[ When it comes to the list of people he has to make amends to, "the entirety of the SHIELD organisation" is a little hard to manage.
It's not like the Winter Soldier was personally responsible for the HYDRA uprising, but he undoubtedly contributed: he shot Nick Fury. Infiltrated and helped take down the helicarriers, plummeting them out of the sky. He figures he owes them— something, he's not entirely sure what, but there's those ancient ties of loyalty to the Strategic Scientific Reserve, too. And HYDRA is far from gone (cut off one head, two more shall take its place), so it's likely his experience could come in handy. He knew the people involved over the years, met them, took orders from them. Maybe he'd like to chip in and help out. Maybe he'd just like to see those men and women burn, too.
All of the above is true.
So when SHIELD calls, Bucky answers. To their credit, they don't yank on his strings; they don't tell him that he's required to do anything for them as a condition of his pardon, so he makes his way to the headquarters in Midtown of his own volition — unbeknownst to him, the exact same building where Steve had first woken up. Bucky checks in at reception, and when he hands over his ID, the bored receptionist looks at the name, and recognises it, jolts, and then looks up at him, startled.
Welcome back, sergeant. Someone will be with you shortly.
So he's standing in the bustling lobby, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, killing some time by staring at the Wall of Valor. His expression eventually turns into a frown as he looks at the large memorial, taking in the names, his own engraved as one of the fallen. When some footsteps approach him from behind, he automatically notes the sound, picks it out from the surrounding white noise — some habits will never change — but he doesn't react much. Just glances to the side as the darkhaired woman draws closer; presumably the agent sent to retrieve him. ]
[ It had been Daisy's idea for SHIELD to reach out to Bucky Barnes when they first got word of another HYDRA cell emerging from the shadows. They've spent the last decade trying to stamp out the cult turned terrorist organization, and for a while they'd thought they'd finally gotten the last one. It was too good to be true, though, just like it had been back in the 40s. And because their own sources had run dry, why not turn to the person who had just as much reason to want HYDRA stopped?
Mack had been pretty easy to convince. It helped that he'd learned long ago to trust Daisy's instincts, first when they'd been partners and then after she'd nominated and voted for him to take over as Director. He hadn't failed her yet and she'd done the same. That was why he'd suggested she be the one to work with Barnes — she hadn't needed any convincing.
Even now, as she approaches the man standing at the memorial exactly where she'd stood over a decade ago, it's hard to rein in her instinct to completely fangirl over the hero. That's what he'd always been in her mind, HYDRA or no. Bucky Barnes was a hero, a war veteran, a Howling Commando. He hadn't deserved any of the shit that had happened to him and she felt like SHIELD had an obligation to do whatever they could to apologize for the part they'd played in his suffering. ]
Actually, I'm your partner for this op. [ Okay, there's absolutely no holding back the pleased smile that spreads across her face. She holds out her hand to shake. ] Agent Daisy Johnson. It's an honor, Sergeant Barnes.
[ It's an honour. Those innocent words trip something in him, a blink-and-you'll-miss-it flicker across his expression that's almost a wince. But he holds out his right hand and shakes hers firmly, politely. He's wearing gloves; they already know who he is, and yet old habits die hard, and so he'd found himself automatically reaching for them this morning like he was donning a suit of armour. ]
Nice to meet you, Agent Johnson. Looking forward to it.
[ His gaze trawls over the woman, taking her in and sizing her up, instinctively trying to assess her capabilities at a glance, although he knows it's futile. There's no standard for what a SHIELD agent is supposed to look like — anonymous white men in suits, maybe, the Coulson model, but through run-ins with the organisation over the years he's been realising that not everyone always fits that model. So his partner might as well be a pretty young brunette.
But that word, honour, is still caught behind his teeth, so Bucky tips his head to the Wall of Valor: the elegant memorial, the long line of names, the various emblems of the organisation over the years. This question has been nagging at him ever since he first learned about it, and even moreso now that he's seeing it in-person, like a pebble grinding in his shoe. ]
Isn't it a little weird, me being up there when I'm—
[ A disgraced, albeit pardoned, mass murderer? ]
—not dead? Or is it just no one wants to foot the bill for re-engraving the stone?
[ Brief as it is, she catches that flicker in his expression, putting the puzzle pieces together enough to understand she'd said the wrong thing. Not that he points it out, of course; doing so would just open wounds he likely would rather not address with a total stranger. So she lets it pass — just for a moment. The humor is easier to deal with, anyway. ]
We've all died at least once around here. [ A shrug and a smile that makes it seem like that's a completely normal thing for a person to say. ] Some of us, a few times. Just because it doesn't always stick doesn't invalidate the sacrifices made.
[ Especially in their line of work, where their secrets have secrets and the cost of keeping them can sometimes be too high. Look at what happened with Coulson. His first death had cut him off from the Avengers, the team he'd helped put together, and from a woman he'd really cared about. And Bucky... He'd lost everything when he died back in the '40s. No, his name deserves to be on that wall.
Crossing her arms, she glances down for a moment, visibly weighing her words before looking up again. She can't just let it sit after all. ]
I'll tell the others to hold back on the "it's an honor" thing as much as they can. No guarantees, the Howling Commandos are chapter one of every SHIELD history book, but they'll try their best.
Well, yeah, if Jim Morita were standing here, that'd be one thing. But I'm not exactly—
[ He hesitates again. The easier thing would be to just push past it, politely wave it off and proceed to their briefing and their work and the mission — cool, professional, businesslike — but Buck's never been good at keeping it professional. He's too emotional, too hot under the collar despite that carefully-honed neutral expression that he wields by default. So the fact that he's standing here, inside the bones and belly of an organisation that he'd helped topple, the disjoint keeps sawing on all his edges.
And so he can't let it sit, either. In the end, he opts for bluntness: ]
Let's just put it this way: I was surprised to get the call. Me and SHIELD don't exactly have the best history. The Winter Soldier left a lot of agents dead.
[ He's keeping his gaze fixed on hers — with a little too intense of a stare, perhaps, but it's to resist the temptation to peer all around them at the other agents passing by. His shoulderblades are itching, just waiting for the inevitable: people to goggle, stare, point, glower. ]
lang. he doesn't have his kid this week which means he gets bored which means he texts us absolute bullshit, and i might or might not have mentioned i've been working with a certain SHIELD agent
[ 'working' with a SHIELD agent or flirting with one? it's a thin line sometimes! ]
✓ post-shield mission hurt/comfort & waking up in the not-bacta tank → late-night diner insomnia → movie date night @ her place, watching tv & eating chinese food → an excuse for fancy clothes (holiday party? mission infiltration?) → bucky's birthday (march 10) → daisy admiring bucky boxing; flirty sparring → daisy's nightmares (after getting together, in bed)
[ This hadn't started out as a mission. There was no brief, no gathering of supplies, no prep for combat. Instead, they'd been awakened in the early hours of the morning by explosions rocking the city. The shaking had been felt to the farthest edges of the outer boroughs and every SHIELD agent in the tri-state area had been called in to help, but it became apparent pretty quickly that this wasn't some accident — bridges, subway lines, and transit centers had been targeted, bringing Manhattan to a standstill.
And then the shaking really started. Daisy had felt it in her bones, manmade earthquakes like she'd felt back with Eli Morrow, happening all around the island in what appeared to be a plan to physically destabilize the urban center of the city. It wasn't until the sun was coming up that they'd managed to triangulate the signal being used to set off the devices causing those earthquakes that had already damaged or destroyed dozens of buildings.
Daisy and the rest of the strike team hadn't wasted any time going in but things had gotten complicated fast. The group behind the attacks had heavy firepower and a contingency plan — bombs in the building ready to go off with the next quake centered on their location, one strong enough to potentially take out half the city. (And of course, the leader had taken the time to explain his plan over the building's intercom, taking the typical bad guy route of bragging about his own brilliance and crazy manifesto as they infiltrated the building.) ]
[ They really had meant to get around to that movie night.
And Bucky wasn't well-versed enough in modern communication, and so didn't engage in the back-and-forth games: if he wanted to text her, then he did. He didn't measure the time between messages, didn't try to meter out his enthusiasm for each reply. It was still just a marvel to him that you didn't have to wait weeks on weeks for letters to get to people.
But then he'd been whisked off to Las Vegas for an op with Sam, and the next time he was in town, then Daisy was buried in some mandatory training exercise. They're ships in the night for a while, bridging the gap with texts, and trying to make up their minds on what to tackle first from his pop culture list.
And then Manhattan started trembling underfoot, and they were all called in.
Bucky's walking on a metaphorical live-wire, sleep-deprived but near-buzzing with that energy which comes from adrenaline, danger, a fight. He goes sprinting across the open space of the parking garage they're fighting their way across, and then skids behind a pillar, taking up position beside Agent Johnson, his back pressed to the chipped concrete. In the field, he doesn't wear gloves and doesn't try to hide that vibranium arm — it's useful, can block bullets when he needs it to. He's barely winded as he shoots a glance at her. ]
Hey. Not a great morning, but it's nice to see you.
[ Seeing Bucky there is a relief, to put it bluntly. She can tell with her own eyes that he's safe, and she trusts him implicitly to have her back and do what has to be done to protect the city and all the people in it. Plus... she's missed him. Each and every one of his texts have been a gift, little moments of joy between hard, grueling days and long hours spent trying to motivate and train up the new recruits. Mostly, she's let him initiate those messages, trying to gauge how much might be too much for him, though she has sent him a few photos here and there. A shot of the front of a pizza place she'd discovered that's beyond incredible; one of a daisy growing up through broken asphalt in an abandoned lot; another of a tiny fly drowned in her overpriced coffee. They're nothing more than glimpses of her day, pieces of her life that don't warrant more than a passing notice, but they're also a way to stay connected. One that doesn't involve going into battle together.
But this is pretty nice, too. ]
Yeah, you too. You're looking pretty spry for an old guy.
[ He's not even winded and here she is, feeling wrung out and ready to burst out of her own skin. She isn't wearing her Quake suit, there hadn't been time to get it from HQ, so all she's got are the soft gauntlets she sleeps with that have just barely managed to take the edge off the impact of the constant quakes. But despite the aching in her bones and the exhaustion clinging to her, she still grins at Bucky, flirting right back at him. ]
If I find some greys in my hair after this op, I'm blaming you. Whipper-snapper, keeping me on my toes—
[ The ground shudders underfoot again, and part of the ceiling cracks, spilling more concrete dust into the air, and he coughs. That doesn't look good. Meanwhile, the terrorists'(?) leader is... still rambling on over the intercom, his voice rising and falling between manic outbursts and a dull drone, and Bucky scowls up at the speakers. ]
Monologues. Why do they always have monologues? At least this guy isn't cackling over a molten lair, I guess.
[ Speaking from experience! The Red Skull had been wild. ]
[ The tremor cuts him off before Daisy can offer her own retort, her tired grin morphing into something more akin to a grimace as she leans heavily against the concrete pillar. Glancing over at Bucky, she gives him a comically confused frown before shaking her head — she'll ask about that one later. ]
Must be in the Bad Guy Handbook. [ She reaches up to tap the comm unit in her ear, addressing another member of the team on-site. ] Ramirez, how we doing with that bomb removal?
[ The man's voice comes through loud and clear despite the levels of concrete between and wherever he and his team are, though his words still leave her frowning again. "We'd be doing a whole lot better if the building would stop shaking every twenty seconds." Her frown deepens and she flinches closer to Bucky as a bullet strikes her side of the pillar. ]
Leave that to me, just move fast. [ Holstering her gun, she looks at the man beside her, trying for an easygoing expression but failing miserably. ] Think you can cover me while I absorb those quakes?
They never should have met. It strikes Daisy all the time, especially in the days leading up to his birthday, that she should never have met Bucky Barnes if his life had followed any sort of normal trajectory. Call it fate, call it the universe having a fucked up sense of humor — whatever the cosmic reason for their being brought together, she continues to be completely taken aback by it on an almost daily basis.
It's one of the reasons she is so set on making this a memorable birthday for him. His life has been anything but normal for a very long time and she can only begin to guess at all the ghosts haunting him. Bucky is a hero, whether he wants to admit it or not, and he deserves to have good things in his life.
So she breaks into his apartment.
For the first and possibly only time, she's grateful that Bucky lives in such a questionably acceptable and completely normal apartment building. If their positions were reversed, there's no way he'd be able to break into her place thanks to the dozens of security measures installed by SHIELD when they took ownership of the building. His place, though? She's in the door in five seconds flat, slipping her lockpicks back into her pocket before hauling the multiple bags inside.
Thank goodness for Sam Wilson being a good sport. She'd contacted him the week before to clue him into her plan and he'd agreed without hesitation to keep Bucky occupied while she "ran late" to meet them at the restaurant. With that and the time spent getting across the city, she had approximately twenty minutes before she'd have to be out the door. Just enough time to get everything in place.
[ It was good for her that he was such an old-fashioned guy in more ways than one. He could've decked out his apartment in state-of-the-art surveillance and security — Pepper Potts-Stark had offered, Joaquín had offered, SHIELD had offered — but, in the end, James Barnes preferred the simple solutions. A string tied across his front doorstep, a gun taped to the inside of the toilet tank, a go-bag in the closet. If he had to run, he would run, but there wasn't really anything in the apartment worth stealing and if someone lay in wait for him to come home, well, they'd have a surprise or two coming. Call it old habits. After eighty years of handling it analog, he's never really seen the need to upgrade.
So it's easy enough for Daisy to break in. And in the meantime, Bucky's a few streets over, sitting under some heat lamps in the backyard of a local bar (more privacy), already nursing a beer (he goes through them like water) while Sam ribs him about the girl, who is Totally Not A Date.
"No, seriously, Buck, are you guys dating?"
"Technically, not yet," he shoots back, and Sam just laughs. "But I do like her, so like... be on your best behaviour, man. Please? Do me one goddamn solid."
"I do you a million solids every single day, Barnes."
"I know, but."
And they're still grousing like that by the time Daisy walks in: Bucky leaning forward with his elbows propped against the table, in his leather jacket and gloved as usual, but he's gesticulating wildly and arguing with Sam about something probably incredibly stupid. It's the most relaxed she's ever seen him outside of hanging out with her. ]
[ Daisy arrives at the bar exactly 27 minutes past when she was due to meet them, which puts her 3 minutes ahead of schedule. She checks in with the bartender, retrieving the styrofoam package she'd delivered there earlier in the day, and trades him a very generous tip for all his help for her own beer. It takes a bit of a balancing act to weave her way through tables to the back door, but she makes it out successfully without dropping the box or spilling her drink.
And then she stops and just... watches the guys for a moment.
She doesn't have to hear the conversation to know it's going well, or be a part of it at all for it to elevate her opinion of Sam Wilson even higher. Anyone who can put Bucky at ease like that gets a gold star in her book. Bucky could use more friends like Sam, but for now she's just so glad he has the one. ]
Sorry I'm late, I had some very important Birthday Business to take care of. [ Projecting her voice as she moved toward them, she deposited the box onto the table before plopping down into the available chair. With a grin at Sam, who had a conspiratorial glimmer in his eye, she holds out her now-free hand to him. ]
I'm Daisy. It's an honor to meet the new Captain America Bucky's talked so much shit about.
And an honour to meet the SHIELD agent he's gushed so much about. [ Sam winks at her as he shakes her hand. Not even trying to hide that warm comfortable air (as if they actually do know each other—), which might be putting it on a little thick, but the man's so amiable that it doesn't stand out as particularly unusual. You could think it's just them liking to give Bucky a hard time in general. ] And he's been talking shit about me? That's unpatriotic, Buck. Downright treacherous.
[ Bucky makes a scoffing noise behind his beer, shaking his head, the tips of his ears a little pink. And then he glances down at the box, head cocking in curiosity. ]
[ Bucky Barnes stares into the abyss, and the abyss stares back.
He’s aware, distantly, that the rest of the team — the West Chesapeake Valley Thunderbolts, guess that’s the group he’s working with now — are currently navigating their own individual darknesses. But Daisy’s here too, and there’s no rest for him as long as that remains true.
They’re only a couple months into this delicate new relationship, and officially calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend. And he’s been blessed with a girlfriend who can hold her own in a fight, who could bring down a building or disintegrate threats— but this creeping darkness across the city is something worse. Not a problem you can simply punch your way out of. Insidious, consuming, forcing you to face your worst memory and your worst self.
It’d be fucking paralysing if he hadn’t already spent the better part of a century looking right at his own. He’s had plenty of time to get accustomed to it; his shame’s an old friend.
He deals with it.
And afterward, before even searching for Yelena and company, Bucky goes looking for Daisy instead. He decides that he’s allowed to be selfish, this once. He needs to be sure she’s okay before he gets back to the job at hand. So it’s doors and hallways and doors, prying open a window and smashing a metal elbow through glass and jimmying through a nearby street cart vendor’s nightmare, then moving on, navigating this labyrinthine landscape folding in on itself. He can’t describe what draws him onward, besides that he knows her now: when he stands at a crossroads and tilts his head and listens, he’s got a pretty good idea that Daisy’s over in this direction, or that one.
So he follows that thread, a red piece of string running through a maze, searching for her. ]
[ This isn't the strangest threat Daisy Johnson has ever faced. Not quite, but with every passing minute, it does seem pretty close. It isn't the mindfuck that the Framework was, or the personal demons of the Fear Dimension bleeding into their universe, but instead, it's almost a combination of the two. She'd been blindsided by coming to in the Zephyr's cargo bay, the long abandoned Playground base beyond the open bay door. That would have been odd enough on its own, but then Hive had come around the corner, muttering to himself and sending a spike of fear and rage running through her.
Time stilled as the pod rose into the room and she watched her younger self exit. Daisy witnessed the pain and desperation as her other self pleaded with the monster who'd nearly ruined their lives. He placed his hand on the side her head and she closed her eyes, ready to give up the entire world just to feel that connection again. And then—
He entered the room, muttering. The pod rose. Younger Daisy approached. ]
No. Stop it. [ Whatever this is, she can't watch it again. Shame burns in her chest as she hurries forward, grabbing hold of herself and tugging the other Daisy back before she can get on her knees. She hardly realizes what's happening as she's quaked off her feet, flying backward and crashing into the wall of the pod. The next moment, the loop repeats, though it takes a moment for it to register through the ringing in her ears.
What the hell is going on? She'd gotten word from Bucky that something might be about to happen, so she'd rushed across town to help with any potential crowd control issues, fully trusting her boyfriend to have things in hand or call for backup when needed. Neither of them had expected that blackness to start swallowing everyone up. Is that what this is? Is that why she's seeing this? ]
Stop. You can't do this. [ Which of them is she talking to? It doesnt really matter as she approaches Hive this time, making to quake him back when he dodges and rushes forward in that almost preternatural speed. His hand is around her throat a second later, squeezing with all his might.
And then it repeats. Again. And again. And again. She loses count of how many times she fails to stop herself from begging to restore the twisted chemical connection with Hydra's original mascot. It's around the twelfth loop that she starts to unravel, focusing instead on trying to force her way out through the bay doors and having to listen to that pathetic begging in the background.
Every time she tries to get past him to the base beyond, Hive stops her. He throws her into a wall, forces her to the ground, grips her in a choke hold. And the entire time, her other self just watches, that disgusting pleading look on her face.
Another dozen loops pass and Daisy sits crumpled on the floor, hands pressed over her ears and yet still able to hear every syllable. Trying to drown out the words she knows by heart now, she repeats a whispered plea. ] Let me go. Please let me go.
Edited (spotted a rogue typo) 2025-09-05 05:33 (UTC)
[ There’s so much variety in these rooms as he passes through them. Some are loud and calamitous and violent; others are quieter, bleaker, conversational. Some people’s worlds collapsed with sound and fury, while other hearts broke in almost silence.
He doesn’t linger too long or try to get involved in any of them as he passes through; he’s just trying to find hers.
And when Bucky does finally step into the hangar, the scene he finds is almost disconcertingly understated. Someone standing there wearing Grant Ward’s face (except it can’t be a man, because that particular man was dead, he knew that much). Bucky’s gaze is drawn to the young woman on her knees in front of not-Ward, listening to the soft whispered Please take me back as he reaches for her face,
(pretty like the Skye, a flower, Daisy)
and Bucky walks right past that looping scene and their murmured conversation, to the other woman in the room. She’s older, her hair different from the version of herself talking to Hive. She’s more worn from years of experience and pain and happiness: there’s more laughter-lines and stress-lines alike etched into her face. His Daisy. The one he knows, now crumpled in on herself, hands over her ears, and his heart is cracking open at the sight.
He’d learned from personal experience that if you don’t try to disrupt the loop, it just keeps going, and so he ignores the rest of the scene. So after a moment, there’s a figure beside her and a warm hand at her cheek; not Hive’s, this time. Bucky’s voice, muffled through her clenched hands and her own murmuring anguish: ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
— the briefing / first meeting.
It's not like the Winter Soldier was personally responsible for the HYDRA uprising, but he undoubtedly contributed: he shot Nick Fury. Infiltrated and helped take down the helicarriers, plummeting them out of the sky. He figures he owes them— something, he's not entirely sure what, but there's those ancient ties of loyalty to the Strategic Scientific Reserve, too. And HYDRA is far from gone (cut off one head, two more shall take its place), so it's likely his experience could come in handy. He knew the people involved over the years, met them, took orders from them. Maybe he'd like to chip in and help out. Maybe he'd just like to see those men and women burn, too.
All of the above is true.
So when SHIELD calls, Bucky answers. To their credit, they don't yank on his strings; they don't tell him that he's required to do anything for them as a condition of his pardon, so he makes his way to the headquarters in Midtown of his own volition — unbeknownst to him, the exact same building where Steve had first woken up. Bucky checks in at reception, and when he hands over his ID, the bored receptionist looks at the name, and recognises it, jolts, and then looks up at him, startled.
Welcome back, sergeant. Someone will be with you shortly.
So he's standing in the bustling lobby, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, killing some time by staring at the Wall of Valor. His expression eventually turns into a frown as he looks at the large memorial, taking in the names, his own engraved as one of the fallen. When some footsteps approach him from behind, he automatically notes the sound, picks it out from the surrounding white noise — some habits will never change — but he doesn't react much. Just glances to the side as the darkhaired woman draws closer; presumably the agent sent to retrieve him. ]
Hey. You my escort?
i'm so glad to have you back in my inbox!
Mack had been pretty easy to convince. It helped that he'd learned long ago to trust Daisy's instincts, first when they'd been partners and then after she'd nominated and voted for him to take over as Director. He hadn't failed her yet and she'd done the same. That was why he'd suggested she be the one to work with Barnes — she hadn't needed any convincing.
Even now, as she approaches the man standing at the memorial exactly where she'd stood over a decade ago, it's hard to rein in her instinct to completely fangirl over the hero. That's what he'd always been in her mind, HYDRA or no. Bucky Barnes was a hero, a war veteran, a Howling Commando. He hadn't deserved any of the shit that had happened to him and she felt like SHIELD had an obligation to do whatever they could to apologize for the part they'd played in his suffering. ]
Actually, I'm your partner for this op. [ Okay, there's absolutely no holding back the pleased smile that spreads across her face. She holds out her hand to shake. ] Agent Daisy Johnson. It's an honor, Sergeant Barnes.
ditto omg ♥
Nice to meet you, Agent Johnson. Looking forward to it.
[ His gaze trawls over the woman, taking her in and sizing her up, instinctively trying to assess her capabilities at a glance, although he knows it's futile. There's no standard for what a SHIELD agent is supposed to look like — anonymous white men in suits, maybe, the Coulson model, but through run-ins with the organisation over the years he's been realising that not everyone always fits that model. So his partner might as well be a pretty young brunette.
But that word, honour, is still caught behind his teeth, so Bucky tips his head to the Wall of Valor: the elegant memorial, the long line of names, the various emblems of the organisation over the years. This question has been nagging at him ever since he first learned about it, and even moreso now that he's seeing it in-person, like a pebble grinding in his shoe. ]
Isn't it a little weird, me being up there when I'm—
[ A disgraced, albeit pardoned, mass murderer? ]
—not dead? Or is it just no one wants to foot the bill for re-engraving the stone?
[ A tug at the corner of his mouth; dry humour. ]
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We've all died at least once around here. [ A shrug and a smile that makes it seem like that's a completely normal thing for a person to say. ] Some of us, a few times. Just because it doesn't always stick doesn't invalidate the sacrifices made.
[ Especially in their line of work, where their secrets have secrets and the cost of keeping them can sometimes be too high. Look at what happened with Coulson. His first death had cut him off from the Avengers, the team he'd helped put together, and from a woman he'd really cared about. And Bucky... He'd lost everything when he died back in the '40s. No, his name deserves to be on that wall.
Crossing her arms, she glances down for a moment, visibly weighing her words before looking up again. She can't just let it sit after all. ]
I'll tell the others to hold back on the "it's an honor" thing as much as they can. No guarantees, the Howling Commandos are chapter one of every SHIELD history book, but they'll try their best.
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[ He hesitates again. The easier thing would be to just push past it, politely wave it off and proceed to their briefing and their work and the mission — cool, professional, businesslike — but Buck's never been good at keeping it professional. He's too emotional, too hot under the collar despite that carefully-honed neutral expression that he wields by default. So the fact that he's standing here, inside the bones and belly of an organisation that he'd helped topple, the disjoint keeps sawing on all his edges.
And so he can't let it sit, either. In the end, he opts for bluntness: ]
Let's just put it this way: I was surprised to get the call. Me and SHIELD don't exactly have the best history. The Winter Soldier left a lot of agents dead.
[ He's keeping his gaze fixed on hers — with a little too intense of a stare, perhaps, but it's to resist the temptation to peer all around them at the other agents passing by. His shoulderblades are itching, just waiting for the inevitable: people to goggle, stare, point, glower. ]
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a late-night text.
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i knew i should have hacked those sites years ago. who told you?
[ asked for an entirely innocent reason. ]
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[ 'working' with a SHIELD agent or flirting with one? it's a thin line sometimes! ]
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[ and a few seconds later: ]
did you read any of them?
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"quack"?
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— other threads.
— scene ideas.
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→ late-night diner insomnia
→ movie date night @ her place, watching tv & eating chinese food
→ an excuse for fancy clothes (holiday party? mission infiltration?)
→ bucky's birthday (march 10)
→ daisy admiring bucky boxing; flirty sparring
→ daisy's nightmares (after getting together, in bed)
— explosions of varying nature.
And then the shaking really started. Daisy had felt it in her bones, manmade earthquakes like she'd felt back with Eli Morrow, happening all around the island in what appeared to be a plan to physically destabilize the urban center of the city. It wasn't until the sun was coming up that they'd managed to triangulate the signal being used to set off the devices causing those earthquakes that had already damaged or destroyed dozens of buildings.
Daisy and the rest of the strike team hadn't wasted any time going in but things had gotten complicated fast. The group behind the attacks had heavy firepower and a contingency plan — bombs in the building ready to go off with the next quake centered on their location, one strong enough to potentially take out half the city. (And of course, the leader had taken the time to explain his plan over the building's intercom, taking the typical bad guy route of bragging about his own brilliance and crazy manifesto as they infiltrated the building.) ]
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And Bucky wasn't well-versed enough in modern communication, and so didn't engage in the back-and-forth games: if he wanted to text her, then he did. He didn't measure the time between messages, didn't try to meter out his enthusiasm for each reply. It was still just a marvel to him that you didn't have to wait weeks on weeks for letters to get to people.
But then he'd been whisked off to Las Vegas for an op with Sam, and the next time he was in town, then Daisy was buried in some mandatory training exercise. They're ships in the night for a while, bridging the gap with texts, and trying to make up their minds on what to tackle first from his pop culture list.
And then Manhattan started trembling underfoot, and they were all called in.
Bucky's walking on a metaphorical live-wire, sleep-deprived but near-buzzing with that energy which comes from adrenaline, danger, a fight. He goes sprinting across the open space of the parking garage they're fighting their way across, and then skids behind a pillar, taking up position beside Agent Johnson, his back pressed to the chipped concrete. In the field, he doesn't wear gloves and doesn't try to hide that vibranium arm — it's useful, can block bullets when he needs it to. He's barely winded as he shoots a glance at her. ]
Hey. Not a great morning, but it's nice to see you.
[ Flirting in the middle of a fight?? Maybe! ]
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But this is pretty nice, too. ]
Yeah, you too. You're looking pretty spry for an old guy.
[ He's not even winded and here she is, feeling wrung out and ready to burst out of her own skin. She isn't wearing her Quake suit, there hadn't been time to get it from HQ, so all she's got are the soft gauntlets she sleeps with that have just barely managed to take the edge off the impact of the constant quakes. But despite the aching in her bones and the exhaustion clinging to her, she still grins at Bucky, flirting right back at him. ]
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[ The ground shudders underfoot again, and part of the ceiling cracks, spilling more concrete dust into the air, and he coughs. That doesn't look good. Meanwhile, the terrorists'(?) leader is... still rambling on over the intercom, his voice rising and falling between manic outbursts and a dull drone, and Bucky scowls up at the speakers. ]
Monologues. Why do they always have monologues? At least this guy isn't cackling over a molten lair, I guess.
[ Speaking from experience! The Red Skull had been wild. ]
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Must be in the Bad Guy Handbook. [ She reaches up to tap the comm unit in her ear, addressing another member of the team on-site. ] Ramirez, how we doing with that bomb removal?
[ The man's voice comes through loud and clear despite the levels of concrete between and wherever he and his team are, though his words still leave her frowning again. "We'd be doing a whole lot better if the building would stop shaking every twenty seconds." Her frown deepens and she flinches closer to Bucky as a bullet strikes her side of the pillar. ]
Leave that to me, just move fast. [ Holstering her gun, she looks at the man beside her, trying for an easygoing expression but failing miserably. ] Think you can cover me while I absorb those quakes?
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— you mean everything.
They never should have met. It strikes Daisy all the time, especially in the days leading up to his birthday, that she should never have met Bucky Barnes if his life had followed any sort of normal trajectory. Call it fate, call it the universe having a fucked up sense of humor — whatever the cosmic reason for their being brought together, she continues to be completely taken aback by it on an almost daily basis.
It's one of the reasons she is so set on making this a memorable birthday for him. His life has been anything but normal for a very long time and she can only begin to guess at all the ghosts haunting him. Bucky is a hero, whether he wants to admit it or not, and he deserves to have good things in his life.
So she breaks into his apartment.
For the first and possibly only time, she's grateful that Bucky lives in such a questionably acceptable and completely normal apartment building. If their positions were reversed, there's no way he'd be able to break into her place thanks to the dozens of security measures installed by SHIELD when they took ownership of the building. His place, though? She's in the door in five seconds flat, slipping her lockpicks back into her pocket before hauling the multiple bags inside.
Thank goodness for Sam Wilson being a good sport. She'd contacted him the week before to clue him into her plan and he'd agreed without hesitation to keep Bucky occupied while she "ran late" to meet them at the restaurant. With that and the time spent getting across the city, she had approximately twenty minutes before she'd have to be out the door. Just enough time to get everything in place.
Barely. ]
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So it's easy enough for Daisy to break in. And in the meantime, Bucky's a few streets over, sitting under some heat lamps in the backyard of a local bar (more privacy), already nursing a beer (he goes through them like water) while Sam ribs him about the girl, who is Totally Not A Date.
"No, seriously, Buck, are you guys dating?"
"Technically, not yet," he shoots back, and Sam just laughs. "But I do like her, so like... be on your best behaviour, man. Please? Do me one goddamn solid."
"I do you a million solids every single day, Barnes."
"I know, but."
And they're still grousing like that by the time Daisy walks in: Bucky leaning forward with his elbows propped against the table, in his leather jacket and gloved as usual, but he's gesticulating wildly and arguing with Sam about something probably incredibly stupid. It's the most relaxed she's ever seen him outside of hanging out with her. ]
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And then she stops and just... watches the guys for a moment.
She doesn't have to hear the conversation to know it's going well, or be a part of it at all for it to elevate her opinion of Sam Wilson even higher. Anyone who can put Bucky at ease like that gets a gold star in her book. Bucky could use more friends like Sam, but for now she's just so glad he has the one. ]
Sorry I'm late, I had some very important Birthday Business to take care of. [ Projecting her voice as she moved toward them, she deposited the box onto the table before plopping down into the available chair. With a grin at Sam, who had a conspiratorial glimmer in his eye, she holds out her now-free hand to him. ]
I'm Daisy. It's an honor to meet the new Captain America Bucky's talked so much shit about.
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[ Bucky makes a scoffing noise behind his beer, shaking his head, the tips of his ears a little pink. And then he glances down at the box, head cocking in curiosity. ]
What's this?
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thaaaat’s a wrap
— soon i’ll be alone out in the dark.
He’s aware, distantly, that the rest of the team — the West Chesapeake Valley Thunderbolts, guess that’s the group he’s working with now — are currently navigating their own individual darknesses. But Daisy’s here too, and there’s no rest for him as long as that remains true.
They’re only a couple months into this delicate new relationship, and officially calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend. And he’s been blessed with a girlfriend who can hold her own in a fight, who could bring down a building or disintegrate threats— but this creeping darkness across the city is something worse. Not a problem you can simply punch your way out of. Insidious, consuming, forcing you to face your worst memory and your worst self.
It’d be fucking paralysing if he hadn’t already spent the better part of a century looking right at his own. He’s had plenty of time to get accustomed to it; his shame’s an old friend.
He deals with it.
And afterward, before even searching for Yelena and company, Bucky goes looking for Daisy instead. He decides that he’s allowed to be selfish, this once. He needs to be sure she’s okay before he gets back to the job at hand. So it’s doors and hallways and doors, prying open a window and smashing a metal elbow through glass and jimmying through a nearby street cart vendor’s nightmare, then moving on, navigating this labyrinthine landscape folding in on itself. He can’t describe what draws him onward, besides that he knows her now: when he stands at a crossroads and tilts his head and listens, he’s got a pretty good idea that Daisy’s over in this direction, or that one.
So he follows that thread, a red piece of string running through a maze, searching for her. ]
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Time stilled as the pod rose into the room and she watched her younger self exit. Daisy witnessed the pain and desperation as her other self pleaded with the monster who'd nearly ruined their lives. He placed his hand on the side her head and she closed her eyes, ready to give up the entire world just to feel that connection again. And then—
He entered the room, muttering. The pod rose. Younger Daisy approached. ]
No. Stop it. [ Whatever this is, she can't watch it again. Shame burns in her chest as she hurries forward, grabbing hold of herself and tugging the other Daisy back before she can get on her knees. She hardly realizes what's happening as she's quaked off her feet, flying backward and crashing into the wall of the pod. The next moment, the loop repeats, though it takes a moment for it to register through the ringing in her ears.
What the hell is going on? She'd gotten word from Bucky that something might be about to happen, so she'd rushed across town to help with any potential crowd control issues, fully trusting her boyfriend to have things in hand or call for backup when needed. Neither of them had expected that blackness to start swallowing everyone up. Is that what this is? Is that why she's seeing this? ]
Stop. You can't do this. [ Which of them is she talking to? It doesnt really matter as she approaches Hive this time, making to quake him back when he dodges and rushes forward in that almost preternatural speed. His hand is around her throat a second later, squeezing with all his might.
And then it repeats. Again. And again. And again. She loses count of how many times she fails to stop herself from begging to restore the twisted chemical connection with Hydra's original mascot. It's around the twelfth loop that she starts to unravel, focusing instead on trying to force her way out through the bay doors and having to listen to that pathetic begging in the background.
Every time she tries to get past him to the base beyond, Hive stops her. He throws her into a wall, forces her to the ground, grips her in a choke hold. And the entire time, her other self just watches, that disgusting pleading look on her face.
Another dozen loops pass and Daisy sits crumpled on the floor, hands pressed over her ears and yet still able to hear every syllable. Trying to drown out the words she knows by heart now, she repeats a whispered plea. ] Let me go. Please let me go.
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He doesn’t linger too long or try to get involved in any of them as he passes through; he’s just trying to find hers.
And when Bucky does finally step into the hangar, the scene he finds is almost disconcertingly understated. Someone standing there wearing Grant Ward’s face (except it can’t be a man, because that particular man was dead, he knew that much). Bucky’s gaze is drawn to the young woman on her knees in front of not-Ward, listening to the soft whispered Please take me back as he reaches for her face,
(pretty like the Skye, a flower, Daisy)
and Bucky walks right past that looping scene and their murmured conversation, to the other woman in the room. She’s older, her hair different from the version of herself talking to Hive. She’s more worn from years of experience and pain and happiness: there’s more laughter-lines and stress-lines alike etched into her face. His Daisy. The one he knows, now crumpled in on herself, hands over her ears, and his heart is cracking open at the sight.
He’d learned from personal experience that if you don’t try to disrupt the loop, it just keeps going, and so he ignores the rest of the scene. So after a moment, there’s a figure beside her and a warm hand at her cheek; not Hive’s, this time. Bucky’s voice, muffled through her clenched hands and her own murmuring anguish: ]
Daisy. Hey. It’s me. I’m here.