Down at the Docks
Steve had been sick for a few days now, and though he assured all of them that colds were a normal part of his life, that didn’t stop any of them from hovering about anxiously.
“Aren’t you supposed to searching for the assassin? You can’t do that if you’re all too busy making sure I’m wearing a coat and drinking my tea,” Steve complains as Clint escorts him to work.
“Our job is to keep you alive at all costs, and this whole trip will have been a waste of time if we stop the assassin only for you to be brought down by the flu,” Clint says.
“It’s not the flu and Bucky is already way ahead of all of you. Now scram, go catch the guy who’s been screwing with my life,” Steve commands. Clint grins.
“So bossy,” he teases. However, nobody can deny that Steve is right. History had already shown that whatever cold Steve has picked up won’t cause his any long term damage and their focus needs to be on completing their mission.
So after assigning Tony to another day of Cap duty, Natasha and Clint head off down by the docks. Natasha and Clint had both been floating the idea that, after two failed solo attempts, the assassin had withdrawn for the moment in order to gather backup, and they all had strong suspicions that backup wouldn’t be hard for him to find. Every day the newspaper reported on the war in Europe and everyday things got a bit tenser in the neighborhood. Steve may have been first to realize that America couldn’t avoid the war forever, but slowly everyone else was piecing that fact together as well. And not everybody thought that Germany should be America’s enemy.
Steve had actually been the one to suggest the docks as a starting point. Bucky worked at the dock most days and according to the stories he told Steve, brawls were breaking out all over the place over recent politics. If the assassin was looking for fellows who shared his beliefs, the docks would be a good place to start looking.
Natasha really wishes she didn’t have to wear a skirt. Since making it down to the docks she has endured two wolf whistles, four “appreciative” comments about her legs, and countless jeering looks. Under normal circumstances she wouldn’t mind, but under normal circumstances she would have broken the wrist of the drunk who tried to get too handsy with her. Clint had done the job for her, but she wasn’t enjoying this century. The lack of technology was fine for her, although she knew that it was secretly driving Tony crazy, it was the inability to do anything without blowing her cover that was killing her. She couldn’t wear pants, she couldn’t throw a punch, she couldn’t even wear her hair down without looking suspicious, and she hated bobby pins.
“Hey baby-doll. You selling, because I’m interested.” His eyes traveled immediately to her chest. Clint only thought it was funny because he knew how badly she wanted to punch the man, but that didn’t mean his laughing was helping the situation.
“Ease up wise guy, and get back to work or I’ll have the shift boss after you.”
A familiar young man says, coming around the corner. Natasha and Clint watch as Bucky Barnes shoos the man away.
“Sorry about him, don’t know why the boss keeps him around, he’s bad business.”
Natasha smiles like she hasn’t been staking out Bucky’s apartment building for the past week.
“Thank you,” she says demurely, as if she truly needed his stepping in.
“Not a problem ma’am, but the docks really aren’t the place for a lady. Are you looking for someone?” Bucky asks.
Natasha and Clint share a glance. Steve has been firm about not dragging Bucky into the situation, but it would be helpful to have someone trustworthy point them in the right direction.
“Yes, actually. We’re with the FBI,” Clint lies.
“Both of you?” Bucky asks with a glance at Natasha, “I didn’t know they let Dames in the FBI.”
“Agent Romanoff isn’t your average dame,” Clint says, “and we’re investigating American Bund members on suspicion of ties to the German Nazi party.”
Bucky’s eyes get wide, “Like espionage?”
“Yep, you know any guys like that?”
“Not personally. Fellows who get involved with the Bund are bad news.”
“Can you at least point us in the right direction?” Natasha asks.
“Sure. There’s a bar not far from here. It attracts the worst sort.” Bucky says, “I get off my shift soon, I’ll show you.”
“No need, we don’t need a civilian getting caught up in this. Just tell us the name of the place and where it is and we’ll be on our way,” Clint says.
For a moment it looks like Bucky is going to argue. Clint wonders if he has the same hot temper as Steve. Then Bucky gives them an easy grin.
“Sure, sure. Always happy to help out. The place is called Hickory House and it’s just off of Seventh St. It’s not really a great place for a lady to be though.”
“I’ll handle it,” Natasha says shortly.
“I’m sure you will ma’am. I just don’t know how long you two will be able to maintain your cover if you feed someone a knuckle sandwich for getting to fresh with you, and the boys down there don’t take too kindly to the law enforcement types.” Bucky says, “but if you sent me, well nobody would expect me to be working with the FBI. They’ve all seen me down by the docks.”
Natasha smiles. The eagerness is practically dripping off of him, and she’s half tempted to take him along. From the few fights she’s watched him break up on Steve’s behalf, she knows he’s got a good right hook and he’s right about blending in much better than her or Clint. It’s almost a shame that he’s too important to history to risk like this. She’s well aware of how Steve got his real start as Captain America; storming a Hydra base looking for Bucky.
“Sorry kid. We appreciate the enthusiasm, but this is a job for professionals,” Natasha says.
Bucky looks disappointed, too disappointed to leave without offering at least something.
“Stay out of trouble and maybe someday you could be an agent,” Clint says, and it’s cheesy but Bucky lights up at the thought. Clint has to hold back a wince at how excited Bucky looks. Clint knows that Bucky will never be an FBI agent. He knows that in a few years’ time Bucky will be dead; killed far from home and his body never recovered. It’s always been a sad story, just because Clint knows how broken up over Bucky’s death Steve still is, but now after meeting Bucky for himself… It’s unfair. Clint has seen a lot of unfair things in his life, but watching a dead man walking and standing by without even trying to warn of him of his fate… This is definitely going to be something that bothers him later. For now though, Clint pushes those thoughts aside. They have a mission to complete. They say goodbye to Bucky and make their way to the bar.
As soon as they are far enough down the street Bucky shouts to his boss, “Hey Johnny, I’m cutting out early.”
The bar is easy to find. It’s the only one on a long street of bars that’s packed at two in the afternoon. Music like the kind Clint and Natasha know are on Steve’s iPod back home pour out the open windows. Brushing back a loose curl, Natasha confidently walks through the doors, Clint following right behind. She holds her head high, as if she isn’t the only woman in the room. The air is thick with cigarette smoke and a lingering oily smell that the dock workers have brought with them.
Seeing all eyes instantly snap to her, Natasha decides it’s best to nip any potential problems in the bud right now. A man reaches out to pinch her butt. Her arm snaps out, grabbing him by the wrist.
“Try that again and I’ll break it,” she says bending the wrist back dangerously. The man tugs. She holds on just long enough for the first signs of fear to cloud his eyes before she lets go.
Clint heads straight for the bar and orders a whiskey. The bartender grabs a glass but is slow to pour it.
“Never seen you around here before.” He says.
“Never been here before,” Clint says, “just got back from a trip from Germany.”
“What were you doing there?” The bartender looks cautiously intrigued.
“I had some business to attend to,” Clint says vaguely, hoping that the bartender wouldn’t want details. He knows his history knowledge isn’t good enough to know exactly what type of business would be expected over there at this time.
“See anything good while you were over there?” The bartender asks, finally giving him his shot of whiskey. Clint downs it.
“Saw the Fuhrer giving a speech in Berlin. I was impressed,” Clint says, “he really knows how to move a crowd.”
Now, more than the bartender are listening with interest. Out of the corner of his eye, Clint can see the men at the next table leaning in to listen with interest. Clint holds back any feelings of disgust from showing on his face as he describes the elegance of Hitler’s speech.
Clint stands up from the bar, moving closer towards the table. If the assassin had been here, these look like the type of men who would be willing to help. It’s a tough looking lot, probably dock workers. All of them in their twenties. Clint wonders how many of them will end up drafted by the time the war ends.
Focused on keeping an eye on the table to his left, Clint doesn’t even notice the man at the far end of the table has been glowering at him since he started talking.
“You look interested fellas,” Clint says dropping into an empty seat at the table.
“You really saw Hitler?” One of the guys asks. He says it casually, but Clint can see the poorly concealed excitement in his eyes.
“This last trip wasn’t even the first time. I do a lot of business over there.”
“Boy, I’d like to see Germany. He’s really fixing up his country, not like us. We’re falling apart,” the man says bitterly.
“Can’t walk the streets anymore without running into filth,” another one at the table agrees.
The man from across the bar who had been watching stands up. From her place by the entrance of the bar Natasha watches him stalk over to Clint’s table. A look of fury etched in every line of his face. He winds up and sucker punches Clint in the head. Clint blinks as stars burst in front of his eyes. The men at the table stand up, with shouts of anger.
The man from the bar raises his fists. Others all around the bar watch with interest. Shouts of encouragement can be heard, and Clint has a feeling that brawls are a regular occurrence here. He swears under his breath. This isn’t what he needs right now, especially when he had just built up a good rapport with his targets.
Someone from his table launches himself at the intruder. They roll on the floor, both getting a few sloppy punches in. Whenever they roll too close to another table a sharp boot to the ribs sends them rolling the other way.
Clint wonders if there’s a way of breaking up the fight without damaging his credibility when there’s a burst of static in his ear. It’s hard to hear over the commotion and he’s pretty sure that the blow to the head knocked something loose in his comm because he can’t hear more than jumbled noise. Natasha seems to get the message though. She appears at Clint’s side, pale faced and tight lipped.
“We need to go.”
The fight forgotten, Clint and Natasha push their way through the crowd and back out onto the street. A minute later another figure slips out of the bar. Bucky follows the two spies down the street.