Chapter Text
“Since when do you smoke, Lena?” Alexei interrupted
The team was gathered around the table in the newly fitted briefing room. It was sleek, high tech - all metal tones and dark wood. In the corner was a large purple cage, Yelena’s guinea pig napping inside. (He was an introvert, she had explained, when she’d moved him in here.)
Bucky hated the room - felt for the little rodent. There was a time when this kind of place, this harsh lighting, would have meant he was in a cage too.
“It is good for undercover,” Yelena said with a shrug. “Disarms people. Drunk girls in New York love cigarettes.”
“Wait - so what happened?” Walker asked. “It’s sounding pretty thin to me.”
“We’ve got enough to confirm an active HYDRA connection,” Bucky said tightly.
“So Yelena’s new bestie is HYDRA?” Walker concluded, to a collective groan.
“No,” Bucky said, “Just hold on-“
“She is involved,” Yelena said. “But we don’t know how. They were talking about her like… like predators about prey. She seemed normal.”
“So we have to find out what the text said. How do we do that?” Ava asked.
“I cloned her phone, obviously,” she said casually. Alexei grinned, putting his hands behind his head and leaning back like he’d done it himself.
She pulled a small drive out of her pocket and plugged it into the console in the table. A transcription of the texts appeared on everyone’s tablet. Bucky crossed his arms, staring at the middle distance as everyone read, exchanging glances.
“You don’t seem shocked.” Walker broke the silence. “Why aren’t you shocked? Why isn’t he shocked?”
“Ah,” Alexei said. “They had a meeting before meeting.”
The ‘they’ in question exchanged a knowing glance, feeling mutually vindicated in their decision to hold a more private debriefing.
“Normal people don’t need an escape route from an Avenger,” Ava said evenly. “Even these ones.” She gestured quickly around the room.
“And you didn’t recognize her at all?” Walker asked. Bucky shook his head. He had a nagging suspicion it wasn’t an Avenger she’d needed an escape room from.
“I think we should speak to her,” Yelena said.
“They‘ll know if we make contact,” Bucky pointed out. “They’re obviously watching her. We should continue surveillance, too. From a distance.”
“Yeah, you love to watch, don’t you?” Bucky fixed Walker with his harshest stare, which was losing efficacy every day.
“Surveill who? The girl?”
“Yes,” Yelena said. “And the others, too. It’s too soon to act.” She finished on a note of uncertainty, a searching look over to Bucky, who raised is chin in an almost invisible nod.
“I hate to agree with Walker,” Ava said. “But it is sounding a bit thin. What makes you so sure she’s worth watching? The others I get, but-“
“Sounds like girl is either evil and needs stopping, or not and needs helping. That is what we do now, no?” Alexei said.
The others were silent for a while, perhaps still unsure of what is was they did now.
The conversation quickly devolved, with Yelena and Walker getting into a heated debate about the best way to tail someone unnoticed (she was overwhelmingly, objectively, correct.)
Bucky sat silently, half listening. Rubbed a hand over his sandpaper jaw. He had seen her in profile for seven seconds. Full-on for three. The memory of her face was clear - another immutable part of his programming. But no matter how many times he rolled it over in his brain, reached into the farthest corners of the memories he usually avoided, he couldn’t place it.
Ollie had been awake for at least an hour, but had barely stirred. Samuel was fast asleep next to her, he had gotten in about four hours after her. She had shut her eyes tightly as she’d heard the door click open, faking a sleep that quickly became real. He was snoring softly, something that only happened when he had a bit too much expensive scotch.
Since waking, her mind had been split into three tracks. The first was rehearsing the inevitable argument with Samuel - Why’d you disappear like that babe? You embarrassed me. The second was a sprawling, looping what-if. What if I’d gone back down there? What if I’d just asked him why?
The third was stuck on another memory. It had been over a year ago, now. She’d been on the Manhattan-bound Q train, slightly sunburnt and content from a solo day at Coney Island. It had been July 5th. It had become a tradition for her - the crowds thinned considerably, the weather was ideal, and Samuel was always still in Montauk.
The car had been empty except for one other person - a man in a dark cap and surgery mask. They had made fleeting eye contact, and something had triggered in her. Recognition. She’d looked at his arm, but he was wearing long sleeves and leather gloves in the July heat. Part of her knew, the other part strained to convince herself it couldn’t be true. The familiar subway calculus of whether it was better to stay the course and mind your own business or abandon ship and pray the next train came quickly. She’d stared at a personal injury lawyer ad the whole ride. They’d gotten off at the same stop.
No longer able to stand the stillness, Ollie carefully pushed the covers over her and climbed out of bed. She glanced back at Samuel, who had cracked an eye open. She leaned over, kissing him quickly on the cheek, before heading out into the kitchen.
He was out of bed before the coffee finished brewing, settling into one of the tall stools. Ollie avoided his gaze as she pulled out sugar and milk and mugs.
“What happened last night, Ol?” he said. It was a tone she didn’t recognize, like he was trying to hide anger or frustration. She realized then she’d never seen either from him, at least not towards her. Was it a healthy relationship, she wondered suddenly - or apathy?
“I’m sorry,” she said, setting a mug before him. “I had a panic attack. I was too embarrassed to come back down - my makeup was all ruined. I looked crazy. “
He furrowed his brow. “About what?”
“I don’t know - it wasn’t about anything. I just got overwhelmed.”
“I wish you’d said goodbye. It looked weird, Ol. And the wives-“
“I know,” she said sharply. Then softer: “I know, I’m sorry.”
She finally looked at him for more than a second, watched him school his face into an affectionate smile. “Well - they all loved you.” He took a sip of his coffee. “They were saying we should both come to the annual retreat this year.” He said it like it was the most casual thing in the world, and he really wanted her to know that. “In Sofia.” There was a beat as she bit down her initial reaction. “That’s in Bulgaria.”
“I know.” She looked at him over the rim of her mug in a way she never had before. Studiously. She saw something flicker on his face, gone in a split second. “When?”
“Next month. You’ll come, right?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I mean… maybe. Can I get more details?”
“Of course, babe,” he said, with an ‘I just got my way’ grin. “I’ll send you the deck.” Samuel stood, rapping his knuckles on the counter like he often did to punctuate a conversation. But he lingered, still. “So…” he said, running a hand roughly over the back of his hair.
She cocked her head.
“You’re good?”
“What?”
“Like, the panic attack. Do you need like… xanax? Or a shrink?”
Ollie blinked. “I’m good,” she managed, choking down a dozen nasty responses. “Promise.”
The dive bar Bucky and Sam frequented most was full of ghosts, now.
And skeletons. And cobwebs.
Bucky swatted a dangling spider away as they made their way to the back booth. He could hear Sam’s satisfied cackle behind him.
“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky said as he slid into the booth, a glass of beer in his hand. He was without gloves tonight - more common than not after the campaign and the whole public figure thing. He could feel every drop of condensation on the beer - did this bar have it’s heat on already? “I don’t get this whole Halloween thing.”
“Oh, they didn’t have Halloween in the forties?”
“Yes, Sam. We had Halloween. In the twenties, when I was a kid.” Sam just smiled, shaking his head. Bucky jerked a thumb at the vampire portrait taped up next to their booth. “But it’s a little much these days, isn’t it?”
“Hey, how many little Sam Wilson Captain Americas do you think will be running around this year?”
“Shouldn’t you know? Don’t you get a cut of the costume sales? licensing, or whatever?” Bucky winced as the words came out. He could practically hear them in Alexei’s accent.
“Nah. They get around all that. Add an extra star, call it Winged Patriotic Hero, or some shit like that. And I get nada.”
“Huh,” was all Bucky could say.
“Speaking of cheap knockoffs…”
“Not today. Please.”
Sam furrowed his brow. “What‘s up, Buck? This more than just a social call?”
“Yeah.” He started drumming the metal fingers of his left hand on the dark sticky wood of the table. Softly. Controlled. “That tip you gave me panned out.”
“Now you need me to step in?” Sam said with a grin.
“All set.” Bucky followed that with a big swig of cheap beer. “Nah, it’s… a strange one.” He summarized as succinctly as possible, to a miraculous zero interruptions from the man across from him.
“So.. what are you saying?” Sam asked when he finished.
“I don’t know,” Bucky admitted, frustrated. “The HYDRA part - all clear. Something doesn’t feel right, though.”
“The girl? Could have been a coincidence,” Sam ventured. “You can’t be sure she left in a hurry because of you.”
“Yelena was sure it was the text.”
“What are you worried about here? It seems pretty cut and dry to me. Keep on it, take these guys down.” Bucky looked away. “Save the girl if she needs saving. You said you didn’t recognize her, so-“
“What if I forgot?” Bucky said, strained. “What if there’s still things in here-“ he tapped his forehead with two metal fingers, “that I can’t get to?”
“You can’t know what you don’t know, Buck.” He rolled his eyes, which only seemed to make Sam speak louder. “I thought you were past this - you have to trust your own mind, or else-“
“I do. I do, it’s just…”
“Do the job. Deal with the rest as it comes.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Bucky said drily. An animatronic skeleton one booth over jolted and shrieked. Neither man flinched, just watched the other - unblinking.
Ollie’s working days were spent one of two ways: worrying she was going to get fired and praying that she was going to get fired. It was a Friday, now, which meant the introduction of a third way: an hour long lunch break in Central Park. Now that it was fall, exact location depended on her routine checking of the peak foliage map.
Today she was posted up in the southwest corner of Sheep Meadow, an overpriced salad discarded next to her. There was a book in her lap, but it was functioning more as a security blanket than literature at the moment.
She felt her phone buzz in the tote bag next to her, wondered how it had gotten off silent mode. She pulled it out, frowning as she saw her usual lockscreen (Seatbelt in a straw hat), no missed notifications. The buzzing continued. She pulled her tote bag onto her lap, digging through until she found a small black flip phone.
Ollie hadn’t seen one of those in years, but the click was familiar as she snapped it open and held it up to her ear. “Hello?” she started. “I found your phone, I think-“
“Olive Spencer,” the voice said, and her stomach flipped. She looked around frantically, eager for any familiar face that would hallmark a prank. “Relax,” the voice said. “You are not currently in danger.”
Despite the accent, it sounded more like a friend calling for a chat than any kind of deep-voiced villain.
“Put your sunglasses on,” the voice continued, and Olive obeyed. “You look way too freaked out.”
“Oh, do I?”
“Yes. This is spy shit now. Okay - relax your body. No, not like that - okay. Just lie back. Like you’re getting a tan.”
“It’s October-“
“Yes, but sun is out, is it not?”
Lying back on the grass, Ollie slowly turned her head to either side, still unable to see who might be on the other end.
“You will not spot me,” the voice said matter of factly. “I am very good at this.”
“What is this?” Ollie said, fear catching up to surprise and leaking into her voice.
“I just want to talk. I’m not supposed to, but I don’t agree with this.”
“Talk about what? Do I know you?”
“We’ve met.”
“…Candice?”
“Ah! Yes! Well, yes. That is me. Code name, though.”
“Right,” Ollie said, fear shifting to confusion.
“Look - Olive. You cannot trust anyone right now. I wanted to warn you. We are trying to help, but it will take some time.”
“Who’s we?” Confusion was shifting to anger, now. She was still lying on the grass, lifted her sunglasses. Ollie looked up at the sky, the tips of the trees, marveled at how small the Universe always managed to make her feel.
“Friends.” the voice said. “I know this is vague, Olive, and I’m sorry. You have to be careful. But you cannot look like you’re being careful-“
“Who am I being careful of?”
There was a staticky silence. “Your boyfriend, for one.”
Ollie let out a sharp laugh. Of-fucking-course. Had someone in her life arranged this as some kind of fucked up intervention? Was the universe playing an elaborate joke? Except - she believed it, instantly and wholly. She thought of Samuel’s vague phone calls, elaborate travel schedule. The distance that she could never close. Those eyes on her at the party-
“Put this phone in your salad bowl, and throw it out. Casually. We’ll be in touch.”
Ollie followed instructions, mostly. She slammed the salad bowl into the nearest trash with as much force as possible. It didn’t make a dent in the anger stirring inside her.
She wanted to scream, to hit something. But she was wearing a pencil skirt in Central Park and was about to be late for a meeting.
“You’re mad at me,” Yelena said from where she sat, cross-legged on a thick black mat. She was wrapping her hands, looking up at Bucky.
He did not glance back, just continued pounding the punching bag. Slowly, methodically. The vinyl was already starting to split.
“Do you even need to work out? With the… serum stuff?” Bucky landed one more punch, perhaps a little harder than the last few. Sand started to slowly leak out onto the gym floor. He reached out and steadied the bag before finally turning to Yelena.
“Not really. It helps.” He leaned down to pick up the plain metal water bottle he’d taken to carrying around the tower. (Thirst isn’t something to be survived, it’s a basic need, his therapist had said. Why don’t you try acknowledging it?)
Yelena rolled her neck and shifted into a deep stretch, torso folding over her right leg. “You’re mad at me,” she said again. “Let’s talk about it.”
Bucky sighed, sinking to the mat next to her and lying on his back. Started some stretches the team physical therapist had shown to him as “conditioning.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m mad.”
Yelena pivoted, leaning over her other leg. “I’m sorry I didn’t follow your plan, but-“
“I’m not mad you didn’t follow my plan,” he said. “I’m mad you didn’t follow the plan.”
He sat up, and Yelena rose out of her stretch, and they were just two deadly assassins sitting side by side in a musty gym.
“We have to stop acting like rogue agents,” Bucky said. “We’re a team now.”
Yelena considered that, the explanations and arguments she had prepared dying on her tongue. “You’re right,” she said simply.
He nodded at her, smiling slightly. It was nice to have at least one roommate who could hold a conversation - no quips or non sequiturs or unprovoked transitions to physical threats.
“So why did you deviate?”
“I didn’t plan to. I did as we said. I watched her, for two whole days-“ she held up two fingers.
“Two days,” Bucky repeated drily. “48 hours. I’ve aimed a rifle longer than that.”
“Yes, but as you or as brainwashed HYDRA Cyborg?” He rolled his eyes at that, reaching again for his water bottle. “It was enough, Bucky,” she continued. “She is absolutely a civilian. Trust me.”
“I do,” he admitted.
“Did you read Ava’s report?” she asked. “HYDRA is getting boring. So much embezzlement. Least fun crime to fight.” He agreed with that, felt that easy crooked smile he was still refamiliarizing himself with tug at the corners of his mouth.
“Too many numbers,” he said. “But I got the gist. They’re gathering resources for something.”
“I think it’s going to escalate soon,” she said. “Everyone I tailed seemed very… tense.”
“Not because they were being followed?”
“Please!” she said with mock offense. “No one knows when I follow them. I am very professional.”
“So what happened? When you made contact?”
Yelena relayed the details of the encounter to him. Bucky stared at the wall with an expression most would read as murderous. But his teammates had quickly learned it could also mean computing.
“And then I followed her to work, and home. She said nothing. Acted normal. Decent actress,” Yelena finished.
“Something still isn’t making sense,” he said finally.
“Any luck on the Winter Soldier angle?” she asked. He had detailed his suspicions to her late one night, when they had run into each other ferreting stale Wheaties from the depths of the Tower’s pantry.
“Nah. There’s some weird stuff - mother died in a house fire. No cause on record. But the logs show I was on ice during that.” He frowned.
“We should talk to her. Maybe she can even help?”
Bucky shook his head. “We focus on the rest first. We need the big picture.”
“Okay, boss,” Yelena said skeptically. She sprang up from her seated position in one smooth movement. “Can we spar now?” she asked.
Bucky followed suit, far less gracefully. He reached up, precisely shifting his metal arm until he heard the click. He detached it, tossing it to the side with a thud, and squared up on the mat across from Yelena.
The first few weeks Ollie had lived in New York, the constant throngs of people everywhere had given her the distinct feeling of living in a panopticon. That had faded quickly, and she’d lived nicely with the feeling of unimpeachable anonymity ever since.
Now, though, the feeling was back. She had snagged a seat on the crowded train, and every face she glimpsed through a gap in bodies seemed to be staring at her. Watching. She tried to train her focus on the phone in net hands, but it sat like a brick. It seemed obvious that if something - someone - was watching her, they had full access.
It took twice as long as usual to reach her stop, and all of her willpower not to constantly glance behind her as she climbed the subway steps and walked the short distance to her building.
She was spiraling, quickly. Memories she’d thought were gone forever were surfacing. Those weeks before It Happened. The strange things her mother had said and done, unknowable through a child’s eyes. But with an adults reflection, were so clearly acts of fear. Paranoia.
Is that what she looked like, now?
She smiled at the doorman as she headed to the elevator. “Hey, Tommy,” she said, pausing by his desk. “Samuel home yet?”
“Beat you by ten minutes,” he said. Fuck.
She spent the painfully short elevator ride centering herself and practicing neutral expressions. All weekend she’d managed to avoid him - only quick check-ins and one hasty breakfast. She could feel her facade cracking, even from that limited use.
Ollie paused at the door, keycard in hand. Started to countdown from ten - then heard Samuel’s voice on the other side.
“Well, that’s not-“ she heard, slightly muffled. “Fucking Temu Captain America poking around-“
She leaned forward to press her ear against the door, but her weight shifted a little too much. There was a creak, and a sudden silence on the other end.
She quickly swiped her card on the lock, pushing the door open with a bright smile. “Hey!” she called out, then pantomimed noticing him on the phone, mouthed a quick apology.
He looked at her for a little too long. “Hey, I’ll call you back,” he said before hanging up and crossing the room to give her a kiss on the cheek. She shrugged off her jacket and hung up her purse.
“Good day?” he asked, settling into the couch, eyes trained to his phone.
She sat a seat away from him, watching. There was something stirring inside her, an urge to kick whatever hornets nest she could find. It couldn’t be worse than this waiting, this living half in the dark. She was coming up on three decades of it, now
“Hey,” she said. “When’s that Bulgaria trip again?”
He looked up suddenly. “It’s two Mondays from now. Why?”
“Aunt Georgia called,” she said. They studied each other. “She’s having her retirement party that week. Invited me to spend the week, help set up-“
“Ol,” he interrupted. Tense. “It’s extremely important to me that you come.”
“I know,” she said, attempting an apologetic smile. “But she never asks me for anything.”
“The tickets are bought. Everything is booked. You want me to tell my bosses you changed your mind?”
“I never said yes,” she said.
“You…” he tossed his phone on the coffee table in frustration. “Yes you did,” he said, voice strained.
“No, I didn’t,” she said stubbornly. “You just assumed. I have a life too, Samuel, I’m not just an accessory-“
“Oh boy,” he said with a cruel laugh. “Alright, well-“
“Why is that funny?” The dormant, toxic, many-headed anger in her was waking, rising to the surface.
“Of course you’re not an accessory,” he said. It was obvious he had edited his thoughts.
His phone started to vibrate violently against the coffee table. They both ignored it.
“I don’t want to go to Europe, Samuel. I’m going to go to my Aunts’ for the week.” She watched him like he was a coiled snake.
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes. His phone started to vibrate again, and he finally picked it up and silenced it. Stared at the screen for a while.
“I’m sorry. I know it’s important to you, but I need to be with my family-“
“Ol,” he said. “Come on. You know that’s not going to be possible.” She watched as the smile fell from his face. There was something new in his eyes, terrifying.
The door crashed open.