Chapter Thirty-Two: Divided Allegiances
Two weeks ago…
Bucky bolted out of bed, his actions of the previous
evening and ever-present threat of incarceration hanging over him like a
noose. If what he’d done came to light, there’d be hell to pay. No ifs, ands,
or buts. He clicked on the television, scanning all news channels for the headline
he was sure to find.
“S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Found Dead on Subway Tracks at
Times Square-42nd Street Station"
“In a shocking development, one of the bodies discovered
dead on the tracks at the Times Square-42nd Street subway station early this
morning has been positively identified as S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent John McCleary.
Emergency responders were alerted to the scene
around 3:00 AM after a routine check revealed the bodies on the tracks. Initial
reports suggest that the agent may have been involved in an altercation or some
form of distress prior to the incident.
The New York Police Department, in collaboration
with S.H.I.E.L.D., is conducting a thorough investigation into the
circumstances surrounding the death. Authorities are working to piece together
the final moments of McCleary’s life and determine if there are any connections
to recent S.H.I.E.L.D. operations or broader security concerns.
Commuters and residents in the area were advised to
expect delays as the investigation continues. Further updates will be provided
as more information becomes available.”
Bucky rubbed his face with his hand, blowing out his
breath. “Shit.”
Of course, he’d been careful. He’d made sure to evade
security cameras whilst fleeing the scene. And given that the Metropolitan
Transportation Authority was notoriously known for resource limitations and
delayed upgrades, it afforded Bucky an effortless, if not perfect, escape.
Still, in a world where camera phones and social
media were ubiquitous, one could never be too sure…
Resolved to tackle one problem at a time, Bucky
chugged down his coffee and prepared for his visit to his
almost-kinda-sister-in-law, Sharon Carter.
************************
Meanwhile, in Midtown Manhattan, Catherine Chandler
found herself in the forensic pathology lab, her eyes fixed on the
sheet-covered body of Agent John McCleary. She was here under the guise of
professional duty, but her true purpose was far more personal. As Dr Evan
Marks, the medical examiner and her longtime friend, busied himself with
preliminary examinations, Cat’s heart pounded. She knew she had to find and
erase any trace of Bucky. There’s no way she could endanger yet another life.
"I've already collected trace evidence," Evan
started, gesturing to a nearby tray of labelled vials and swabs. "Preliminary
results should be just about ready."
Cat’s eyes darted to the tray, her heart rate
quickening. "Mind if I take a look?"
“Have at it.”
Evan’s phone buzzed just as Cat approached the tray.
"I need to take this. Will you be okay for a few minutes?"
"I'll be fine," she assured him, waving
him off.
The moment the door closed behind him, Cat moved
swiftly to the computer terminal, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she
accessed the lab's database. Her eyes scanned the preliminary results,
searching for any anomalies that might point to Bucky Barnes.
There, buried in the data, was an unidentified DNA
profile. Cat’s breath caught in her throat. She glanced at the door, then back
to the screen. With a few keyboard shortcuts, she initiated a deletion
protocol, erasing all traces of the profile from the system.
Just as she finished, the door handle turned. Cat
quickly closed the program and moved back to the evidence tray, adopting a
casual pose.
Evan strode back into the lab, his brow furrowed as
he studied an open folder in his hands. His eyes flicked up to Cat, a hint of
suspicion clouding his friendly disposition.
“Something isn’t adding up…”
“Uh, what do you mean? What do you have there?”
“The results.”
The blood drained from Cat’s face. “Wait. Results? Have
these samples already been sent for analysis?”
“Of course. These are your attackers. Did it first
thing this morning when the body came in...”
Cat silently cursed. She was hours too late.
If the Crime Lab came back with Bucky’s identity, it’d be all over the media
and he’d be done for… Not to mention The Others.
“Well, what does it say?” she urged, attempting to
grab the folder from Evan’s grasp.
“Not so fast. About your rescuer… Are you certain
you’re unable to identify him?”
Cat held Evan’s gaze, her voice betraying no hint of
the tension churning in her stomach. “Like I told you, like I told the Captain,
it was a good Samaritan who happened to be in the right place at the right time.
Wouldn’t be able to identify him in a line-up if you offered me a million
dollars.”
Evan’s frown deepened as he extended the folder
towards her. "Then perhaps you can explain this."
Cat’s hand trembled as she took the folder. She
opened it, her eyes widening as she skimmed its contents. Page after page of
blacked-out text stared back at her, entire sections redacted, leaving more
questions than answers.
"I don't understand.” She looked up at Evan,
searching his face for some explanation. "What is this?"
Evan crossed his arms. "That's what I was
hoping you could tell me. It seems your mysterious good Samaritan has caught
the attention of some very powerful people. People who don't want us asking too
many questions."
“Come on, a redacted bio could mean anything… He
could be in WITSEC, involved in an ongoing investigation…”
“…be an undercover agent…? That would explain how he
fought off two other assailants, right?”
Cat’s heart hammered in her chest but forced a
casual shrug, willing her voice to remain steady.
"Look, we're probably reading too much into
this," she said, taking a step back from the evidence table. "Whoever
he was, he saved my life. Maybe we should just leave it at that."
Evan’s frown deepened, his analytical mind unwilling
to simply leave it at that. "But Catherine, if he's an agent, we
could–"
"No," Cat cut him off, perhaps too
sharply. She softened her tone, placing a hand on Evan’s arm. "Please, Evan.
Let's not go down this rabbit hole. Some mysteries are better left
unsolved."
Evan hesitated, his expression one of reluctant
acquiescence. Finally, he nodded, closing the folder with a soft snap. As they
left the morgue together, Cat felt all but relieved. She’d protected Bucky for
now, but this wasn’t her first rodeo. She knew this was far from over.
************************
Agent Coulson hunched over the mahogany bar, his
fingers wrapped tightly around a small espresso cup. His bloodshot eyes were
fixed on the flickering screen of the ancient television mounted in the corner.
“S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Found Dead on Subway Tracks at
Times Square-42nd Street Station"
Coulson’s grip on the cup tightened. Agent John
McCleary. One of their own.
Images flashed across the screen—police tape, a body
bag, grim-faced detectives. Coulson tried piecing together fragments of
information. McCleary had been a desk jockey, manning the tip line. He'd never
seen a day of fieldwork in his life. How the hell had he ended up sprawled
across the subway tracks like some common drunk? And with two other civilian
assailants, no less?
The bartender approached, a damp rag in hand.
"Refill?" he asked, gesturing to the now-empty cup.
Coulson shook his head, his eyes never leaving the
screen. "No," he murmured, reaching for his wallet. "I've got
somewhere to be."
His hand froze midway to his wallet as a familiar
figure slid onto the barstool beside him. Agent May’s dark eyes met his in the
grimy mirror behind the bar, her face a mask of thunder.
"So," she said, her voice taut with
tension, "what are we going to do about this?"
"We? I wasn't aware this was a team
sport."
"Don't play dumb, Phil. McCleary was one of us.
You know what that means."
The unspoken implication stretched between them for
a moment too long. Sides. Lines drawn in invisible ink, visible only to those
who knew where to look. i.e. Coulson, May, and Hill. Perhaps Fury. Maybe even
Captain Rogers. Good God, he hoped Rogers was still in the dark.
Coulson’s eyes darted to the TV screen, then back to
May. "I… may have to sit down with Hill.”
May’s eyebrows shot up. "Then what the hell are
you still doing here? We need to move on this now."
Coulson hesitated, suppressing a sigh. "It's
not that simple. If I'm right about this... it goes deeper than you can
imagine."
"McCleary was one of us," she
repeated, her eyes boring into his. "Whatever’s going on, you need to choose
a side. And you need to do it now. While the Avengers are seen as the cool kids
around here… global icons, superheroes… we are the unsung heroes.”
Coulson felt the weight of May's ultimatum settle
over him.
"You know what this means, Phil… There's no
middle ground anymore. It's time to pick a side."
Images flashed before Coulson like a frenzied
slideshow. On one side, there were the Avengers, larger than life, their faces
plastered across billboards and TV screens, adored by millions. On the other,
the nameless, faceless agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., operating behind the scenes,
risking their lives daily with little to no recognition, no fanfare. The bitter
resentment that had been simmering for years was finally boiling over.
His hand unconsciously moved to his breast pocket,
feeling the weight of the flash drive hidden there. The information it
contained could change everything… heal the growing rift between the two groups,
or shatter it beyond repair. Coulson swallowed hard, his throat dry as
sandpaper.
“The last thing I want to do is go in there, guns
blazing, with nothing but speculation on such a sensitive matter,” he admitted.
“But you are going to escalate this?”
“After the wedding…” Coulson nodded slowly. “But
once I do this, there's no going back. You understand that, right?"
May's expression softened for a fraction of a second
before hardening again. "Sometimes, Phil, you have to burn the bridge
you're standing on."
Coulson inhaled deeply, his decision crystallizing
in his mind. Whatever came next, he knew one thing for certain: nothing would
ever be the same again.
The bartender approached again, eyeing them warily.
"Another round?"
Coulson and May exchanged a loaded glance.
"No," Coulson said finally, standing up. "We were just
leaving."
He tossed a few bills on the bar and they headed for
the door, the news anchor's voice fading behind them.
Present…
Agent Ward paced Maria's office like a caged animal.
Two weeks. Two weeks since they'd lost McCleary, and the killer was still out
there, free as a bird. The injustice of it burned in his gut like acid.
"This is bullshit, Hill, and you know it,"
he growled, slamming his palm on her desk. "If this had been an Avenger,
we'd have every resource at our disposal. But because it's just another S.H.I.E.L.D.
Agent, what, we're supposed to sit on our hands?"
Maria's jaw tightened, but her voice remained calm.
"We're following protocol, Ward. These things take time–"
"Time?" Ward’s laugh was sharp and bitter.
"Tell that to McCleary’s family. Tell that to the rest of us, wondering if
we're next."
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a dangerous
whisper. "Or maybe we should all invest in some fancy suits, get ourselves
some cool nicknames… maybe sleep with a super soldier. Then maybe
someone would give a damn about us."
Maria's composure cracked. She stood abruptly, her
chair scraping against the floor. "That's enough, Ward," she snapped,
her eyes flashing. "I understand you're upset, but show some damn respect!”
“No! No, let’s be real with each other here… The Avengers
make their decisions independently and act without direct oversight. We, on the
other hand, operate under strict hierarchy and protocol. How many times have
they bypassed the same rules we have to follow? Huh?”
“Ward–“
“And while we, too, risk our lives in dangerous
missions, most of the time, without superhuman abilities, they have
access to the best technology, funding, support, hell, even legal leniency…”
As Ward's accusations hung in the air, the office
door swung open. Coulson strode in, his expression dark. The tension in the
room shifted, like a sudden gust of sea wind.
"Agent Ward," Coulson said, his voice
steady. "Level 7 clearance, isn't it?"
Ward's anger faltered, replaced by confusion.
"Sir, I–"
Coulson held up a hand, silencing him. "Follow
me. Both of you."
The trio moved swiftly through the corridors, their
footsteps echoing in the empty hallways. They approached a nondescript door at
the end of a long hallway. Coulson pulled out his ID, swiping it through a
hidden scanner. A soft beep, then a click.
As Hill and Ward followed suit, Coulson's voice
dropped to a low murmur. “Level 7 grants you access to significant
information…”
“Significant, yes. Top-tier, no,” Hill not-so-gently
reminded him.
“Right, right… Within reason. That being said, we
have a possible lead in McCleary’s death. The cop claimed she didn’t get a good
look at the guy… Blamed it on the dim fluorescent lights.”
“Well… Have we checked with the MTA? Maybe the
subway line caught it on camera,” Ward suggested, glancing between Hill and
Coulson like it was so obvious.
“NYPD already did that. Nada.”
“…which brings me to my next point,” Coulson
continued. “The Metropolitan Transportation Authority may be unreliable, but,
lucky for us, people will always be obsessed with their smartphones. Due to
the… sensitive nature of the content, we’ve decided to withhold the intel
for now.”
The door hissed open, revealing a room bathed in the
blue glow of multiple screens. Data scrolled across them, faster than the eye
could follow.
"Now," Coulson continued, stepping into
the room, "I’m not pointing fingers, I’m not naming names… But this is the
footage we were able to recover.”
Ward and Hill followed him in, the door sealing shut
behind them with a finality that sent a chill down Ward's spine. Whatever
Coulson had up his sleeve was either really good or devastatingly bad.
Maria's fingers flew across the keyboard. Within
seconds, the main screen flickered to life, displaying grainy smartphone
footage.
A hooded figure darted beneath a bridge, his
movements quick and body athletic. The image zoomed in, pixelating as it
struggled to focus on the man's face. But even despite the blur, there was
something hauntingly familiar about those eyes, that jawline.
Ward leaned forward, his breath catching in his
throat. "That's…”
"This happened to be a parking garage just off
Times Square. The image quality–"
“Image qua– Are you freaking kidding me? It’s him!
It’s Barnes!” Ward’s fist slammed down on the desk, causing both Maria and
Coulson to flinch. "Who else could it be? He's got the skills… he's killed
our people before."
Maria zoomed in further, the image degrading into a
mosaic of pixels. "Ward, we need to be absolutely sure before–"
But Ward was beyond reason, his eyes blazing with a
fervour that bordered on mania. "He needs to pay for what he's done. To McCleary,
to all of us. If you won't do something about it, I will."
“You’ll do nothing of the sort. I think we’ve been
doing this long enough to know to take a deeper look. So I want you to dig into
McCleary. Discreetly. Dissect everything he’s worked on in the past year.
Listen to every call that’s come through the tip line if you have to.”
************************
Steve and Tony stood by the grill, trading easy
banter while smoke curled up from sizzling burgers. The crunch of footsteps on
fallen leaves drew their attention to the side of the compound.
"You two done playing superhero for the
day?" Steve called out, trying to maintain the light atmosphere despite
the growing knot in his stomach.
As the two drew closer, Tony paused. "Whoa. Why
the long faces? Someone die?"
Ignoring Tony’s comment, Bucky cleared his throat, fixing
his gaze somewhere past Steve's left shoulder. "I actually came to see
you. I, uh... need to talk to you about something."
Steve knew that tone. Nothing good ever followed
that tone. It was the voice of someone carrying news they'd rather not deliver.
Sam shifted closer to Bucky, offering silent
support. “It’s alright, Buck. He needs to know… Tell him.”
“Tell me what?”
Bucky drew a deep breath. "A couple of weeks back,
I witnessed an assault on the subway. This girl got thrown onto the tracks, I
intervened, and...” He paused, working his jaw. “Turns out, one of them was
McCleary."
Steve's face hardened as he processed Bucky's words.
In an instant, the easy camaraderie of moments ago evaporated, replaced by a
tension that crackled in the air like static electricity.
"Damn it, Buck. You killed McCleary?"
Steve's voice dropped to a dangerous growl. "Your pardon. Do you have any
idea what you've risked?"
Bucky's gaze dropped to his boots. Before he could
respond, Sam stepped forward, squaring his shoulders.
“Okay, I was there too. He did what he had to, to
save the girl,” he interjected. “If anyone’s in the wrong here, it’s McCleary,
not Bucky. He did what any one of us would have done.”
“Yeah, fact remains he killed an agent… And right
now, they’re actively looking for ways to nail us. We’ve just given them
a world of ammo.”
Steve's eyes narrowed, flicking between Bucky and
Sam. "Who was she?" he demanded. "Who was so important that
you'd risk everything we've fought for?"
Bucky's throat tightened, the image of Detective Chandler
flashing through his mind. He knew the danger he'd be putting her in if he
revealed the truth… Not to mention having to explain Isaiah’s theory and
the fact that he and Sarah were now broken up.
"Just some cop," he murmured, forcing
himself to meet Steve's gaze. "She’s basically a stranger; met her at
therapy. Wrong place, wrong time. That's all."
The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, but Bucky held
firm. He'd possibly already put Cat in danger once. He wouldn't do it again,
not even for Steve. Like Cat, he intended on keeping her as far away from the
drama as possible.
As Sam heard Bucky downplay his… inexplicable
draw to Detective Chandler, his shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of
him. He’d wanted Bucky to tell Steve everything, not withhold the most
important piece of the puzzle. He would have done so himself, but it wasn’t his
story to tell. This, apparently, was a super soldier thing.
He and Bucky exchanged glances, but given Bucky’s
defeated disposition, he felt nothing but sympathy for his friend.
************************
The precinct doors slammed shut behind Detective Chandler
as she stepped into the cool night air, grateful for a moment's respite from
the stuffy bull pen. Her relief was short-lived, however, as she caught sight
of a flurry of activity near the coroner's van.
Two men in dark suits were efficiently transferring
a body bag from the medical examiner's vehicle to a white, nondescript van. Cat’s
heart pounded as she recognised the bag's dimensions—Agent McCleary.
"Hey!" she called out, her voice sharp in
the still night. "That's evidence in an ongoing investigation!"
The agents barely paused in their work, but one
peeled away, approaching Cat with confident steps. His face was impassive, a
mask of professional detachment.
“Hold your horses there, Detective,” he said, his
voice almost too controlled. He reached into his jacket, producing a folded
document. "These transfer orders come from the highest levels.”
Cat snatched the paper, her eyes scanning the
official letterhead and signatures. Her stomach dropped as she recognised the names.
Sure enough, right at the bottom, were the signatures of Phil Coulson and Maria
Hill.
"Case belongs to us now, Detective. This is no
longer your jurisdiction,” came a voice from behind. The agent's tone was
clipped, professional, almost condescending. "But we appreciate your
cooperation."
Cat spun around, her eyes narrowing as she took in
the agent's crisp suit and knowing smirk. She squared her shoulders, refusing
to be intimidated.
"I wasn't aware it had already been handed
over," she said, her voice steady despite the anger churning her stomach.
The agent's smirk widened, his eyes glinting with
amusement. He leaned in, close enough that Cat could smell his expensive, yet
somehow nauseating, cologne.
"I'm afraid it's above your paygrade,
darlin'," he drawled, his voice dripping with patronising charm. "You
don't wanna roll with the big boys on this one. Trust me."
The pet name hit Cat like a slap. She clenched her
fists, biting back a scathing retort. As much as she wanted to put this
arrogant suit in his place, she knew it would only make things worse. Instead,
she forced a tight smile, her eyes never leaving his.
The white van's doors slammed shut, its engine
purring to life. As it pulled away from the curb, Cat couldn't shake the
feeling that she was watching more than just evidence disappear into the night.
Whatever was going on, it was clear that McCleary’s death was just the tip of a
very dangerous iceberg.
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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