Chapter 14
My eyes flicker across my laptop screen, one hand navigating the trackpad, the other holding the handle of my coffee mug, legs crossed where I perch on the couch.
“You know we have big, fancy screens for that, right?”
I tear my eyes from my little screen, Sam making an entrance into the living area. Only now do I realise how sore my eyes are, and how long I’ve been staring at my laptop. I take time to fix my posture, stretching my back out from the huddled position I was sitting in. I smile at him before he wanders off into the kitchen, and I bring my focus back to my laptop. I take a sip of my cold cup of coffee, which prompts me to check the time, seeing that it’s nearly six in the morning.
I got maybe two hours of sleep, and after waking up with a jolt, I was unable to close my eyes again, in fear of my mind playing tricks on me. I’ve been sitting here since I woke up.
It seems like Sam slept at the campus last night, potentially hoping that Bucky would show up, or being ready for if he’s needed. He’s probably made his way to the kitchen to cook something for his breakfast after a good ten hours rest, whereas I’ve barely managed to close my eyes.
Refreshing the camera footage, I suddenly forget about my fatigue. Ironically, my eyes light up at the sight of Baron Zemo on my screen. I uncross my legs, reaching to the coffee table in front of me to place my mug down. I make quick work of capturing the coordinates, along with the time of the sighting. Shit, it was only a few hours ago.
“Sam?” I call, knowing he’s only a short distance away from me. He appears promptly from around the corner, balancing two bowls between his arm and his chest, and a small glass of orange juice in each hand. He walks towards me, first setting the glasses down on the coffee table, then the two bowls.
“What’s up?” He asks as he frees his arms of breakfast items. I get a whiff of the sweet smell of oatmeal, and I peer over my laptop, taking a peek at the two bowls. The oatmeal is topped with an assortment of berries, and drizzled with what looks like honey.
“I found something… What’s this?” I ask, looking at the bowl and glass in front of me. Did he make me breakfast?
“You need to eat.” Sam states. He sits on the couch next to me, reaching for one of the bowls.
“You didn’t need to make breakfast for me, Sam.”
“I know.” The man shrugs, a quaint smile on his face. “You’re doing us a real favor with this, the least I can do is make sure you’re looked after.” He chews a spoonful of oatmeal as he speaks, dipping his spoon in and out of the bowl. Sympathy is written all over his face, the look he’s giving me makes me feel fragile. Usually, it would make me angry, someone looking at me like I’m weak, but right now, it feels justified, given that’s exactly how I feel.
“Thank you.” I reply, sheepishly swapping my laptop for the bowl of oatmeal on the coffee table. The surveillance image of Zemo watches the two of us eat breakfast together.
“What’cha find?” He asked before spooning some more of his breakfast into his mouth.
“Mhm.” I mumble as I chew on my own, not realising just how hungry I was. “That was captured a few hours ago.” I point with my empty spoon, Sam looking in the direction of my laptop. “Boston, Massachusetts.”
“Can you track where he’s going next?” He mumbles, scraping at the sides of the bowl. I nod in response.
“I can head out as soon as we… know.” He drags out his last word. I look back to see what the problem is, seeing his eyes on my throat. As I become conscious of it, the dull ache seems to return. I raise my hand towards it, feeling for the material of my sweater. It mustn’t be fully covering the bruising from this angle.
I’ve continued to conceal my injuries under clothing, especially because of the personnel in the building, but the bruising creeps up higher than any clothing I already own. If it was acceptable to wear a scarf indoors, I would, but that would still bring more unwanted attention.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just didn’t realise he’d….” He lets out a sigh, running a hand over his head.
“It’s fine.” I reply, wondering if the cheeriness in my voice is too forced. Bucky is Sam’s friend, I don’t want to subject him to the hurt that I’m feeling too, and I’m almost certain that Sam doesn’t know anything about Bucky and I, or our former arrangement. “It definitely doesn’t look pretty.”
I was taught not to play with my food, but my spoon swirls around my oats with anxiety. I’ve been trying my best to avoid the subject, but the universe clearly has other plans for me.
“I know I don’t need to try to explain this, because I’m sure you already know the story, but…” Sam shuffles in his seat so he’s facing me a little more, leaning his shoulder against the back of the couch. “Bucky’s a good guy, with good intentions. I promise.”
I nod, as I certainly agree with him, but I can’t overstep my boundaries, I have to hold back my personal feelings, even if it’s painful to do so. Regardless, a question balances itself on the tip of my tongue. I try to swallow it down with another mouthful of food, but it’s persistent.
“Have you found him yet?”
“Nah, not yet.” Sam says, placing his empty bowl onto the table, picking up the glass of OJ, drinking it in almost one gulp. “He’ll show up.” The corners of his mouth are subtly upturned, but enough for me to notice. Sam clearly trusts Bucky to do the right thing, so it brings me some comfort that he isn’t too concerned about his friend’s whereabouts.
My mind wanders back to the safe house, and the conversation I had with Bucky. In a convoluted way, we agreed that we shouldn’t see each other again. Not entirely, but just in the way that we’ve met in private. I hate that it’s logical, and I hate that I agreed to it. Sam has faith that Bucky will make the right choice, and it’s stomping out that lingering flicker of hope, that Bucky would do the wrong thing for once, that he would go back on his word, coming back to me.
I shouldn’t feel like this. When Bucky and I met, I never imagined I would've given in to temptation, and he shouldn’t have reciprocated. We were never supposed to catch feelings, that’s the last thing that either of us were searching for. But now? Now it’s different. I feel for him in ways I never thought would be possible to feel for someone ever again, but here I am, fucked.
Sam’s hand patting me on the shoulder breaks me from my trance. He stands up, drinking the orange juice in his glass.
“He just needs time,” He confirms, and then glances at my laptop screen, studying the image of Zemo. “and for us to catch this clown.”
That, I’m sure we can do.
“I think you’re putting yourself in danger on purpose, at this point.” Claire mumbles, chewing on a bite of her food. I laugh, adjusting my phone so I can hear her better.
“I think danger just likes following me around.”
“You’ve been spending too much time with the hot shots, babe.”
My smile begins to falter, the statement punching me in the gut. She doesn’t mean for her words to hurt, but maybe Claire is right. Maybe I’m not cut out for this.
“Yeah, I can’t wait to get out of here.” I respond, blowing out a breath as I turn a corner.
A day after the conversation I had with Sam, I’m walking through the corridor, laptop tucked under my arm. I’m heading to one of those big, fancy screens that Sam told me about the other day, before he headed out to Boston to chase my lead. He’s due back later this evening, after hitting a dead end, so I’ve got some more work to do before I can send him elsewhere. Whilst I’m currently assisting the Avengers, it seems like SHIELD is doing some research of its own in the background, to try and help me out a little.
As I stroll down the corridor, taking the directions that FRIDAY provided for me, I can see that the door to one of the rooms has been left ajar. A collection of voices come from the room, but I can’t decipher the conversation from where I’m standing.
“Uh, Claire? I gotta go, I’ll call you back later, ‘kay?” I talk through the phone with a hushed tone, starting to bring the device down from my ear.
“Sure, hon. Speak soon.”
I end the call, transferring my phone to my pocket, slowing my steps as I draw nearer, wanting to hear what’s going on. I’m new around here, I’m almost certain that there are things that I’m not aware of, and I can’t help being nosey. It’s in my nature.
I stop a few feet away from the door, the first voice I hear being… Mack?
“…essentially create our own lead, bringing Zemo to us.”
“So we let Barnes lure him in?”
Sharon’s voice is the next that I hear. I don’t like where this is going, but I continue to approach the room slowly.
“He’d have to arrive alone to avoid suspicion… Zemo’s paranoid. But we’ll be right behind him. Hopefully Cap, too.”
The third and final voice, Maria. She’s talking about Sam, who hasn’t yet returned.
Using Bucky as bait can’t be the lead that SHIELD has been working on, surely. After everything the man has been through, they want to send him out, essentially alone, to wait for Zemo to find him? They’d risk his safety, his freedom? Does he even have a say in this?
I’ve been working tiresomely on this, tracing Zemo’s steps to formulate a pattern, seeing how he gets from A to B, and to figure out where he’s going next. Now, SHIELD wants to bypass all of that, allowing Bucky to be a sitting duck in the middle of the danger zone.
The way they’re all talking makes me think that Sam doesn’t know about this, which for me, is a major red flag. That fact alone carries me forward, my steps no longer incognito as I stand in the doorway, not thinking of the consequences before acting.
“What’s going on?” I blurt, but my breath hitches in my throat at the unexpected.
Looking up from his lap, like a deer in the headlights, Bucky shifts in his seat as we make eye contact.
The oversized hoodie he wears swallows him, and he looks frail in his seat as his face pales, mirroring the impact his presence has in the conference room. All things considered, between the two of us, I should be the one who looks scared, but it’s quite the opposite. He may as well not be here, and somehow, I wish he wasn’t. Regardless, he’s sat listening, not saying a word. My mouth starts to feel dry, so I swallow, painfully.
“You aren’t due back for another week, Agent.” Mack states, not wanting to give me any time to think, and Sharon answers the question for me, Bucky’s presence rendering me momentarily speechless.
“She was at a safe house, but I brought her back for office duties.” Sharon says confidently. “Not usual procedure, but as she’s working on an Avengers case, I deemed it acceptable under the circumstances.”
I take a shaky step back, goosebumps creeping up my arms. I can see him, in the flesh, but he’s looking straight through me, like a ghost in the doorframe.
I shake away my scowl, hoping my confusion would have left along with it, but I’m left with more questions.
My posture straightens and I clear my throat.
“With all due respect, Sir…” I start, turning my attention to the Director. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”
Everyone turns to me, probably not believing what they just heard.
“Sergeant Barnes has been cleared. You don’t need to worry.” The Director tries to calm me, not realising the reason for my reaction and I scoff.
“I think you’re mistaken, sir. I’m more concerned about the ill-thought plan I just overheard, if you can even call it a plan.”
“Starting to regret my choices here.” Sharon mumbles sarcastically, and I roll my eyes.
“You’re seriously going along with this shit?” I exclaim, looking between the other three bodies in the room. Maria, Sharon, and finally, Bucky.
The Director frowns at me. I’m not sure if it’s for my choice of language, my lack of faith in his decision making, or possibly both.
“You can’t do that. Sending him out there is a death sentence.”
“Of all people to disagree with this mission, I didn’t think it would be the Agent who risked her safety in a trafficking ring only months ago.” The Director states so bluntly, it feels malicious.
“My body can’t be manipulated and used as a weapon against my own people.” I spit back. I raise a shaky hand to the zip of my collar, opening it to just below my collarbones. I part the material with my fingers to reveal the violent bruising on my skin, turning away from Bucky as much as I can, trying to convey that this message isn’t for him.
“I nearly died, Mack. If it wasn’t for Sharon, who for some reason is completely fine with all this, I wouldn’t be here.”
“This is different. It’s a planned, observed mission. We will be in full control.”
“Not if the Winter Soldier comes out.”
“We’re well equipped to-”
“No you’re not. You never have been, and as long as the enemy has the power to control him, it’s not just him you’re putting in danger, it’s all of us.”
“Agent, if you continue to interrupt this brief, for an operation that you aren’t currently a part of, you will be asked to leave.” Mack stands from his seat, attempting to use his height advantage as a form of authority over me, to make me feel fragile, small. “I suspect that personal feelings are in play here, so I’m going to allow your… outburst, just this once.”
I look at him, the Director, in disgust, my jaw clenched as I slowly turn my head to focus my attention to Bucky instead.
“You’re going to let them treat you like this?”
He’s slumped in his chair, having not said a word this entire time. He’s not standing up for himself, too tired to try. He refuses to look me in the eye, focusing slightly lower at the mess his hand made of my windpipe.
“I can speak for myself.”
I feel a lump forming in my throat. I’m starting to think I might be insane, with the way everyone is looking at me. There’s a mixture of confusion, annoyance, but mostly pity. Unfortunately for me, the only set of eyes I care about are now fixed to the floor beneath them.
This isn’t what I signed up for. This isn’t the company I’ve been so proud to work for, risking multiple lives for a sad excuse of a mission.
Feeling the rage build, I fiddle with the lanyard around my neck. I pull at the material, the clasp unlocking at the back of my neck, and I flinch. I unfold the wallet attached to it, looking at the SHIELD badge encased inside and it doesn't catch glimpses of light coming through the window like it used to. I run my finger across it. The metal has dulled over the years of wear, small scratches collecting dust that I haven’t had a chance to clean out. The wallet lands on the table as I throw it, black leather sliding across the wood until it reaches the Director. My heart sinks. I feel like I’ve just thrown my whole life away, but I can’t support this.
“I’ve changed my opinion on you, Director.” My eyes travel up from his chest, to meet his cold, emotionless stare. “I’m finding it hard to believe that Phil Coulson chose you as his replacement.”
A twitch at the corner of his mouth is what breaks his façade, and although I don’t show the small feeling of joy that it brings, it still feels so fucking good.
I take a small step forward, invading his space. As I lean forward, whispering my next word, I still speak clearly enough for the room to hear.
“Coward.”
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Sharon asks, standing from her seat, the metal legs scraping along the low pile carpet, but I walk out of the door before I give myself time to answer, or take one last look at the soldier that leaves himself completely defenceless.
She’ll get her answer soon enough, they all will.
Captain America won’t get his next location from me, because I’m going to find Zemo my damn self.
SHIELD just made three huge mistakes in a matter of minutes. Their first mistake, the blatant bullying of Sergeant Barnes, which made him feel too small to argue against them. Second, confirming exactly that to someone, seemingly the only one, who actually cares for the man. And third? Well, they’ve just given me every piece of information I need to put this to an end on my own. If I have to take on the whole bastard organisation, I’ll do it, until I physically can’t.
.
I’ve got no more than a few hours before I’m completely shut out. My laptop is my only friend at this moment in time, so I open it, plugging in my username and password, navigating straight to the database whilst I still can. Gathering the files I need, I press print, shutting the lid and heading to the printer. I grab the papers, sifting through to make sure I’ve collected everything, stuffing them into my bag.
I’m terrified. SHIELD is all I’ve ever known. I’ve loved, lost, and grieved there. After everything Ward did, I thought I was done, but they protected me an immeasurable amount, letting me prove to them and everyone else that I belonged at SHIELD, that I’d done my part, earned my place.
I did belong, I’ve showcased that, but I don’t think that’s the case anymore.
I know that Zemo will not go down easily, and SHIELD will not negotiate. He will continue to terrorise Bucky until he gets what he wants, and if SHIELD gets to that drug before him, seizing it, Bucky will never be free from his grasp. He will keep pursuing him until he can ensure that the drug is destroyed, which shows that SHIELD refuse to acknowledge the one, major common factor:
The extent a person will go for someone, or something, that they care about.
.