Chapter 24: The Super Soldier Non-Prophecy Prophecy (Part One)
Since the Avengers were under S.H.I.E.L.D. oversight
until after the Carter/Rogers wedding, i.e., once the relationship between the
public and organisation improved, schedules were more structured than the team
was used to. Official leave required the approval of team leaders, Nick Fury,
and at least one member of the World Security Council, regardless of the
current threat level.
So when a mission to Latvia came up, Bucky grabbed
it with both hands. The average flight time from Paris to Latvia was only two
hours and thirty-nine minutes. And with Sarah’s album release party around the
corner, Bucky figured a little layover was a hell of a lot easier than getting stiff
suits to sign his leave form.
“Can’t believe you dragged me into this,” Sam
grumbled once Bucky let him in on his plan. “And while Zemo, of all people, is
your CI? Oh, my payback had better be huge. I’m talking Sarah hooking me up
with one of her girls… rubbing shoulders with the who’s who of Hollywood…”
“You got it. At the next big event, you’re my plus
one.”
Sam gave Bucky a sideways glance. “I mean it, man. Behind
the scenes. All access. Champagne and Limo service. The works.”
“Done. Nothing less.”
A moment of silence stretched between the two—Sam
deciding whether Bucky’s instant acquiescence was sincere; Bucky hoping to all
goodness Sam’s scant love life was enough for him to go along with the plan.
Not only was he eager to see Sarah, but he also needed a break from his secret
“double life”. Keeping tabs on Catherine Chandler had become something of a
fixation, often leading to self-beratement and frustration.
Sam gave a single nod. “A’ight, I’m in… But five
days, max. No amount of VIP treatment can make up for a solo mission with that
guy.”
Bucky threw his Vibranium arm around Sam’s neck,
pulling him down in a playful gesture. “Wilson, I could kiss you right now!”
“Yeah… I’d rather you didn’t…” Sam choked out,
trying, and failing, to shove his friend off.
Bucky approached the front desk of the Hôtel Plaza
Athénée, his eyes taking in the opulent surroundings. He leaned on the polished counter and cleared his throat.
"Hi, there. I'm here to see Sarah Carter,"
he said, the words tumbling out before he could catch his error.
The concierge, a tall man with impeccable posture
and a crisp uniform, merely blinked. His face remained impassive as he replied,
"I'm sorry, sir, but we don't have anyone by that name currently staying
with us."
Bucky’s heart stilled, realisation dawning on him.
He ran a hand through his hair, a sheepish smile playing at his lips. "Of
course, my mistake. I meant Aurora Windsor… She’s expecting me."
At this, a flicker of recognition passed over the
concierge's face. The corners of his mouth turned up in a knowing smile, his
eyes twinkling with a hint of amusement. Without a word, he turned to a drawer
behind him, retrieving a key card with seamless efficiency.
"The Eiffel Suite, sir," the concierge
said, his voice low and discreet as he handed Bucky the key. "Enjoy your
stay."
Bucky’s fingers closed around the cool plastic of
the key card, anticipation bubbling in his chest. Anticipation was good.
Anticipation meant the flame between them was still very much alive. He hadn’t
seen his girl in a good couple of weeks now and it had bothered him how quickly
he could fill his downtime. To the point of barely missing Sarah at all.
But the excitement Bucky felt as the lift ascended
to the Eiffel Suite proved his trepidation had been in vain. Side effects of a long-distance
relationship, he supposed, hastily discarding the only logical inference.
************************
The lift doors slid open with a soft ding, revealing
the luxurious suite beyond. Sarah stood just inside, nervously chewing her
bottom lip. As Bucky stepped out, their eyes met, and a flicker of… something
passed between them.
Bucky’s lips curved into a tentative smile.
"Hey," he replied, his voice a touch husky.
They hovered there for a moment, the tension and
uncertainty most likely due to weeks of separation. Sarah’s cheeks flushed as Bucky’s
gaze roamed over her, drinking her in as if for the first time.
"How long do we have?" Sarah murmured,
closing the distance between them by a fraction.
“Couple of days. Promised Sam I’d be back in Latvia
before Zemo inevitably goes rogue. He struggles to keep him in check for more
than 24 hours.”
None of this was new to Sarah. Extended overseas
missions, questionable criminal informants, romantic getaways cut short… The glamourous
life of Avenger WAGs. Contrary to popular belief, it took true grit to be the
wife or girlfriend of a superhero, and Sarah often doubted if she had what it
took. It was only Bucky’s constant assurance and placation that helped her
believe she could handle it.
“But I can stay until your big debut… No way
I’m missing that…”
A shy smile bloomed on Sarah’s face, and she ducked
her head slightly.
“Besides… if memory serves, Sarah Carter’s always
had a Paris fantasy…?” Bucky continued, looking rather smug at having recalled an
offhand comment Sarah once made during their ‘A Superhero Meets Hollywood
Romance’ interview together.
Sarah broke into a fit of giggles, slipping her arms
around Bucky’s neck. “For the love of all things good and holy, never….
and I mean never ever… tell people I have a Paris fantasy! That’s not as
innocent a comment as you think it is. You know, in certain circles.”
“No? What’s so bad about Paris?”
“You know what? That’s the most adorably naïve thing
I’ve ever heard you say.”
************************
It took an afternoon of cuddling and catching up
before the uncertainty really gave way. A romantic bubble bath and intimate
dinner later, the two shifted from shy glances and tentative conversation.
As Sarah sipped her wine, Bucky’s eyes traced the
curve of her neck. He'd almost forgotten how stunning she was. When she set
down her glass, their fingers brushed, igniting a familiar spark.
"Maybe we should..." Bucky’s voice trailed
off, his meaning clear in the intensity of his gaze.
Sarah nodded, a blush creeping up her cheeks. "We
should.”
They made their way to the hotel room, hands intertwined
and pulses quickening. Clothes fell away as they rediscovered each other's
bodies, mapping familiar terrain with reverent touches.
But as they came together, something felt...
different. Their bodies moved together in a dance they supposedly knew well,
but the rhythm felt a little off-kilter. The usual fireworks were more like
sparklers—pleasant enough, but lacking their usual intensity. Bucky’s movements
were less assured, his rhythm slightly off, and Sarah found her mind wandering,
unable to lose herself completely in the moment.
Afterwards, they lay side by side, a sliver of space
between them where usually there was none.
"That was..." Bucky began, searching for
the right words.
"...nice," Sarah finished, her tone a touch
too bright.
They exchanged glances, a flicker of worry passing
between them before they both smiled, pushing aside their concerns.
"Must be the jetlag… These time zones, you
know?"
“Right, right… And I've been so stressed with this
album release. Hardly had time to breathe, let alone..."
"Exactly, yeah," Bucky agreed quickly.
They lapsed into silence, each lost in their own
thoughts. Sarah curled onto her side, and after a moment's hesitation, Bucky
spooned behind her, draping an arm over her waist.
As they drifted off to sleep, neither voiced the
nagging doubt at the back of their minds. It was just jetlag and work stress,
they told themselves. Nothing more. Everything would be back to normal soon
enough.
Sarah smoothed down the front of her gold Michael
Kors jumpsuit, her fingers trembling slightly as she caught Bucky’s eye in the
mirror. He stood behind her, adjusting his bow tie, a look of pride on his
face.
"You ready for this, superstar?" he asked,
his hands coming to rest around her waist.
Sarah took a deep breath, her chest rising and
falling beneath the intricate sequin work. "More than."
The sleek Cadillac glided through the Parisian
streets. As they approached Le Carmen, the distant roar of the crowd grew
louder.
Bucky’s breath hitched. "Sounds like quite the
turnout.”
"Hey, you don’t have to do this if you don’t
want to,” Sarah assured calmly, squeezing his hand. “It’s just an album release
party. If you prefer to wait for me at the hotel, I won’t hold that against
you."
But Bucky lifted her hand to his lips, brushing a
feather-light kiss across her knuckles. “No, no. I want to be here for
you, to support you.”
The car slowed to a stop, and the chauffeur opened
the door. A wave of sound washed over them—cheers, screams, and the rapid-fire
clicks of cameras. Sarah stepped out first, her gold jumpsuit catching the
light of the flashing bulbs. Bucky followed, his hand finding the small of her
back as they faced the crowd.
"Sarah! Sarah!" The fans called out,
waving posters and pens. But mixed in with her name was another: "Bucky!
Over here, Bucky!"
Bucky’s smile faltered for a moment, his posture
stiffening. Sarah felt the change and leaned into him, whispering, "It's
okay. They love you too."
With an imperceptible sigh, Bucky plastered on his
media smile. He guided Sarah down the red carpet, pausing occasionally for her
to sign autographs. But the calls for his attention persisted.
"Sergeant Barnes! Can I get your autograph?"
"Bucky, please! Just one picture!"
As the clamour for Bucky’s attention grew, Casey materialised
at their side. Her smile was brittle, her eyes sharp behind her designer
frames.
"James, the fans are dying to see you. Why
don't we indulge them for a moment?” Casey said, her voice saccharine.
Before Bucky could protest, Casey’s manicured hand
clamped onto his elbow, steering him towards the barricade, her stilettos clicking
on the tarmac.
Bucky’s jaw clenched. "Casey, I don't think–"
"Nonsense," she cut him off, her grip
tightening. "It's all part of the game, love. Sarah’s big day means big
exposure for everyone."
Sarah watched as Casey propelled Bucky away from
her. She took a half-step forward, torn between following and maintaining her
position for the photographers.
Bucky found himself thrust in front of the screaming
fans, Casey’s hand an immovable presence on his back. "There we go,"
she cooed, loud enough for the nearest reporters to hear. "Sergeant Barnes
is always happy to meet his adoring supporters, aren't you, Bucky?"
His eyes met Sarah’s over the sea of outstretched
hands and flashing cameras. She gave him an apologetic look, mouthing 'I'm
sorry' from her spot on the carpet.
Swallowing his irritation, Bucky turned to the fans.
He forced a smile, reaching for the nearest magazine thrust in his direction.
As he signed, he could feel Casey hovering, a constant reminder of the role he
was expected to play as Sarah Carter’s partner.
As they finally moved away from the barricade, Casey
turned her attention to him. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"
Bucky glowered down at her. “My objection was based
on considerations other than difficulty. But thanks for the disingenuous
concern.”
He rejoined Sarah, his smile not quite reaching his
eyes. She leaned into him, whispering, "I'm so sorry. I didn't know she
would–“
"It's fine," Bucky cut her off, his voice
low. "Let's just get inside."
Later that evening, Sarah fussed with the placement
of the candles, adjusting them for the umpteenth time. Her fingers trembled
slightly as she lit the last candle, its warm glow joining the others scattered
around the suite. She smoothed down her silk negligee, taking a deep breath to
calm her nerves. The soft music playing in the background couldn't quite mask
the tension that had followed them from the album release party.
The door clicked open, and Bucky entered, his bow
tie hanging loose around his neck. His eyes swept over the room, taking in the
flickering candles, the chilled champagne, and Sarah’s alluring attire.
"What's all this?" he asked, his voice low
and tired.
Sarah moved towards him, a hopeful smile playing on
her lips. "I thought we could have a little celebration of our own… Maybe
make up for last night?"
Bucky’s shoulders sagged slightly. He ran a hand
through his hair, avoiding her gaze. "Sarah, I don't know if I'm in the
right headspace for this right now."
“Look, I’m sorry about today, okay? I specifically
told them I didn’t want you roped into the craze. Casey’s just–”
“Yeah, and I told you that wouldn’t work. Since when
does Casey listen to anyone but Cece or Lily?”
"I know, but..." Sarah trailed off, her
fingers fidgeting with his loose bow tie, “we both got through it, right?”
"That's not the point! I was there for you... to support you. Not to be thrust into the spotlight by an overzealous
publicist."
"But that's part of it, isn't it? They’re not
entirely unreasonable," Sarah countered, her own frustration resurfacing.
"Like it or not, you’re a celebrity. And when two celebs get together,
fans get invested. We're a team. The fans see us that way. What’s the harm in
playing it up? Use it to our advantage.”
"Use it to our advantage,” Bucky repeated,
scoffing incredulously. “You know, you’re starting to sound a hell of a lot
like them.”
"Don’t you get it? You’re a part of my
life," Sarah argued, her voice taking on a pleading tone. "The fans,
they're interested in all of me. That includes you."
"And what about what I want? Did anyone bother
to ask me if I wanted to be mobbed by fans and paparazzi?"
Sarah’s eyes flashed. "Mobbed? Come on, Bucky.
It was a few autographs and some pictures. You're blowing this way out of
proportion."
"Am I? Because from where I'm standing, it
feels like I'm being pushed into a role I never asked for."
Sarah’s meticulously-constructed romantic setting
suddenly felt foolish. The candles, the rose petals, the unopened champagne…
She sank onto the edge of the bed, her silk negligee pooling around her.
"I thought you understood what being with me
meant," she said quietly. "The fans, the attention... it's part of
the package."
Bucky’s expression softened slightly, but the
tension in his body remained. "I understand that's your world, Sarah. But
I thought I could support you from the sidelines. I didn't expect to be constantly
dragged into the centre ring this way."
They stared at each other, the distance between them
feeling far greater than the few feet separating them.
Sarah swallowed hard, fighting back the sting of
tears. "So what now? Where does this leave us?"
“I’m going to go… Let you do your thing in the
spotlight without me. If I stay, I’d only be in the way. We both know that.”
The suite fell silent as the door clicked shut
behind Bucky. Somehow, it felt final. Vastly different to every other time
they’d separated due to work-related obligations. Sarah sat motionless,
replaying their argument in her head. She reached for her phone, fingers
hovering over Bucky’s name, but ultimately let it fall back onto the
nightstand. So much for her fantasy in The City of Love.
With a sharp intake of breath, Bucky jolted awake.
His heart raced, pounding against his ribcage. He blinked rapidly, disoriented by
the sudden change in environment. The dream—no, the memory—was so vivid that it
left him breathless.
Sam glanced up briefly, raising an eyebrow, before
returning to the screen before him.
Bucky’s trembling hands reached for his phone,
fingers fumbling as he navigated through his contacts. He scrolled past
countless names, searching for one he hadn't thought of in years. There it was…
a name that now held the weight of revelation.
He tapped on the contact, staring at the listed
address. A strangled laugh escaped his lips, drawing another curious glance
from Sam. Bucky barely noticed, his mind reeling with the implications of what
he'd remembered.
The pieces of a puzzle he was unaware he was solving
fell into place with dizzying speed, forming a picture so clear and yet so
impossible. It was the answer to a question he'd never asked, the key to a lock
he didn't know existed.
But as the initial shock wore off, an icy dread
settled in the pit of his stomach. If this was real—and deep down, he knew it
was—then everything changed. His relationship with Sarah, his very identity...
As the jet began its descent, Bucky gripped his
phone tightly, the address searing itself into his memory. He had no idea what
awaited him on the ground, but he knew with absolute certainty that the path
ahead would be nothing like the one he'd left behind in Paris.
“What do you say we grab a couple of cold ones and
chill out by the lake?” Sam suggested, unbuckling his seatbelt.
“Can’t. There’s someone I have to see.”
“Someone? Who do you know that I don’t?”
Bucky grabbed his backpack, pausing at the passenger
exit. “Just… someone.”
“We’re back not five minutes and you’re already
reverting to your detached, shadowy self? What happened in Paris?”
With a quick salute to the captain and a one-armed
hug for the flight attendant, Bucky stepped out onto the airstairs, hastily
crossing the tarmac toward the garage. He could hear Sam’s footsteps echoing
his own, but he didn't slow down or look back.
Reaching the first SUV in sight, Bucky yanked open
the driver's door and slid behind the wheel. His fingers fumbled with the smart
key, adrenaline making his movements jerky and impatient.
Just as he was about to push the button for the
ignition, the passenger door opened. Sam dropped into the seat beside him, his disposition
one of stubborn determination.
"What are you doing?"
Sam clicked his seatbelt into place, his jaw set.
"Coming with you, obviously."
"The hell you are!"
Sam met his gaze unflinchingly. "Look, I don't
know what's going on with you, but I'm not leaving you like this.”
Bucky opened his mouth to argue, to order Sam out of
the car, but the words died in his throat. His mind raced, weighing the
implications of what he'd remembered against the risks of involving an outsider.
Finally, he let out a long, shaky breath. Without a
word, he pressed the starter button, bringing the SUV to life.
Sam nodded, settling back into his seat. "So,
where are we going?"
Bucky’s eyes flickered to the rearview mirror,
watching the hangar recede behind them. "To find some answers.”
Chapter 25: The Super Soldier Non-Prophecy Prophecy (Part Two)
Flashback: 15 years ago
As the coffin lowered, a guttural cry tore through
the air. Bucky’s gaze snapped to the source, his body tensing instinctively.
The sight that met his eyes made his breath catch in his throat.
Isaiah Bradley, a man Bucky had only ever seen as
the epitome of strength and control, was on his knees. His broad shoulders
shook with sobs, his fingers clawing at the polished wood of the coffin as if
he could hold on to his wife through sheer force of will. The raw anguish
etched on the older man's face struck Bucky like a physical blow, cracking his
composed demeanour.
Later, as the crowd thinned, Bucky found himself
alone with Isaiah. The older man's eyes were red-rimmed, his voice hoarse as he
spoke.
"You know, I thought I knew who I was before I
met her. Thought I had it all figured out." Isaiah began, his gaze fixed
on the fresh mound of earth, "But Faith... she changed everything. It was
like I'd been living in black and white, and suddenly the world was in colour.
I was drawn to her instantly, couldn’t think of anyone or anything else. I felt
like a mad man."
He turned to Bucky, his eyes intense. "Have you
ever met someone who just... rewrites your whole world? Someone who becomes the
axis your entire life revolves around?"
Bucky shook his head slightly, words failing him.
"She was my north star, Barnes. My lighthouse in
every storm." Isaiah’s voice cracked. "I'd lived for decades before I
met her, but I swear, that's when my life truly began."
He paused, taking a shuddering breath. "You
think you know love, think you understand what it means to care for someone.
But then... you meet that one person. The one who makes you question everything
you thought you knew about yourself."
Isaiah’s eyes grew distant, lost in memory. "Faith
challenged me, pushed me to be better than I ever thought I could be. Made me
want to be worthy of her love."
He turned back to Bucky, his gaze piercing. "I know
I sound like a loon, but she was... she was my soulmate. The other half of me I
didn't even know I was missing."
Bucky swallowed hard, Isaiah’s words stirring
something deep within him despite not necessarily believing in something as
superstitious as soulmates.
"And now... it's like a part of me is
gone. Like I'm trying to navigate without my compass."
He squared his shoulders, a flash of the super
soldier Bucky knew showing through the grief. "But I'll keep going. For
her. Because that's what she'd want. Faith made me strong enough to face even
this."
************************
Bucky sat motionless, lost in the memory of Isaiah’s
words. The weight of that long-ago conversation suddenly relevant in ways he
couldn't have imagined then. Suddenly so illuminating, he couldn’t believe he
hadn’t thought of it sooner.
"Buck…" Sam’s voice cut through his
thoughts. "Are we waiting for someone?"
Bucky blinked, dragged back to the present. Without
answering, he cleared his throat and hopped out of the car. As he started up
the path, Sam fell into step beside him, his presence both comforting and
unsettling.
Just before they reached the porch, Bucky stopped
abruptly. He turned to Sam, his expression grave. "Whatever happens in
there, whatever we learn... it stays between us. You understand?"
A flicker of uncertainty crossed Sam’s face. "Man,
you super soldiers and your secrets.”
Bucky’s fist hovered inches from the door, his heart
pounding in his chest. Before he could knock, the door swung open, revealing a
face that made him take a step back in surprise.
It was like looking at a ghost—or rather, a younger
version of one. The man before him was unmistakably Isaiah’s son, a spitting
image of his father in his prime.
"Can I help you?" the young man asked, his
brow furrowed.
“We’re here to see Isaiah.”
“I’m sorry, my dad’s done with reporters. Has been
for years.”
“Take another look, kid. Do we look like
reporters to you?” Bucky damn near spat, having a new level of distaste for the
media.
As they stepped into the foyer, his senses went into
overdrive, cataloguing every detail. The house was warm, lived-in, filled with
family photos and mementos. Faith may have passed years before, but she was all
over the place.
And then, as they entered the living room, time
seemed to stand still.
There, across the room, stood Isaiah Bradley. His
hair had gone completely grey, and lines of age marked his face, but he still
stood tall and strong. The years had done little to diminish his commanding
presence.
For a moment, Bucky felt like that cautious, fragile
soldier again, fresh out of Wakanda. But then Isaiah’s face split into a broad,
genuine grin, transforming his features.
"Well, now this can’t be good!" Isaiah boomed,
striding across the room with arms outstretched. "James Buchanan Barnes… After
all these years!"
As Isaiah enveloped him in a bear hug, Bucky felt a
whirlwind of emotions—relief, confusion, and an overwhelming sense that he was
on the brink of uncovering something monumental.
He returned the embrace awkwardly, his mind racing. “It’s
good to see you too, pal.”
Isaiah pulled back, his hands still gripping Bucky’s
shoulders. “I’ll tell you something for nothing, I had a feeling you’d be back
one day…”
“You did? How?”
“Well, the Wakandans deprogrammed you, your new
friends helped you get situated, I hear the government got you seeing a shrink…
Figured after some time, a young, pretty boy like you would soon see it for
yourself.”
“See what for myself?”
“C’mon, you know. It’s why you’re here. Your
lighthouse. Your north star. She done changed everything, hasn’t she?”
Bucky and Sam exchanged a look at what appeared to
be the ramblings of an old man. But Bucky knew. He knew all too well.
“What you said to me at Faith’s funeral… What did
you mean? What is that? How does it all work?”
Isaiah shrugged, a tiny smirk playing on his lips. “Simple…
Enhanced abilities equals heightened feelings and emotions. It’s not some
mystical prophecy about fate, but it sure is powerful.”
Bucky shifted his weight from one foot to the other,
gobsmacked and, quite frankly, disappointed at the simplicity of Isaiah’s
theory. He said it so casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the
world. Which, in hindsight, it really was.
“Wait, that’s it? Chalk it up to heightened
emotions?”
“The other one, for example… he puts on a great act,
but struggles with the burden of responsibility. The same way you struggle with
identity and redemption, and the same way that son-of-a-bitch, Johann Schmidt, grew
obsessed with power. Everything’s heightened for us. Whatever we feel, we feel
deeply.”
Of course, Bucky knew the serum amplified inner
qualities. Everyone knew that. Dr Erskine explained it to Steve in great detail
before the procedure. But it never occurred to Bucky, or even Steve for that
matter, that these heightened emotions could extend to their experiences with
love and attachment.
“Okay, so… so what about relationships…?”
Isaiah’s smirk broadened. He wasn’t one to keep up with
pop culture over the years, but he’d seen enough on the news to know who Bucky
was romantically involved with.
“Ol’ Peg’s niece more trouble than she’s worth, huh?
Yeah, men like us, we need normalcy and grounding. And once that connection’s
made, hot dog, is it hard to forget her! From what I’ve seen, we have a
propensity to remain loyal and committed to one person… It’s as if we’re
predisposed to find them.”
Bucky stood frozen in the centre of the living room,
his mind reeling. He blinked rapidly, trying to process the information, wishing
desperately that he'd been more insistent about leaving Sam behind earlier. The
last thing he needed right now was an audience to his unravelling.
“But… I mean, like you said, it’s not some hard and
fast mystical rule, right?” he stammered, not yet ready to face what this meant
for him.
“Hey, fight it if you want. But even time and
distance won’t do shit to stop that feeling in the pit of your stomach. You
know the feeling… kinda feels like acid reflux after Thanksgiving dinner, only
worse…? That inexplicable pull will remain strong and constant no matter what…”
As Isaiah delivered his final blow, Bucky gazed at
him in horror, his throat constricted by Isaiah’s frighteningly accurate
description of what he’d been feeling ever since he started tracking Catherine
Chandler.
The drive home was torturous; the longest three-hour
drive known to man. Surprisingly, Sam neither pried nor prodded. It was evident
that this situation was far too personal to dig into. Even more
surprising, however, was Bucky proffering an explanation of his own volition,
telling Sam about the girl he’d seen at Raynor’s office who then left the
little pot plant in his hospital suite. By the time they reached the city, Sam
was more or less caught up.
Bucky strode purposefully down Eighth Avenue, his
long legs eating up the sidewalk as Sam hurried to keep pace beside him.
“So… so you’re stalking this girl now?” Sam
scoffed incredulously, barely trying to temper his annoyance. From his
perspective, despite Isaiah’s theory, he still couldn’t accept or understand Bucky’s
sudden fascination. Not when his girlfriend was a literal movie star.
“Says you…”
“No, says The Oxford English Dictionary… and the
state of New York!”
“Look, I just want to know who she is. Not as if I
plan to hurt her,” Bucky said in a low, urgent voice. He glanced around,
ensuring no one was within earshot.
Sam’s eyes widened. “You just told me who she is.
Detective Catherine Chandler, works for the NYPD, has a younger sister named
Helen.”
“Heather.”
“Heather! See, you know her. What more do you want?
Her blood type? Dental records? Dating history?”
Bucky pressed on, ignoring Sam’s argument. “I think
this girl is onto something dangerous. Outside of the NYPD. I don’t know if
she’s working for someone or doing her own investigation, but I have a bad
feeling about it.”
“Oh, he has a bad feeling now…”
“Every couple of days, she walks by The New York
Times Building. She doesn’t meet anyone, she doesn’t go in, she just stops to
look around, and leaves.”
“The New Yor– That’s where we’re going?” Sam
hissed, grabbing Bucky’s arm.
Bucky shook him off, his eyes glinting with
determination. “It has to be some sort of rendezvous point. Except…”
Sam shook his head, heaving a sigh of frustration as
he found himself now invested in Catherine Chandler’s mystery. “Except, what?”
They paused at a pedestrian crossing, the red hand
silently warning them not to cross. Bucky used the moment to face Sam directly.
“Sidewalk’s a little too busy, isn’t it? Abandoned
warehouses, empty parking areas, under a bridge… that’s where you’d exchange intel.”
“Could be inside the building… Basement,
parking, storage areas…?”
Bucky shook his head. “Building doesn’t have
dedicated underground parking… But you could be right about the basement.”
************************
Bucky’s eyes darted left and right, scanning for
security cameras as they moved through the obscured back entrance of The New
York Times Building.
"You take the basement," he whispered,
gesturing towards a staircase. “I’ll take the service elevator, see if I can
find anything upstairs.”
Sam followed close behind, his body tense with
nervous energy. "This is a new level of insane. You know that, right?
" he hissed. “You have absolutely zero evidence that she’ll be here.”
Bucky shot him a look that silenced any further complaints.
“That’s the whole point! I’m hoping she’s not. Just scope out the
basement; I’ll meet you back here in 20.”
Without another word, Bucky disappeared and quickly
stepped inside the elevator, leaving Sam to navigate the maze of corridors on
his own.
He moved swiftly, checking each room he passed.
Storage areas filled with boxes of old newspapers... An archive room with rows
of filing cabinets... A supply closet stocked with cleaning products and paper
goods…
Sam’s shoulders began to relax as he encountered
nothing more sinister than dusty shelves and defective air conditioning units.
Suddenly, a faint sound echoed from around the
corner. Sam pressed himself against the wall, inching toward the source of the
noise. He peered around the corner, holding his breath. But it was just a
janitor, whistling softly as he pushed a mop bucket down the hallway.
Sam sagged against the wall, the adrenaline draining
from his body.
No shadowy figures huddled in corners. No secret
meetings took place in hidden rooms. The basement level of The New York Times Building
was exactly what it appeared to be—a mundane collection of mechanical systems
and storage areas.
Upstairs, Bucky slipped out of the service elevator,
his heart pounding in his chest. The upper floors of the building
were eerily quiet. Not at all the bustling newsroom he'd once experienced.
He crept down the hallway, pausing at each door to
peer inside, but was met with empty offices and dark computer screens.
“Am I losing it?” Bucky wondered. “Acting
on a hunch with neither evidence nor lead?”
After what felt like hours but was likely only fifteen
minutes, Bucky admitted defeat. His so-called gut feeling—exacerbated by Isaiah’s
theory—had steered him wrong. Perhaps he’d read too much into it. The awful
feeling in the pit of his stomach? Probably really was acid reflux or, as
Raynor liked to remind him, his tendency to protect and rescue over addressing
his own emotional needs.
Before he knew it, he was back in the basement with
Sam, feeling dejected and more than a little foolish.
“I take it you didn’t find anything?”
Bucky shook his head without meeting Sam’s eyeline.
“Well… that’s a good thing, though, right? This is
what you said you wanted.”
Bucky remained quiet for a moment, rummaging through
scenarios he’d concocted since tracking Cat. Sam was right. This was what he
had wanted, and yet, he wasn’t ready to call it a night. That damn acid reflux
was still driving him forward.
“Actually, there’s a valet garage on 39th
I want to check out first.”
Sam gaped at Bucky’s admission. “This is a wild
goose chase, man. I followed you to Baltimore and back to the city, but I’m
sorry, I’m tired… I’m going home.”
“Okay, wait! Just wait a sec.” Bucky jumped ahead of
Sam, blocking him from the staircase. “You were there. You heard how Isaiah
described it. It’s practically out of my hands. I’m not saying it’s the same
thing, but… if anything were to happen to this girl… Sam, I’d never forgive
myself. Could you?”
Of course, Sam couldn’t. It had nothing to do with
friendship or… whatever Bucky was currently dealing with. It was plain and
simple human decency. Even if Bucky’s ‘hunch’ led them to another dead end, Sam
couldn’t bring himself to risk it.
************************
Only five minutes away, the large parking garage on
39th Street seemed to be a viable rendezvous point. Without a second
thought, Bucky plunged inside, taking the stairs five or six at a time, leaping
from one level to the next.
Level after level flew by as Bucky ascended, the
sound of his footsteps echoing off the concrete walls. He burst onto the roof
level, the night sky stretching endlessly above him. What was he missing? Was
he too late? Had the meeting already taken place?
Finally, exhausted and no closer to answers, Bucky
slumped against a concrete barrier. And as he stared out at the city skyline,
he realised that his impulsive search had left him right back where he started—empty
and full of questions.
“Any luck?” Sam wheezed, crossing the threshold onto
the rooftop.
“No, none…”
“C’mon, Buck, let it go, huh,” Sam slumped next to
him, offering a clap on the shoulder as support. “You’re not this person.
You’re not a crazy, obsessed stalker. Catherine Chandler is either at a desk,
sipping coffee, or at home with her sister… And if she is working a
case, she’s safe out there. She’s NYPD, there’ll be backup.”
Exhausted and disheartened, Bucky and Sam finally called
it. It was time to head home and perhaps, for Bucky, do some soul searching. As
they stepped out onto the street, Sam suggested taking a detour through Times
Square to clear their heads before heading back.
But that’s when it happened…
Bucky and Sam trudged along the sidewalk. And as they
passed the entrance to the 42nd Street subway station on the opposite side of
the road, Bucky suddenly froze mid-step.
His eyes widened, body tensing as he focused on the
subtle vibration beneath his feet. It was faint, undetectable to Sam, but
unmistakably there.
"Do you feel that?" Bucky asked, his voice
low and urgent.
Sam furrowed his brow, confusion evident on his
face. "Feel what?"
But Bucky already took off, bolting across the
street, narrowly dodging a honking taxi. Sam called after him, but even if he
had heard, Bucky wasn’t about to turn back for anything.
************************
The DNA sample had been burning a hole in Catherine
Chandler’s pocket. It was her last lead, her only hope. The problem was parting
with it. Who could she trust with this? FBI? CIA? NSA? She supposed one of two
things could happen. One, she shares her experience with them and is
subsequently admitted to a women's mental asylum. Or two, the sample turns out
to be a legitimate lead and causes mass chaos. She wasn’t prepared for either
of those events.
So, she put her trust in a friend of a friend, who
knew a guy with an acquaintance. Said acquaintance had a boring desk job at
“some secret government agency”, managing the anonymous tip line. He bitched
about it every Friday night down at his local watering hole, or so they claim.
The agreed upon rendezvous point was the Times
Square–42nd Street subway station.
Cat swiped her Metrocard and made her way down a
flight of stairs with other commuters onto a platform. She followed the arrows
that lead her through a quiet hallway, over to another set of stairs, which
took her down to a deserted, barely lit subway platform. Only two stragglers
waiting as the train pulled in.
"Detective Chandler!” Agent McCleary called from the
end of the platform.
Releasing the breath she’d been holding, Cat hurried
over. “Agent McCleary, I appreciate you doing this.”
“Not at all. We’re thankful you’ve brought this to
our attention. Every tip helps, you know?”
“Anything to help the organisation.”
“Bring the sample?”
Cat dug into her pocket and produced an evidence bag.
“Yeah, my guys in the lab couldn’t make heads or tails of it. I was hoping,
given S.H.I.E.L.D.’s history with unfamiliar species, you’ll have better luck.”
McCleary took the bag from her, lifting it toward
the dull fluorescent light for a brief inspection. As Cat watched him study the
hair strand, waiting for his reaction, something—she couldn't say what—made her
turn around. The man who had been quietly sitting on a crate, minding his own
business, was now on his feet.
His sudden movement sent a chill down Cat’s spine.
An instinctive warning that
something was very, very wrong.
Before she could fully process the danger, the platform
exploded into motion. In one fluid movement, McCleary had drawn a switchblade
from his pocket. Cat whirled back to face him, only to find him lunging towards
her.
Her breath caught in her throat, her mind unable to
comprehend the sudden betrayal unfolding before her, but her cop-training
kicked in right on time, evading McCleary’s first strike and blocking the
second. Before he could even think of a third, she elbowed him in the face,
breaking his nose on impact. McCleary fell to his knees, dropping the
switchblade to cradle his nose.
Cat’s heart raced, her pulse pounding in her ears as
she watched him crumple to the ground. Her moment of triumph was short-lived,
however, as strong arms suddenly encircled her from behind.
The second assailant's grip was like iron, pinning
her arms to her sides. Cat struggled, her feet scraping against the platform as
she tried to break free. McCleary groaned, pushing himself up onto his elbows as
he reached for the revolver in his pocket.
Adrenaline surged through Cat’s veins. With a burst
of strength, she threw her head back, connecting with her captor's nose. The
man's grip loosened just enough for her to wrench an arm free. She twisted,
driving her elbow into the assailant's solar plexus. And as he doubled over, Cat
spun away from him.
With McCleary on his feet, gun steady in hand, Cat launched
herself forward, swinging her leg up in a high arc. Her foot connected with McCleary’s
wrist with a satisfying crack. The revolver flew from his grasp, skidding
across the platform. And with yet another elbow to the face, McCleary stumbled
backward, blood gushing from his nose.
During the commotion, a woman hurried over,
seemingly concerned for Cat, who’d just been attacked by two men. Her gaze
raked over the two bloodied assailants, as if hesitating to engage, and then at
McCleary’s revolver, which had landed on the edge of the platform.
Cat’s eyes locked on the weapon lying just a few
feet away, alarm bells ringing in her ear. Without hesitation, she lunged
forward, her body stretching as her fingers reached for the gun.
The woman, who dove for the revolver a second too
late, latched onto Cat’s legs, pulling her petite frame away from the edge.
Gritting her teeth, Cat pushed herself up and
stumbled to her feet, the woman clinging to her back. Her muscles strained
under the added weight, but determination fuelled her actions and she threw
herself backwards against a nearby pillar.
The impact knocked the breath from their lungs. Cat
heard a whoosh of air as her elbow connected with the woman's solar plexus.
She shrugged off the stunned woman and dove once
more for the gun, but the attacker recovered quickly, grabbing her by the wrist
and swinging her off the edge of the platform.
Cat landed with a loud thud, the cold metal pressing
against her back. With a jolt of panic, she realised she was lying on the
subway tracks. She attempted to push herself up, but her arms were useless.
Whether due to injury or fear, they felt like lead. She could only squint up at
the platform edge, where two dark figures stood silhouetted against the station
lights. The woman, who was now aiming the revolver at her, and the second
assailant Cat initially thought to be an innocent commuter.
Her breath came in quick gasps as she fought against
the dizziness and nausea. She had to move. Now.
In a flash, a shadowy blur appeared out of nowhere,
grabbing both assailants in one fell swoop. From the tracks, through her
blurred vision, Cat caught glimpses of the new figure on the platform—a dark
silhouette moving with startling speed and precision.
The subway filled with the sounds of a brutal
struggle. Hisses of exertion and grunts of pain echoed off the tiled walls. She
blinked hard, desperately trying to clear her vision.
Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, silence fell,
followed by the dull thud of the assailants’ bodies tossed over the edge of the
platform onto the tracks beside her.
Both shell-shocked and utterly petrified, Cat
managed to prop herself up on her elbows with trembling arms. She whipped her
head from the bodies to the platform, the pain nearly causing her to black out.
And there… on the platform… stood Bucky Barnes.
Watch Episodes 24-25 Here:
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