrived at his room. He wanted a clear route. Again, he felt, they had come away with more questions than answers.
“I know you think this isn’t going to help us, but it’s actually a big step forward. We know he’s probably okay. We can reasonably assume he’s not with HYDRA again. And we have a trace.”
“The woman.” Steve supplied darkly.
“Yeah,” Sam agreed, “________. We find her, we find him.”
“You don’t even know if that’s her real name!” he groused before deflating visibly, “Do you think she could be HYDRA?”
Sam considered this for a moment, consulting his instincts, then shook his head decidedly. “No, absolutely not. You know, there are decent people out there, good people who help where they can. So, we look for the woman who likes to make obscure references to medical history, falsifies official paperwork and probably works in one of the medical companies in the Bethesda area. And we know what she looks like. Well, I do.”
“Obscure references to medical history?” Steve questioned weakly, having given up arguing for the time being.
“Yeah, come on! It’s not even that obscure to be honest. W. Reed? J. Carroll? Jessie? William? That’s too much to be a coincidence. She definitely got those fake names from the Yellow Fever Commission doctors.”
Steve looked at him with unveiled confusion, making Sam groan as he started the engine.
“Seriously, Steve. Walter Reed, of Army Medical Center fame? James Carroll? Jesse William Lazear? That’s not even all of them, in fact our good Doctor Agramonte fits right in with the pattern. Have you really never heard of them?”
Steve gave a non-committal shrug, prompting a mini-lecture that lasted the entire ride.