Chapter Twenty-Three: Risky Business
Weeks after the enlightening game
night, life continued with an eerie semblance of normalcy. The expected
fallout—dramatic confrontations, tearful confessions, or abrupt breakups—never
materialised. Instead, the four parties fell into a habitual routine, as if
that night had never happened.
Steve and Sharon pressed on with their wedding
plans, poring over seating charts and debating floral arrangements with Pepper,
their self-appointed wedding coordinator. Their conversations were filled with
talk of colour swatches and cake tastings, the routine of it all masking even
the slightest bit of strain. Steve played his part, nodding and smiling at
appropriate moments, though his eyes held a faraway look that often went
unacknowledged.
Meanwhile, Bucky remained the picture of a
supportive boyfriend, cheering on Sarah’s secret career aspirations with
unwavering enthusiasm. He accompanied her to clandestine meetings and
recordings, and helped her whichever way he could. Neither of them broaching
the subjects of Steve or the story behind the peach shampoo revelation.
But beneath this calm exterior lurked suppressed
feelings. Feelings threatening to upset the delicate balance they all worked so
hard to maintain. The worst of all being a tiny, seemingly innocuous,
development…
************************
Nat stood in the middle of the Observation Deck, her
eyes fixed on her phone screen as she navigated to Sarah’s Instagram profile.
The video filled her screen, showing Sarah seated at a keyboard, surrounded by
a group of friends, followed by a fun, colourful photo dump. Nat’s thumb
hovered over the screen, drinking in every detail of her friend's expression.
A small smile tugged at her lips as she watched the
video loop. The knot of worry that had taken up residence in her chest since
the game night began to loosen ever so slightly. Here was proof that Sarah was
finding moments of pure, uncomplicated joy amidst the chaos of their tangled
lives.
“Attagirl,” she whispered to herself.
As the story ended, Nat’s gaze lingered on Sarah’s
radiant smile frozen on the screen, and let out a soft sigh of relief. Perhaps,
she thought, there was hope for her to find her way to real happiness after
all.
The sound of approaching footsteps pulled Nat from
her reverie. She quickly locked her phone, pocketing the device with the ease
of an agent used to keeping secrets.
"Romanoff," Fury's voice boomed in the
cavernous space, subtle as a freight train. "I've got a job for you. Off
the books."
Nat turned, quirking an eyebrow. "Aren't they
always?"
"This one's different. Subject's part of a
failed Winter Soldier programme. He's off the grid, and the government wants
him before the wrong people get to him."
"Where's the last ping?"
"Possible sightings in Eastern Europe.
Underground networks."
A spark of interest lit Nat's eyes. "Hm. Sounds
like fun."
"He might be working with locals to stay
hidden... So find him and report back. No noise." Fury turned, preparing
to leave.
“Wait, you… don't want me to bring him in?"
Fury halted mid-stride, his back to her. The pause
stretched, filled only by the distant drone of the Compound's systems. "Not
yet. We need to know if he's still... human enough for that."
Nat nodded, filing away the implications. "Got
it. I'll pack light."
"And Romanoff..." Fury's parting words
hung in the air. "Trust no one."
As Fury's footsteps faded, Nat's mind whirred with strategy
plotting and contingencies. Just as she was about to move, movement from the
opposite end of the deck caught her eye.
“Want to take a drive down to Jersey with me?” Steve
asked, as casual as discussing the weather.
“Shouldn’t you be with your blushing bride
downstairs?”
“Did my time. Stayed for a few obligatory shots…”
"Damn," Nat's eyes danced with mischief.
"I was looking forward to watching you squirm under the spotlight."
“Now, now. No need to get sentimental," Steve
deadpanned.
"So, what's in Jersey? Besides regret and
broken dreams?"
"Oh, you know," Steve shrugged. "The
usual. Checking up on old Hydra facilities, reminiscing about the good old days
of world domination..."
Nat let out a laugh that was half scoff, half
genuine amusement. "Right. Nothing to do with dodging the rest of the
wedding festivities, I'm sure."
"I have no idea what you're talking
about," Steve replied, the picture of innocence.
All the while, Bucky, ex-assassin and part-time brooder, sat on the
edge of his bed, staring at the wall like it held the secrets of the universe.
His flesh hand absently stroked his Vibranium arm, as if trying to comfort the cold
alloy.
His mind, a labyrinth of fragmented memories, kept
circling back to one face: the girl from the therapist's office. She was like
an earworm, but instead of a catchy tune, it was her wavy brown hair and
enigmatic smile that wouldn't leave him alone.
Closing his eyes, Bucky tried to sharpen the hazy
image of her by his hospital bed. Was she a figment of his imagination, or a
ghost from his past? The question still gnawed at him like a puppy with a chew
toy.
With a grunt of frustration, Bucky launched himself
off the bed and began pacing his apartment. The mystery of this woman… Detective
Catherine Chandler, he'd learned… was driving him up the proverbial wall.
His gaze landed on his laptop, and suddenly, he was
a man on a mission. Fingers flying over the keys, he dove into the rabbit hole
of internet searches. It didn't take long to uncover her precinct, the 125th,
nestled in the heart of Manhattan.
Bucky leaned back, running a hand through his hair
as if he could physically brush away his doubts. He knew chasing this lead was
about as smart as poking a sleeping bear. He should leave well enough
alone.
Before common sense could catch up, Bucky was out
the door, his jacket barely on. The mystery of Catherine Chandler beckoned, and
Bucky Barnes was never one to ignore a good mystery… or a bad decision.
************************
As he stepped into the precinct, the cacophony of
ringing phones, shuffling papers, and overlapping conversations washed over
him. He paused, his eyes scanning the room, trying to appear casual while
searching for a familiar face.
"Sergeant Barnes!" A fresh-faced beat cop
materialised, clipboard in hand. "Can I help you, sir?"
Bucky cleared his throat, plastering on a stiff
smile. "Yeah, I'm looking for Detective Chandler. She
around?"
The cop's eyebrows rose slightly. "Detective
Chandler?" He glanced around the bustling room before turning back to
Bucky. "She’s rarely at her desk... Anything we could help with?"
"Nah, nothing like that," Bucky lied
through his teeth. "Just a... personal matter."
The beat cop nodded, curiosity evident in his eyes.
"Let me ask around for you."
Bucky watched as the young officer weaved through
the maze of desks, stopping to chat with various colleagues. His enhanced
hearing picked up snippets of conversation, most of which were dead ends.
Finally, the cop approached a glass-walled office where a stern-looking man in
a suit sat behind a desk.
Through the glass, Bucky could see the Captain's
brow furrowed as he listened to the beat cop's inquiry. He shook his head and glanced
up, locking eyes with Bucky from across the bullpen.
The beat cop returned, his expression apologetic.
"Sorry, the Captain says Detective Chandler's not in right now."
Bucky's jaw tightened. He glanced towards the Captain's
office, where the man was now standing, watching him with narrowed eyes.
“If it’s urgent, Detective Vargas is right over
there. She’s Chandler’s partner…”
"No, no. No. That won’t be necessary,” Bucky
muttered, already backing towards the exit. "Thanks for your help."
Bucky stumbled out of the precinct, feeling dejected
by the dead end but a hint of relief. Perhaps he wasn’t ready to face
Catherine Chandler after all. The bustling New York streets closed in around
him as he walked, his mind running amok with unanswered questions. He needed
answers, but where to find them in this concrete jungle?
Like a beacon of hope for the informationally
challenged, a sign for the public library caught his eye. Perfect! Old-school
research it was!
He slunk to the back of the library, where a row of
microfiche readers sat, looking about as neglected as his social life since Sarah’s
dramatic career-move. And once he settled into a chair, he dove into his
research marathon.
Hours passed as Bucky scrolled through endless reels
of old newspapers. His eyes burned from the strain, but he pressed on, driven
by an inexplicable need to understand.
Suddenly, a familiar face caught his eye. Bucky
leaned in closer, his breath catching in his throat. It was her… Catherine
Chandler… only much younger. Nineteen, maybe twenty. The headline above the
grainy photo made his blood run cold:
"Murder Victim's Daughter Claims 'Beast' Saved Her"
Bucky's fingers, usually steady enough to thread a
needle in a hurricane, trembled as he focused on Catherine's tear-stained face.
The grief-stricken girl in the article was a far cry from the woman he'd seen
at Raynor's office.
As he stared at the grainy image, Bucky couldn't
help but feel like he'd just stumbled upon something life-altering. What on
earth had driven Catherine Chandler to seek him out? And more importantly, what
kind of mess had he unwittingly stepped into this time?
Suddenly, his phone buzzed to life, Sarah’s name
flashing across the screen. Bucky’s hand hovered in midair, torn between the
siren call of the present and the mysterious whispers of the past.
With a deep breath, Bucky reached for the phone. As
he swiped to answer, he forced a lightness into his voice that he didn't feel.
"Hey, babydoll," he said, his free hand moving to print a copy of the
newspaper article.
But even as he folded and tucked the article
away in his back pocket, listening to Sarah’s excited chatter about her day,
Bucky felt as if he were straddling two realities. One ear was tuned to Sarah’s
voice, while his mind continued to wrestle with questions about Cat. A stranger
who now felt anything but.
“Where are you, anyway?” Sarah continued. “On your
way yet?”
Bucky’s eyes widened as Sarah’s words cut through
his distracted haze. "On my way? I... oh, God, Sarah. I'm so sorry. It
completely slipped my mind."
He braced himself for disappointment or frustration,
but Sarah’s voice remained gentle. "Hey, it's okay. Probably for the best…
Wouldn’t want to subject the man I love to brunch with the Carter family."
The tension in Bucky’s shoulders eased slightly at
her understanding tone. He rubbed his temple, where a dull ache had begun to
form. “You sure you’re okay to handle them without a buffer?”
“Yeah, we’ll probably talk shop for most of the day,
anyway.”
Bucky’s gaze drifted to the microfiche reader.
Fragments of memories from his time as the Winter Soldier flickered at the
edges of his consciousness, nudging him with the reasons he still battled one
of life’s little annoyances. Unlike Steve, who possessed an eidetic memory,
Bucky occasionally struggled with forgetfulness. While typically harmless, it
was an irritation he abhorred, a constant, nagging reminder of past days he
preferred to leave behind.
“So they’re supporting your new… venture?”
he asked, fighting to stay on topic.
“Yeah, you know what, I think they are. Either that
or they’re so worked up about the wedding that they just don’t care… Kinda
works in my favour either way…”
As Sarah prattled on about the Carters’ excitement,
Bucky responded with a noncommittal “uh huh”, his mind veering back to Cat as
he slowly put a plan in place to solve the mystery: Who is Catherine Chandler?
And what was so freaking alluring about her?
Nat lounged in the passenger seat, her feet propped
up on the dashboard despite Steve’s earlier chastisement. A mischievous grin
played on her lips as she turned to face him.
"So, tell me again about the ice sculpture
you're having at the reception," she drawled, her eyes glinting with
amusement. "Swan or dolphin?"
"You know damn well there's no ice
sculpture."
"No? What a shame. I was so looking forward to
watching it melt, much like your enthusiasm for this whole affair."
Steve shot her a sideways glance. "You're
enjoying this way too much, you know that?"
Nat shrugged, unrepentant. "Someone's got to
find joy in this farce you call a wedding. Might as well be me."
"It's not a complete farce.
Sharon’s a great girl, and–"
"And she helped you in your darkest moment,
yeah, yeah, yeah," Nat finished for him, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
"You know, for a guy with a perfect memory, you sure do repeat yourself a
lot."
The car swerved slightly as Steve reached over to
swat at her arm. "Knock it off, will you? We've got a job to do."
Nat held up her hands in mock surrender, but her
smirk remained firmly in place. "Fine, fine… but humour me for a sec. No
need to go into the finer details of the dos and don’ts… How is the honeymoon
situation supposed to work, exactly? Is there a clause in your contract to
consummate the marriage?”
Steve turned to glare down at her. “That’s not
funny.”
“I mean, it’s a little funny. You’re going to be the
first guy in history to not get laid on his wedding night.
There’s a slapstick comedy reference in there somewhere…”
Steve’s jaw clenched momentarily before he forced a
chuckle. “That’s not something I’ve given serious thought. Considering the
circumstances, I wouldn’t say it’s worth my energy.”
“Alright, hear me out… One, you said it yourself.
She helped you in your darkest moment. Not to mention agreeing to an arranged
marriage. And two, Carter’s a looker. Let’s just be honest with each other. So
if she were to strip down to her bridal lingerie and seduce you on your wedding
night, what do you do? Wouldn’t you say you’re kinda obligated to give the
girl something?”
Steve bristled at Nat’s what-if scenario.
“Sharon knows our union is born out of convenience rather than love. She
volunteered of her own volition.”
Nat shifted in her seat, fishing her phone out of
her pocket. "Hold that thought..."
"What are you doing?" Steve asked, his
brow furrowing as he glanced between her and the road.
“Grounds for annulment…” she read aloud, scrolling
through an article. “There are only five recognised grounds for annulment in
New York… blah, blah, blah… spouse was a minor… mental incapacity... Ah, bingo!
At least one spouse is unable to have sexual intercourse.”
“Inapplicable.”
“Oh, I beg to differ. All work and no play? Rogers, come on!"
Steve’s exasperated sigh filled the car. “She
is not going to file for annulment. Least of all for that.”
“For what? Your floppy disk?”
“Really, Romanoff? Floppy disk? Even I know that
reference is out of date. You’re slipping.”
“Okay, look, jokes aside… I want you to be prepared,
having considered all scenarios before taking the plunge. You
view this as serving penance, great, I get it. But to what end? What happens
when people start asking questions about kids?”
“They won’t...”
“Of course they will! Do you have any idea how
intrusive and opinionated people can be? And what about fans? Good grief, fans
are the worst!”
“I’ll cross the bridge when I get there. For now, I
just need to get through the wedding.”
“Right… And in the meantime, Barnes and Sarah get
hitched, get to work on the family you know she’s always wanted, and the four
of you all sit together at Cece’s annual High Tea like a bunch of poseurs for
the foreseeable future.”
Silence settled over the car once more. Nat knew her last
comment had hit its mark, the truth of it now hanging uncomfortably in the air.
She felt a twinge of guilt for causing Steve pain, but she pushed it aside,
reminding herself that sometimes the truth hurt. And this was a truth he needed
to face.
As she watched him from the corner of her eye, Nat’s
heart ached. His eyes, usually so focused and alert, seemed to look beyond the
road ahead, as if searching for an escape route that simply didn't exist. In
that moment, Nat was struck by an overwhelming desire to shoulder his burdens.
To free him from the weight of grossly unfair responsibility that had been
thrust upon him.
She longed to tell him it was okay to walk away from
it, but she knew it wasn't that simple. Steve’s stubborn sense of duty and
loyalty simply ran too deep. Still, as the miles stretched out before them, Nat
couldn't shake the fervent wish to see Steve truly happy, truly free, even if
just for a moment. She'd give anything to grant him that release, to see the
genuine smile that had become increasingly rare as the wedding drew near. But
for now, all she could do was sit in companionable silence, a steady presence
as Steve wrestled with the painful reality of his situation.
Bucky swallowed thickly, second-guessing his bizarre
actions. One, this was an off-the-books stakeout. Two, he was misappropriating
Avengers equipment. And three, he was sure this was in violation of his
conditional pardon. But be that as it may, he couldn’t bring himself to turn
back when he’s made it this far.
“Five more minutes,” he thought aloud. “Five minutes
and I’m out of here.”
The silence beneath the bridge was broken only by
Bucky’s shallow breathing as he sat rigid in his car, eyes fixed on the road
leading to the abandoned chemical plant. Every passing minute felt like an
eternity, each second ticking by with excruciating slowness.
Fifteen minutes crawled past, ten more than he'd
promised himself he'd wait. Just as he was about to push the button for the
ignition, he noticed a car take the corner toward the site.
It was her. Catherine Chandler.
Bucky’s heart hammered against his ribs as he
watched her park near the rusted gates of the plant. Even from this distance,
he could make out her silhouette as she stepped out of the car.
Instinctively, he sank lower in his seat, pressing
himself against the leather as if he could meld into it. Logic told him it was
impossible for her to spot him here, shrouded in shadows and tucked away under
the bridge. Yet fear, irrational and overwhelming, kept him frozen in place.
“Hey… Wait, who was at the precinct?” he
heard her say over the phone. “And he was asking for me? Are you sure?”
Bucky frowned, alarm bells blaring. Showing up at
the precinct was stupid and reckless.
“Yeah, I’ll be there soon.”
As Catherine made her way towards the plant, Bucky’s
mind raced. He watched, barely daring to blink, as she disappeared into the
darkness of the plant. Only then did he allow himself to exhale, the breath
leaving him in a shaky rush.
Bucky’s heart pounded in his ears as he eased open
the car door, wincing at the muted click it made. He paused, listening intently
for any sign that the sound had carried, before slipping out into broad
daylight.
He leapt off the platform with ease, his feet
landing softly on the gravel below. Years of training kicked in as he moved
towards Catherine’s car, his steps silent and measured. Every few paces, he'd
scan his surroundings for any hint of movement or unexpected shadows.
As he approached the vehicle, Bucky’s hand slipped
into his pocket, fingers closing around the small, sleek tracking device. He
crouched beside the rear wheel, his back to the chemical plant, hyper-aware of
his exposed position.
Before making his move, Bucky took a moment to watch
his six, his eyes sweeping across the area behind him in a practiced arc.
Satisfied that he remained undetected, he turned his attention back to the task
at hand and, with swift, sure movements, reached into the wheel well.
His fingers found the edge of the liner, and he
carefully tucked the tracking device inside, ensuring it was securely hidden
from view. As he withdrew his hand, a bead of sweat trickled down his temple.
Mission accomplished, Bucky retreated as silently as
he had approached, every sense on high alert. Only when he was safely back in
his car, hidden once more in the shadows beneath the bridge, did he allow
himself to breathe normally. Now, all he had to do was wait and see where
Catherine Chandler’s secrets would lead him.
Thank you so much for reading! 🙏 Your support means the world to me, so if you enjoyed this chapter, please show some love by liking the video and leaving a comment with your thoughts… It really helps the story reach more people! 🎥💖
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