STRIKE Team Delta: 26 missions

The Soldier had been camped outside the Triskelion for days. He had a perfect vantage point into several windows, camera feed from the whole buildings and his surveillance was so good he could read texts on an agent’s phone.

He was allegedly scoping out the HYDRA ranks within SHIELD, but more and more often he found himself paying unusually close attention to the agents that called themselves Strike Team Delta.

Ever since Odessa, they had captured his attention. He had remembered Natalia - she had been a prodigy. He had enjoyed teaching her - she had called him Yasha rather than Soldat, had been graceful, and they had pretended they were dancers rather than assassins.

The man - Clinton Francis Barton, alias Hawkeye, born June 18th 1984. Son of Edith and Harold Barton; both deceased. One brother, Charles Bernard ‘Barney’ Barton, alias Trickshot, whereabouts and status unknown. Barton was trained in Carson’s Travelling Circus, and joined SHIELD age 18. The Soldier had read the information packet before he had been sent to Iran to follow the engineer. Barton should have been simple to understand, easy to figure out. But he wasn’t.

The man was intelligent and deadly, yet at once friendly and acting as if he were a fool. Acting the part of a fool was something the Soldier didn’t understand, although he could see the tactical benefits. Fools were often underestimated.

Natalia and Barton had been staying in their base for all the days the Soldier had been there, but Talia had left to visit restaurants and parks with the Deputy Director - the Soldier was disappointed in how long it had taken him to realise the two were dating - and she had dragged Barton to eating out for dinner one day.

Today was different. The pair of agents normally started their day by meeting up with each other, their handler Coulson, and with the Deputy Director in the cafeteria - and guzzling coffee - but today Natalia had woken early, grabbed coffee for three people, and headed to wake Barton. She had given him the coffee, explained something that required frantic arm gestures, and directed him to start packing clothes.

Natalia had packed a bag the night before, the Soldier noticed as he ran through the tapes, cursing himself for missing that. He hadn’t been able to get into her phone, so he scanned the tapes he had for a glance at her phone - there.

pepper: i booked your flight! You should be in the airport at 8:00 to get there in time. I have clothes for you already in Quito, including the ones you wanted for Maria ;)
pepper: see you then!!!!!

The Soldier turned his eyes back to the current feed, almost frantic. Barton was packing - he wasted a second watching the muscles on his back and shoulders - and Natalia was making the familiar walk to Hill’s flat.

He tracked her as she made her way through DC, but shook his head, closing the laptop with the camera feed and grabbing his sat phone.

“I need a flight to Ecuador. I’m tracking.. assets.” His voice was raspy from disuse, but that only served to make him sound all the more intimidating, as evidenced by the stammer of assent the agent on the other end of the line let out.

There was no reason for the Soldier to track the Delta agents all the way to Ecuador. They had been invited by a friend - Virginia ‘Pepper’ Potts, whom Natalia had grown close to - and it wasn’t a mission, wasn’t anything sinister or even damaging to HYDRA. From what he could find out as he hastily searched up “Stark Industries Quito Ecuador”, Stark was hosting a New Year’s Gala… a few days before New Year’s. It was an SI event, so it would be beyond simple to slip in and keep an eye on the agents.

Natalia had been a good student. She was dangerous, he knew that - he could probably take her in a fair fight, but they had both been trained to always fight dirty, and she would have Barton, maybe Hill as backup - engaging would not be advisable. He had no real reason to follow them all the way to Ecuador other than a sense of personal duty.

The Soldier had helped train Natalia, and he felt somewhat obligated to see how she was doing. After he had shot her. In his defence, it was a through and through.

Barton fascinated him. He had no reason to obsess over the agent the way he did, but Barton was like a glimpse into a life he… never had. The young agent had friends - a close friend who was almost a sibling to him, a team of agents, a sharply-dressed agent handling him, even a Carter and a Stark among his friends. The Soldier had no idea why those things meant anything to him, no idea why he expected Hill to be called Peggy or Pepper to be called Maria - the names floated around in his head like a broken record, catching disjointed snatches of sound or repeating the same nonsensical dreams over and over again.

The Soldier was malfunctioning again. The only problem with long operations was that the longer the Soldier spent out of the chair, out of the ice, the more malfunctions happened. His brain started throwing new names, faces, memories at him. Usually he could dismiss them, but watching Barton’s life through a window, watching a sandy mop of blond hair or hearing someone yelling for Carter in the background - there were flashes of fire, flashes of ice, and through it all a face both familiar and completely unknown.

The Soldier shook his head, as if he could physically clear his thoughts, and began loading his gear into his bags. So long as the HYDRA agent had done his job, the Soldier was on his way to Quito.

--

Ecuador wasn’t going to be all that hot, but it was warmer than DC, so the SI gala was being held both inside and out. That meant more opportunities to slip in unnoticed - the SI protection measures had become less and less useful as people started fearing the wrath of Iron Man, so it would be a piece of cake to case the place, spy on the Delta agents for a bit, and leave again.

He would gain barely anything from the endeavour, but he pushed that thought to the back of his mind and settled a laptop on the tray table. The plane was due to take off in just a few minutes, and the woman seated next to him was already asleep, so it seemed a decent time to trawl through his notes about Quito. There was a large Stark Industries headquarters there, and Tony Stark himself was going to be in the country, hosting a huge New Years’ party. Luckily for the Soldier, it was a masquerade ball.

He flicked through hotel websites and booked himself a room in a tiny motel - near enough to the gala to walk, but not anywhere near any SHIELD safehouses where the agents might be staying. Then he switched to Amazon, ordering a mask to be delivered to his room. If he was disguised well enough, he could get close enough to the agents to keep an eye on them. Maybe he could even talk to them.

He couldn’t tell why he opened the tab back up with Barton’s file and began reading it through again. He was a genuine threat, he told himself. He was already acquainted with Natalia, but Barton - he had to learn everything he could. That was why he was so focused on him.

--

The plane landed halfway through the afternoon of the 30th, and he spent most of the rest of the day checking and checking again that he wouldn’t be recognised by anyone on the guest list.

The party itself began at five the next day. By the time five o’clock rolled around, the Soldier was getting impatient. Another malfunction; the longer he was out of cryo the more malfunctions occurred. Impatience was not a good trait in a soldier that ended up doing hour long stake-outs.

The Soldier would show up a little after the very beginning, hopefully early enough not to be remarked on as late but late enough not to be remarked on as early. It was a difficult balance to get right, but the most important thing was getting in without being noticed.

His mask covered his face well enough that Natalia wouldn’t recognise him, and he cut his hair with a vicious sort of glee, watching the greasy, lanky lengths swim down the drain of the sink. The tuxedo he put on was highbrow enough that he would fit right in.

The gala was outside a property that Stark owned, so it was child’s play to slip past the fence and enter the garden. A few nods to some startled millionaires and waylaying a waiter to pick up a flute of champagne, and he was in.

The agents were stood close to Stark and Potts. Neither of the hosts were wearing masks, but the Soldier picked out the agents from their hair - they were all sporting identical, simplistic eye masks. Natalia was wearing a floor-length dress that gave her the appearance of a princess, which starkly contrasted with Potts’ tight, short black dress. Barton, Stark and Hill were all wearing some variant of tuxedo - Hill had lost the jacket and instead had a waistcoat and flouncy shirt, the sleeves rolled up, and Barton seemed uncomfortable in the tight-fitting trousers and jacket - he wasn’t wearing a tie, and his top button was undone.

The Soldier thought he looked wonderful. A little rumpled, but handsome. Stark turned and caught his gaze, and the Soldier realised abruptly that he had been staring. Unable to slip away now Stark had noticed him, he was forced to move closer when the billionaire waved him over.

“Now, I don’t recognise anyone usually without masks, so you’re going to have to introduce yourself,” he joked somewhat curtly, Potts’ hand sneaking onto his back.

“James.. James Rogers,” the Soldier replied, the name pulled from nowhere. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Dr. Stark.” The man laughed - Potts and Natalia joined in, though Barton seemed to be fixated on the Soldier. He might not even have heard.

“No need for that! I might have three doctorates, but that doesn’t mean I’m stuffy. Plus, I don’t have an MD, so any medical doctor would be put out if I were to go around calling myself Doctor Stark.”

“Don’t worry, hon - you’re not competent enough for anyone to believe you’re a medical doctor.” Natalia burst into laughter at Potts’ statement, and even the stoic Hill let out a tiny snicker - yet Barton remained frozen. At Natalia’s gentle nudge, however, he licked his lips and nodded, tearing his gaze away from the Soldier.

“Ah, James, um - where are you from? Not Quito, I’m assuming.”

“Brooklyn.” The word was spoken without the Soldier even thinking. He didn’t live in Brooklyn, had never been on a mission in Brooklyn, and had no idea why he had said it. While he was agonising, Barton had begun to speak again.

“Hey, same! Well, I’ve got an apartment in Bed-Stuy, but I spend most of my time in DC. Work.” He shrugged. “I’m Clint, this is Nat and Maria, and I’m sure you know Pepper. And Stark, obviously.” He traded grins with the latter, before reaching out to swap his empty glass with a full one - without even looking.

“We all work for a branch of the government which means we’re often in other countries on assignment, but we had vacation time stored up, and seeing as Pepper invited us…” Hill trailed off, bumping fists with Potts. “How about you? Investor, employee, donor?”

The Soldier offered a smile, though he realised quickly his mask covered his mouth. “I’m a plus one of a donor, actually, but she was ill, so I’m here alone.” He chanced a glance at Barton. “My sister, Becca.”

Again, the name popped out of nowhere, but saying ‘my sister, Becca’ seemed as natural as if he’d done it a thousand times before. There was an increasing discomfort within the soldier, and he took a steadying breath to ground himself - though every time he made eye contact with Barton, his stomach seemed to flip.

“Have we met?” Natalia had been mostly quiet, apart from joining in with laughing, but she seemed wary now, on guard. “Your voice sounds familiar.”

“Not that I know of?” He shrugged, and began formulating an exit plan. “It’s been lovely, but I think I need to get back to the hotel-”

“I’ll walk you.”

Barton’s quiet offer startled the Soldier, and clearly startled Natalia and Hill. “Really I’m fine - stay, enjoy the party-”

“It’s no problem. Not that I’m not enjoying the party,” he hastily amended, looking earnestly at Stark, “but - well - I’ll walk you,” he finished lamely, blinking at the Soldier.

He hadn’t planned for this. There shouldn’t be any harm in it, other than the ever-present risk of being recognised, and there was some small, inexplicable part of the Soldier that wanted Barton to walk him back to the hotel.

“If you’re sure,” Natalia interjected, brow furrowed. She glanced between Barton and the Soldier, and he held his breath, waiting for her to call him out - but she cracked a small smile and waved them away, turning to Hill.

The Soldier cocked his head, and Barton smiled sheepishly, placing a hand on his shoulder and steering him away from the agents. The Soldier short-circuited at the touch, and something in him snapped.

They made it to the edge of the garden before the Soldier fell to his knees, a flood of memories filling the dusty corners of his mind.

“James!”

The name made Bucky flinch, and he took a deep breath, taking Clint’s offered hand and hauling himself to his feet.

“Sorry. Sorry, I - I don’t know what happened.” Clint smiled ruefully, supporting him with an arm around his shoulders.

“You probably just had a little too much bubbly. Did you know your accent’s got stronger?” Bucky shook his head absentmindedly, and swung his head round to stare into Clint’s eyes.

He had been associating Clint with Steve. The hair was similar, they both got into too many fights than was good for them - but the eyes were a different blue.

“My - uh, the hotel is, just around the corner,” he remarked, somewhat breathlessly. “Your eyes are a different blue.”

“Different to what, Jamie?” Clint snorted. “Don’t tell me different to each other. I already got broken ears, don’t tell me I got mismatched eyes.”

“Different to Steve.”

There was a moment of silence between them, punctuated by their footfalls on the pavement - growing closer to the hotel - before Clint opened his mouth.

“Who’s Steve, James?”

Bucky let out a hoarse laugh, and fell back, leaning heavily against the wall of the hotel, casting his gaze upwards. “He’s dead, an’ I never got to see him again. I saw Howard again, but not Steve, and now I never will.”

Clint drew Bucky in for a hug, and held him tightly, swaying slightly in the still air.

“It ain’t your fault, Jay, promise me you don’t think that.” They broke apart, and Clint peeled off his mask, staring at Bucky with a pleading look in his eyes.

“I - I don’t. Promise.”

Clint nodded, and hesitantly drew closer to Bucky, pulling his mask off. Bucky’s hands flew up desperately to cover his face, but it was too late. Clint drew back as if he’d been burned, and Bucky fled inside the hotel, leaving the mask and Clint abandoned outside.

--

Clint stared in confusion at where the Winter Soldier - or James Rogers, or whoever - had fled from him, into the hotel and up the stairs. He should have twigged that he was talking to a deadly assassin and not some Brooklyn homebody as soon as he saw the man, but there had been something about him that had attracted Clint, and like a typical guy, he had been thinking with the wrong head.

He turned away from the hotel, preparing to walk back to the gala, and glanced at the mask in his hand, before coming to a painful realisation.

“Nat is gonna kill me.”