starryixora

[starryixora]

Gilded- Bucky Barnes

Chapter 4: Trust Fall

*longer chapter cause u guys deserve it and I'm on summer break :)*

"My whole life, I've tried to avoid fighting, but it always has a way of catching up to me. Maybe that's because it's what I've always been. A fighter" Andrea Rhayn has everything. A successful career at S.H.I.E.L.D- the most renowned intelligence agency in the world, thriving friendships with the Avengers, and a lavish D.C. penthouse in the center of the city with her best friend. But when she becomes entangled in Steve Rodger’s pursuit of the Winter Soldier, she’s faced with risking everything she’s worked so hard for. Will Andrea help the most ruthless assassin in the world seek peace, or continue to run from her own turmoil?

Gilded; covered or highlighted with gold or something appearing rich or luxurious but concealing something of little worth

TW: implied mentions of torture/abuse

Less than forty-eight hours ago, Andrea and Steve had conversations with Nick Fury. Less than twenty-four hours ago, Andrea talked to Nicky Fury about a suspicious agent- Brock Rumlow. Less than eighteen hours ago, Andrea broke into Brock Rumlow’s office and discovered that he was affiliated with the most lethal terrorist organization in history. Now, Nicholas J. Fury is in a body bag, and Rumlow is leading Andrea and Steve to Nicky Fury’s- no, Alexander Pierce’s office.

They walk silently through a narrow corridor dimmed with black paint, passing under flickering lights and agents with firm strides. Andrea’s business-casual work attire is replaced with a matte black tactical suit, with matching steel-toed combat boots. Her long curly mane is tied into a sleek high ponytail, while her suit’s breathable, skin-tight material hugs her curves in all the right places. Andrea glances at the belts of the agents passing by, making a mental note that they’re all armed with standard handguns and probably an arsenal of knives and daggers hidden in their pockets, boots, and beneath their jackets. No S.H.I.E.L.D agent only has one weapon, Andrea recalls, reciting what Fury once told her at S.H.I.E.L.D Academy.

Steve and Andrea approach Pierce’s door where Sharon Carter, a fellow Level 2 Agent, greets them with a stiff smile- mainly aimed towards Steve. “Captain Rodgers. Agent Rhayn.”

“Neighbor.” He responds, not sparing Sharon a second glance as he enters the room.

Andrea offers Sharon a sympathetic nod, following behind Steve.

“Ah, Agent Rhayn and Captain Rodgers. I’m Alexander Pierce, it's a pleasure to meet both of you.” Pierce is older than Andrea expected. He has blond hair tinted with streaks of grey, and wears an elegant grey suit with black rimmed glasses.

“Sir. It’s an honor.” Steve says, catching Pierce’s hand in a firm handshake. Pierce smiles widely at Andrea. She reciprocates his body language as she shakes his hand- strangely cold- hoping her smile shines through the fact she hasn’t slept in almost two days.

“The honor is mine, my father served in the hundred and first. Fury’s said wonderful things about both of you- no, all of you.” Pierce smiles behind Andrea and Steve, towards Rumlow who returns the gesture. Andrea zones out as Pierce goes on a tangent about his hostage sob story in Bogota- how Pierce met Fury and decided to promote him. She’s heard it a million times from Fury himself. Andrea wishes that Fury was there to tell the story instead, not some imposter in his office, taking over his role, and telling his story.

“Captain, why was Nick in your apartment last night?” Pierce questions. Andrea perks up, Pierce’s words breaking through her trance of boredom.

“I don’t know.” Steve answers simply with a shrug. His posture is standoffish, arms crossed and legs spread apart. He states his reply like he’s reading off a script. Like he’s rehearsed this specific scenario several times. He’s hiding the truth, Andrea thinks. She remembers what Natasha said to her earlier. Liar.

“Did you know it was bugged?” Pierce asks, his eyebrows furrowing with curiosity.

“I did, because Nick told me,” Steve states. His blue eyes are bloodshot around the rims. Andrea’s reminder that he too hasn’t slept in god knows how long.

“I’m sorry, what does this have to do with Nick Fury’s death?” Andrea interrupts, her voice echoing through the quiet room. Steve, Pierce, and Rumlow eyes lock onto her, Rumlow’s deep stare making her skin itch. “We just lost one of our greatest leaders, and you’re busy reminiscing and making up conspiracy theories! Where's the action plan? What is S.H.I.E.L.D going to look like now!?” Andrea questions, her eyes swimming with a fierceness so intense, everyone turns their attention somewhere else, avoiding her glare.

“Secrets exist in S.H.I.E.L.D, Rhayn. It’s inevitable. Pierce is just trying to figure out which ones Nick kept.” Rumlow responds, his dark eyes boring into her golden-brown ones.

I’m sure you know all about secrets, Rumlow. Andrea thinks, holding her tongue. She wonders how long she’ll keep his HYDRA-shaped one.

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to do.” Pierce answers, stopping Andrea and Rumlow’s harsh exchange from escalating. “We called you in here because you are the closest people to Fury. The men who hijacked the cargo ship that Rodgers infiltrated were hired anonymously, contacted by email, and paid by wire transfer. The holding company was registered to the house next to Fury’s mother.” Pierce folds his hands behind his back.

Andrea staggers back slightly, the information hits her like a punch to the gut.

“Are you saying Fury hired the pirates? Why?” Steve asks, taking a step towards Pierce.

“The prevailing theory was that the hijacking was a cover for the acquisition and sale of classified intelligence. The sale went sour and that led to Nick's death.” Pierce answers flatley. Andrea catches him shrug a little, like he’s known this information for decades.

“If you really knew Nick Fury you'd know that's not true.” Andrea snaps, anger bubbling inside of her. What the hell is he trying to get at? And why is he so calm? Uneasiness grows in her gut.

“Why do you think we're talking? See, I took a seat on the Council not because I wanted to but because Nick asked me to, because we were both realists. We knew that despite all the diplomacy and the handshaking and the rhetoric, that to build a really better world sometimes means having to tear the old one down. And that makes enemies. Those people that call you dirty because you got the guts to stick your hands in the mud and try to build something better. And the idea that those people could be happy today, makes me really, really angry.” Pierce hesitates a moment, like he's thinking extremely carefully about what to say next. “Captain, you were the last one to see Nick alive. I don't think that's an accident, and I don't think you do either. So I'm gonna ask again, why was he there?” He asks.

Andrea’s stunned as she watches the altercation. Nick Fury didn’t do that- he wouldn’t, she thinks, fingers digging into her palms. She’s known Fury for years, and the person Pierce described- that’s not the man she knew. “Fury was set up!” She exclaims, now taking brash steps towards Pierce.”He’s not- he wouldn’t do something like that. He loves- loved S.H.I.E.L.D. So I don’t know what you’re trying to get at but-”

“He told me not to trust anyone,” Steve says, turning towards Andrea, interrupting her short outburst. She passively retreats, rolling her eyes as she turns her emotions down a notch.

“I wonder if that included him,” Pierce responds.

“This is ridiculous! We’re leaving.” Andrea snaps, turning on her heel as she heads towards the door.

“I’m sorry. Those were his last words. Excuse me.” Steve picks up his shield and hoists it onto his back as he hurriedly follows Andrea out of Pierce’s office.

“Captain. Rhayn.” Andrea and Steve stop in the door frame, turning towards Pierce.

“Somebody murdered my friend and I’m gonna find out why. Anyone gets in my way, they’re gonna regret it. Anyone.” Pierce says, his voice slightly wavering. “You’re dismissed.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

“This is some bull- do you really think Fury sold classified intel?” Andrea asks Steve as they walk in tandem towards one of Triskallen’s many elevators.

“I’m not sure, but I don’t know who to trust anymore,” Steve says briefly glancing at Andrea as he taps the up button to the elevator.

“You can trust me, you know that right?” Andrea assures, eyes locking with Steve’s. “You’re not alone in this. And I’m not going anywhere, we’ve got each other.” She pats Steve’s arm lightly. “You’ve always had my back, and I’ve always had yours. Speaking of trust, you-know-what is back.”

The elevator doors open, and Andrea and Steve step inside. “Operations control,” Steve says. The elevator software hums a confirmed back. The doors slide shut with a soft whoosh, and Andrea’s chest tightens almost instantly, reminding her why she prefers taking the stairs.

The small, metal box feels like it’s closing in on her, pressing in from all sides. Every breath she takes feels too shallow, too confined, as though the air is thinner than usual. Her hands curl into fists, nails biting into her palms. Andrea's heart races faster, breaths coming quicker. Too fast. She feels her chest tighten, and the panic surging- a hot, tight ball of dread clawing at her throat. I need to get out. Now.

Andrea glances at the panel, the numbers flashing—each floor ticking down like seconds of a timer she can't escape. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, cold and sterile. The space feels suffocating. Too perfect. Too contained. Just like those four concrete walls she was often bound to. Where they watched as she-

“What’s you-know-what?” Steve asks. His whole body is now faced towards Andrea, oblivious to her panic. He shifts uncomfortably as he awaits an answer.

Andrea swallows the lump gathered a the back of her her throat with an audible gulp. “It’s one of the agents, Steve. Rumlo-” Andreas interrupted as the very man she was about to expose as being HYDRA enters the elevator. She hadn’t even noticed it stopped. Rumlow nods sharply at the two, his mouth pulled into a flat line.

“Keep all STRIKE personnel on site,” He orders, earning a yes sir from two agents who enter behind him.

“Cap. Rhayn.” Rumlow greets the duo bluntly, standing with his back facing them. “Rumlow.” Andrea and Seve reply simultaneously. Steve catches Andrea’s eye, flashing her a raised eyebrow. She glances at her hand, and Steve’s eyes follow. HYDRA, she signs, looking back up at him. Steve’s eyes widen in surprise, his jaw going slightly slack.

“Evidence Response found some fibers on the roof they want us to see. You want me to get the tac-team ready?” Rumlow asks Steve, like Andrea isn’t the one who has the power to release the tac-team. She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms as she clears her throat.

“No, let's wait and see what it is first,” she answers, nose tilting up towards him. Andrea barely reaches Rumlow’s shoulders, but she sees him slightly sink into himself. As he should.

“Right,” he says.

More S.H.I.E.L.D. and STRIKE agents enter the elevator, enough to reach capacity. Andrea grows uneasy as she catches Steve scanning the room out of the corner of her eye- he’s on guard.

“I’m sorry about what happened with Fury. It’s messed up,” Rumlow starts again, turning towards Andrea and Steve.

“Thank you, “ Steve answers.

The air grows thicker with palpable tension as another set of agents enter. Andrea sees one drumming his fingers expectantly against his gun holster, and another wiping a stray droplet of sweat off her brow. Andrea inhales deeply to conceal the emerging panic once again rising in her throat. In through the nose, out through the mouth. She tilts her head towards Steve, who gives her a slight nod.

Andrea, Natasha, and Steve have a unique way of communicating with each other. Their nonverbal language, consisting of nods, eye contact, and small gestures is deeper than just small talk. They can read each other- communicate through their eyes alone. That's what makes you such good fighting partners, and even better friends, Andrea recalls what Fury once told them.

That kind of connection is rare for Andrea, she rarely lets people in. Besides Nat and Steve, she’s only had it with one other person, and is sure that connection was severed years ago.

“Before we get started, does anyone want to get out?” Steve asks, his voice jagged with anticipation.

There’s a brief pause, time is suspended in air. But just as quickly as everything stopped, an agent lunges their fist towards Andrea’s face. She quickly dodges the attack, immediately striking their ribs. Then, all hell breaks loose. An agent pulls out an electric rod to shock Steve, distracting Andrea from a hunk of metal flying towards her.

She feels at least ten pounds heavier as she glances at her wrist. Somehow, an agent manages to clasp a magnetic cuff around it. She yelps in pain as the cuff drags her towards one of the elevator walls. “Are you serious?!” She shouts as agents corner her, striking her with blows to the ribs, and face, and electric shocks to her body.

“This isn’t personal, Rhayn.” Rumlow grits, jabbing another electric shock to her stomach. She only has time to react, feeling herself weaken as she does her best to fend off agents with kicks and punches with her free hand and legs. But with each shock and blow, Andrea's efforts grow weaker as her eyelids begin to grow heavy with exhaustion.

Suddenly, Andrea drops to the floor with a harsh thud, gasping as she lands on her back, the air leaving her lungs. Steve breaks her cuff with his shield. Andrea shoots him a grateful nod as she regains her composure. He manages to knock out almost half of the agents, but more start ganging up on him. They use the same magnetic cuffs to secure both Steve’s wrists onto the elevator wall.

With her heart drumming through her ears, Andrea intercepts a taser from one of the other agents, just before slamming their head into the metal wall. She uses it to disarm the five agents surrounding her. With a sweeping motion, she lowers herself on her heel and forcefully spins her leg in a circle, pulling the agent's feet out from under them, knocking them out. That’s the other half.

Andrea looks back at Steve, just as he renders Rumlow unconscious with an electric rod. They stumble as the elevator stops abruptly. Steve tries prying the door open, but they're stuck in between floors. Andrea’s eyes widen when she sees a STRIKE team battering towards them with tactical firearms and shields.

“We’ve gotta jump out the window,” Steve states rather calmly.

“What?! You’re-This is crazy! I’m not doing that, how can we-” Andrea stops as she steps towards the glass window. “There’s at least ten thousand feet between us, and where our brains will splatter!”

“I’ve got my shield- you have one too, right?!” Steve’s voice rises as the STRIKE team advances forward.

“No! I don’t hav-” Steve raises an eyebrow as Andrea interrupts herself. “Well, technically I do, but I haven’t used it- my powers in years! It’s not going to work!” Andrea exclaims as she looks down at her trembling hands.

“We don’t have time! Either you use your powers, or your brains end up on the pavement, if that’s how it even works for Asgardians.” Steve snaps, his eyes boring into Andrea’s.

“I’m from Vanaheim.” Andrea retorts. The STRIKE team is just seven feet from the elevator, with mere seconds to spare until they break through. Andreas sighs, running a hand through her curls. “I need a knife.”

“Wha-” Steve starts.

“Don’t ask!” Andrea exclaims. Steve fishes a small pocket knife out one of his many cargo pockets, handing it to her.

“God, you’re such a grandpa,” Andrea scoffs, turning the knife in her hands. She inhales deeply through her nose. The rune Algiz is for protection, the letter “Y” with an extra arm, Andrea recites. She hisses as she carves the rune’s shape on the palm of her hand with the knife, small droplets of blood dripping through her fingers. Steve looks up at her, his face pale. “Sorry. It makes it stronger,” Andrea says. She feels a distant yet familiar tingle in her palm as a gold-tinted translucent shield appears in front of her.

“Ready?” Steve asks.

“Nope.” Andrea answers, just as the STRIKE team jams a battering ram against the elevator door. Steve runs through the glass window without hesitation, glass shards shattering around him, some cutting uncovered parts of Andrea’s body. She hisses a sharp curse under her breath as she jumps behind him.

They plummet for what feels like hours, until the hard concrete pavement breaks the fall. Andrea gasps, her lungs hollow as the wind is knocked out of her. The screams and yells of the people on the ground are drowned out by the ringing in her ears.

“Andi! Get up! We have to go!” Steve pulls Andrea up, hoisting her arm around his shoulder. She shakes her head frantically, doing her best to clear her blurring vision. “

Wha-”

“Can you walk? We have to pick up the pace.” Steve says.

Andrea winces as she puts her full weight on her right ankle. “No- I can’t”

“You have to try! Come on.” Steve quickens his pace, Andrea following closely behind him, attempting to discard the throbbing pain in her ankle.

They run- or hobble towards the parking garage. Steve heads towards a sleek, black Harley-Davidson motorcycle, propping himself on it as he grabs a helmet from its rear.

“Oh no way, you are not making me ride that death machine!” Andrea exclaims.

“Come on! We don’t have time for this!” Steve argues, thrusting the helmet towards Andrea.

“Do you know how many deaths motorcycles cause?!” Andrea retorts.

She’s met with a dramatic eye roll from Steve, “How many?!” He asks, fingers impatiently drumming against the motorcycle handle.

“Motorcyclists are twenty seven times more likely to die in a crash than car drivers! I’m not taking that chance.” Andrea says, crossing her arms in defiance. Her outburst is interrupted when the muffled sound of heavy footsteps and radio static pass through the garage, causing Steve and Andrea to lower themselves onto the ground.

“They’re already looking for us. What are you going to do, Andi? Walk?! We have to get out of here!” Steve whispers harshly.

“Fine.” Andrea rises from the ground and snatches Steve's helmet out of his hands, placing it on her head as she reluctantly hoists herself onto his motorcycle. “Let’s go.”

[starryixora]

Gilded- Bucky Barnes

Chapter 4: Trust Fall

*longer chapter cause u guys deserve it and I'm on summer break :)*

"My whole life, I've tried to avoid fighting, but it always has a way of catching up to me. Maybe that's because it's what I've always been. A fighter" Andrea Rhayn has everything. A successful career at S.H.I.E.L.D- the most renowned intelligence agency in the world, thriving friendships with the Avengers, and a lavish D.C. penthouse in the center of the city with her best friend. But when she becomes entangled in Steve Rodger’s pursuit of the Winter Soldier, she’s faced with risking everything she’s worked so hard for. Will Andrea help the most ruthless assassin in the world seek peace, or continue to run from her own turmoil?

Gilded; covered or highlighted with gold or something appearing rich or luxurious but concealing something of little worth

TW: implied mentions of torture/abuse

Less than forty-eight hours ago, Andrea and Steve had conversations with Nick Fury. Less than twenty-four hours ago, Andrea talked to Nicky Fury about a suspicious agent- Brock Rumlow. Less than eighteen hours ago, Andrea broke into Brock Rumlow’s office and discovered that he was affiliated with the most lethal terrorist organization in history. Now, Nicholas J. Fury is in a body bag, and Rumlow is leading Andrea and Steve to Nicky Fury’s- no, Alexander Pierce’s office.

They walk silently through a narrow corridor dimmed with black paint, passing under flickering lights and agents with firm strides. Andrea’s business-casual work attire is replaced with a matte black tactical suit, with matching steel-toed combat boots. Her long curly mane is tied into a sleek high ponytail, while her suit’s breathable, skin-tight material hugs her curves in all the right places. Andrea glances at the belts of the agents passing by, making a mental note that they’re all armed with standard handguns and probably an arsenal of knives and daggers hidden in their pockets, boots, and beneath their jackets. No S.H.I.E.L.D agent only has one weapon, Andrea recalls, reciting what Fury once told her at S.H.I.E.L.D Academy.

Steve and Andrea approach Pierce’s door where Sharon Carter, a fellow Level 2 Agent, greets them with a stiff smile- mainly aimed towards Steve. “Captain Rodgers. Agent Rhayn.”

“Neighbor.” He responds, not sparing Sharon a second glance as he enters the room.

Andrea offers Sharon a sympathetic nod, following behind Steve.

“Ah, Agent Rhayn and Captain Rodgers. I’m Alexander Pierce, it's a pleasure to meet both of you.” Pierce is older than Andrea expected. He has blond hair tinted with streaks of grey, and wears an elegant grey suit with black rimmed glasses.

“Sir. It’s an honor.” Steve says, catching Pierce’s hand in a firm handshake. Pierce smiles widely at Andrea. She reciprocates his body language as she shakes his hand- strangely cold- hoping her smile shines through the fact she hasn’t slept in almost two days.

“The honor is mine, my father served in the hundred and first. Fury’s said wonderful things about both of you- no, all of you.” Pierce smiles behind Andrea and Steve, towards Rumlow who returns the gesture. Andrea zones out as Pierce goes on a tangent about his hostage sob story in Bogota- how Pierce met Fury and decided to promote him. She’s heard it a million times from Fury himself. Andrea wishes that Fury was there to tell the story instead, not some imposter in his office, taking over his role, and telling his story.

“Captain, why was Nick in your apartment last night?” Pierce questions. Andrea perks up, Pierce’s words breaking through her trance of boredom.

“I don’t know.” Steve answers simply with a shrug. His posture is standoffish, arms crossed and legs spread apart. He states his reply like he’s reading off a script. Like he’s rehearsed this specific scenario several times. He’s hiding the truth, Andrea thinks. She remembers what Natasha said to her earlier. Liar.

“Did you know it was bugged?” Pierce asks, his eyebrows furrowing with curiosity.

“I did, because Nick told me,” Steve states. His blue eyes are bloodshot around the rims. Andrea’s reminder that he too hasn’t slept in god knows how long.

“I’m sorry, what does this have to do with Nick Fury’s death?” Andrea interrupts, her voice echoing through the quiet room. Steve, Pierce, and Rumlow eyes lock onto her, Rumlow’s deep stare making her skin itch. “We just lost one of our greatest leaders, and you’re busy reminiscing and making up conspiracy theories! Where's the action plan? What is S.H.I.E.L.D going to look like now!?” Andrea questions, her eyes swimming with a fierceness so intense, everyone turns their attention somewhere else, avoiding her glare.

“Secrets exist in S.H.I.E.L.D, Rhayn. It’s inevitable. Pierce is just trying to figure out which ones Nick kept.” Rumlow responds, his dark eyes boring into her golden-brown ones.

I’m sure you know all about secrets, Rumlow. Andrea thinks, holding her tongue. She wonders how long she’ll keep his HYDRA-shaped one.

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to do.” Pierce answers, stopping Andrea and Rumlow’s harsh exchange from escalating. “We called you in here because you are the closest people to Fury. The men who hijacked the cargo ship that Rodgers infiltrated were hired anonymously, contacted by email, and paid by wire transfer. The holding company was registered to the house next to Fury’s mother.” Pierce folds his hands behind his back.

Andrea staggers back slightly, the information hits her like a punch to the gut.

“Are you saying Fury hired the pirates? Why?” Steve asks, taking a step towards Pierce.

“The prevailing theory was that the hijacking was a cover for the acquisition and sale of classified intelligence. The sale went sour and that led to Nick's death.” Pierce answers flatley. Andrea catches him shrug a little, like he’s known this information for decades.

“If you really knew Nick Fury you'd know that's not true.” Andrea snaps, anger bubbling inside of her. What the hell is he trying to get at? And why is he so calm? Uneasiness grows in her gut.

“Why do you think we're talking? See, I took a seat on the Council not because I wanted to but because Nick asked me to, because we were both realists. We knew that despite all the diplomacy and the handshaking and the rhetoric, that to build a really better world sometimes means having to tear the old one down. And that makes enemies. Those people that call you dirty because you got the guts to stick your hands in the mud and try to build something better. And the idea that those people could be happy today, makes me really, really angry.” Pierce hesitates a moment, like he's thinking extremely carefully about what to say next. “Captain, you were the last one to see Nick alive. I don't think that's an accident, and I don't think you do either. So I'm gonna ask again, why was he there?” He asks.

Andrea’s stunned as she watches the altercation. Nick Fury didn’t do that- he wouldn’t, she thinks, fingers digging into her palms. She’s known Fury for years, and the person Pierce described- that’s not the man she knew. “Fury was set up!” She exclaims, now taking brash steps towards Pierce.”He’s not- he wouldn’t do something like that. He loves- loved S.H.I.E.L.D. So I don’t know what you’re trying to get at but-”

“He told me not to trust anyone,” Steve says, turning towards Andrea, interrupting her short outburst. She passively retreats, rolling her eyes as she turns her emotions down a notch.

“I wonder if that included him,” Pierce responds.

“This is ridiculous! We’re leaving.” Andrea snaps, turning on her heel as she heads towards the door.

“I’m sorry. Those were his last words. Excuse me.” Steve picks up his shield and hoists it onto his back as he hurriedly follows Andrea out of Pierce’s office.

“Captain. Rhayn.” Andrea and Steve stop in the door frame, turning towards Pierce.

“Somebody murdered my friend and I’m gonna find out why. Anyone gets in my way, they’re gonna regret it. Anyone.” Pierce says, his voice slightly wavering. “You’re dismissed.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

“This is some bull- do you really think Fury sold classified intel?” Andrea asks Steve as they walk in tandem towards one of Triskallen’s many elevators.

“I’m not sure, but I don’t know who to trust anymore,” Steve says briefly glancing at Andrea as he taps the up button to the elevator.

“You can trust me, you know that right?” Andrea assures, eyes locking with Steve’s. “You’re not alone in this. And I’m not going anywhere, we’ve got each other.” She pats Steve’s arm lightly. “You’ve always had my back, and I’ve always had yours. Speaking of trust, you-know-what is back.”

The elevator doors open, and Andrea and Steve step inside. “Operations control,” Steve says. The elevator software hums a confirmed back. The doors slide shut with a soft whoosh, and Andrea’s chest tightens almost instantly, reminding her why she prefers taking the stairs.

The small, metal box feels like it’s closing in on her, pressing in from all sides. Every breath she takes feels too shallow, too confined, as though the air is thinner than usual. Her hands curl into fists, nails biting into her palms. Andrea's heart races faster, breaths coming quicker. Too fast. She feels her chest tighten, and the panic surging- a hot, tight ball of dread clawing at her throat. I need to get out. Now.

Andrea glances at the panel, the numbers flashing—each floor ticking down like seconds of a timer she can't escape. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, cold and sterile. The space feels suffocating. Too perfect. Too contained. Just like those four concrete walls she was often bound to. Where they watched as she-

“What’s you-know-what?” Steve asks. His whole body is now faced towards Andrea, oblivious to her panic. He shifts uncomfortably as he awaits an answer.

Andrea swallows the lump gathered a the back of her her throat with an audible gulp. “It’s one of the agents, Steve. Rumlo-” Andreas interrupted as the very man she was about to expose as being HYDRA enters the elevator. She hadn’t even noticed it stopped. Rumlow nods sharply at the two, his mouth pulled into a flat line.

“Keep all STRIKE personnel on site,” He orders, earning a yes sir from two agents who enter behind him.

“Cap. Rhayn.” Rumlow greets the duo bluntly, standing with his back facing them. “Rumlow.” Andrea and Seve reply simultaneously. Steve catches Andrea’s eye, flashing her a raised eyebrow. She glances at her hand, and Steve’s eyes follow. HYDRA, she signs, looking back up at him. Steve’s eyes widen in surprise, his jaw going slightly slack.

“Evidence Response found some fibers on the roof they want us to see. You want me to get the tac-team ready?” Rumlow asks Steve, like Andrea isn’t the one who has the power to release the tac-team. She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms as she clears her throat.

“No, let's wait and see what it is first,” she answers, nose tilting up towards him. Andrea barely reaches Rumlow’s shoulders, but she sees him slightly sink into himself. As he should.

“Right,” he says.

More S.H.I.E.L.D. and STRIKE agents enter the elevator, enough to reach capacity. Andrea grows uneasy as she catches Steve scanning the room out of the corner of her eye- he’s on guard.

“I’m sorry about what happened with Fury. It’s messed up,” Rumlow starts again, turning towards Andrea and Steve.

“Thank you, “ Steve answers.

The air grows thicker with palpable tension as another set of agents enter. Andrea sees one drumming his fingers expectantly against his gun holster, and another wiping a stray droplet of sweat off her brow. Andrea inhales deeply to conceal the emerging panic once again rising in her throat. In through the nose, out through the mouth. She tilts her head towards Steve, who gives her a slight nod.

Andrea, Natasha, and Steve have a unique way of communicating with each other. Their nonverbal language, consisting of nods, eye contact, and small gestures is deeper than just small talk. They can read each other- communicate through their eyes alone. That's what makes you such good fighting partners, and even better friends, Andrea recalls what Fury once told them.

That kind of connection is rare for Andrea, she rarely lets people in. Besides Nat and Steve, she’s only had it with one other person, and is sure that connection was severed years ago.

“Before we get started, does anyone want to get out?” Steve asks, his voice jagged with anticipation.

There’s a brief pause, time is suspended in air. But just as quickly as everything stopped, an agent lunges their fist towards Andrea’s face. She quickly dodges the attack, immediately striking their ribs. Then, all hell breaks loose. An agent pulls out an electric rod to shock Steve, distracting Andrea from a hunk of metal flying towards her.

She feels at least ten pounds heavier as she glances at her wrist. Somehow, an agent manages to clasp a magnetic cuff around it. She yelps in pain as the cuff drags her towards one of the elevator walls. “Are you serious?!” She shouts as agents corner her, striking her with blows to the ribs, and face, and electric shocks to her body.

“This isn’t personal, Rhayn.” Rumlow grits, jabbing another electric shock to her stomach. She only has time to react, feeling herself weaken as she does her best to fend off agents with kicks and punches with her free hand and legs. But with each shock and blow, Andrea's efforts grow weaker as her eyelids begin to grow heavy with exhaustion.

Suddenly, Andrea drops to the floor with a harsh thud, gasping as she lands on her back, the air leaving her lungs. Steve breaks her cuff with his shield. Andrea shoots him a grateful nod as she regains her composure. He manages to knock out almost half of the agents, but more start ganging up on him. They use the same magnetic cuffs to secure both Steve’s wrists onto the elevator wall.

With her heart drumming through her ears, Andrea intercepts a taser from one of the other agents, just before slamming their head into the metal wall. She uses it to disarm the five agents surrounding her. With a sweeping motion, she lowers herself on her heel and forcefully spins her leg in a circle, pulling the agent's feet out from under them, knocking them out. That’s the other half.

Andrea looks back at Steve, just as he renders Rumlow unconscious with an electric rod. They stumble as the elevator stops abruptly. Steve tries prying the door open, but they're stuck in between floors. Andrea’s eyes widen when she sees a STRIKE team battering towards them with tactical firearms and shields.

“We’ve gotta jump out the window,” Steve states rather calmly.

“What?! You’re-This is crazy! I’m not doing that, how can we-” Andrea stops as she steps towards the glass window. “There’s at least ten thousand feet between us, and where our brains will splatter!”

“I’ve got my shield- you have one too, right?!” Steve’s voice rises as the STRIKE team advances forward.

“No! I don’t hav-” Steve raises an eyebrow as Andrea interrupts herself. “Well, technically I do, but I haven’t used it- my powers in years! It’s not going to work!” Andrea exclaims as she looks down at her trembling hands.

“We don’t have time! Either you use your powers, or your brains end up on the pavement, if that’s how it even works for Asgardians.” Steve snaps, his eyes boring into Andrea’s.

“I’m from Vanaheim.” Andrea retorts. The STRIKE team is just seven feet from the elevator, with mere seconds to spare until they break through. Andreas sighs, running a hand through her curls. “I need a knife.”

“Wha-” Steve starts.

“Don’t ask!” Andrea exclaims. Steve fishes a small pocket knife out one of his many cargo pockets, handing it to her.

“God, you’re such a grandpa,” Andrea scoffs, turning the knife in her hands. She inhales deeply through her nose. The rune Algiz is for protection, the letter “Y” with an extra arm, Andrea recites. She hisses as she carves the rune’s shape on the palm of her hand with the knife, small droplets of blood dripping through her fingers. Steve looks up at her, his face pale. “Sorry. It makes it stronger,” Andrea says. She feels a distant yet familiar tingle in her palm as a gold-tinted translucent shield appears in front of her.

“Ready?” Steve asks.

“Nope.” Andrea answers, just as the STRIKE team jams a battering ram against the elevator door. Steve runs through the glass window without hesitation, glass shards shattering around him, some cutting uncovered parts of Andrea’s body. She hisses a sharp curse under her breath as she jumps behind him.

They plummet for what feels like hours, until the hard concrete pavement breaks the fall. Andrea gasps, her lungs hollow as the wind is knocked out of her. The screams and yells of the people on the ground are drowned out by the ringing in her ears.

“Andi! Get up! We have to go!” Steve pulls Andrea up, hoisting her arm around his shoulder. She shakes her head frantically, doing her best to clear her blurring vision. “

Wha-”

“Can you walk? We have to pick up the pace.” Steve says.

Andrea winces as she puts her full weight on her right ankle. “No- I can’t”

“You have to try! Come on.” Steve quickens his pace, Andrea following closely behind him, attempting to discard the throbbing pain in her ankle.

They run- or hobble towards the parking garage. Steve heads towards a sleek, black Harley-Davidson motorcycle, propping himself on it as he grabs a helmet from its rear.

“Oh no way, you are not making me ride that death machine!” Andrea exclaims.

“Come on! We don’t have time for this!” Steve argues, thrusting the helmet towards Andrea.

“Do you know how many deaths motorcycles cause?!” Andrea retorts.

She’s met with a dramatic eye roll from Steve, “How many?!” He asks, fingers impatiently drumming against the motorcycle handle.

“Motorcyclists are twenty seven times more likely to die in a crash than car drivers! I’m not taking that chance.” Andrea says, crossing her arms in defiance. Her outburst is interrupted when the muffled sound of heavy footsteps and radio static pass through the garage, causing Steve and Andrea to lower themselves onto the ground.

“They’re already looking for us. What are you going to do, Andi? Walk?! We have to get out of here!” Steve whispers harshly.

“Fine.” Andrea rises from the ground and snatches Steve's helmet out of his hands, placing it on her head as she reluctantly hoists herself onto his motorcycle. “Let’s go.”

[starryixora]

Gilded- Bucky Barnes

Chapter 3: The 3 D's: Death, Doctors, and Deceit

"My whole life, I've tried to avoid fighting, but it always has a way of catching up to me. Maybe that's because it's what I've always been. A fighter" Andrea Rhayn has everything. A successful career at S.H.I.E.L.D- the most renowned intelligence agency in the world, thriving friendships with the Avengers, and a lavish D.C. penthouse in the center of the city with her best friend. But when she becomes entangled in Steve Rodger’s pursuit of the Winter Soldier, she’s faced with risking everything she’s worked so hard for. Will Andrea help the most ruthless assassin in the world seek peace, or continue to run from her own turmoil?

Gilded; covered or highlighted with gold or something appearing rich or luxurious but concealing something of little worth

TW: death

Andrea practically runs through the hospital corridor, doing her best to ignore the uneasiness growing in her gut. Natasha greets Andrea outside a room labeled Surgical Operations. “Hey,” she says while slowly opening the door. Andrea nods stiffly as she impatiently thrusts the rest of the door open, stepping inside.

She first sees Steve and Maria Hill, Fury’s loyal partner. Her eyes quickly are drawn to where their eyes are. Nick Fury. On an operation table. He’s hooked up to what could be a dozen machines that all hum and groan rhythmically, pumping his chest, helping him breathe, and monitoring his brain activity. Andrea’s speechless as she steps closer to the scene until she’s stopped by a glass barrier. Doctors are surrounding Fury with clamps, scalpels, and sutures, frantically working on several different parts of his body. Andrea barely registers Nastasha approaching her side, and Rumlow and Agent Sitwell coming up behind her. Her heart drops to her stomach as a constant ringing echoes throughout the room. Fury flatlines, and doctors rush to perform CPR on him, blurting medical terminology that sounds like a foreign language.

“Please. Don’t do this to me, Nick,” Natasha whispers. Andrea takes her hand, giving it a firm squeeze without peeling her eyes away from the scene unfolding in front of her. She watches, hope rising with every shock they give Fury, and dissolving as the heart rate monitor stays flat. One by one, her coworkers leave the room, and it feels like hours until a doctor's solemn voice cuts through the machine- “Nicholas J. Fury. Time of death, 1:03 AM.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Andrea’s fingers brush over the white linen sheet draped loosely over Fury, her ears still ringing from the faint hum of his heart rate monitor. She feels everything and nothing as she glances at his face for what feels like the 100th time. Seeing people die is nothing new to Andrea. In fact, she considers herself desensitized- or even unremorseful towards death. The paleness that takes over the corpses once lively skin and eyes drained of any sort of livelihood always greets her like an old childhood friend. But there's something different about this corpse. She’s talked to them, had late-night drinks with them, and sought advice from them. As she looks at its once lively face, she feels mournful. She’ll never get another offensive but helpful pep talk, or a heavenly cheat meal while reviewing tedious mission reports. Andrea can’t help but long for just five more minutes with her boss- whom she always saw as a mentor- and fondly reflect on the time they shared.

“Rhayn. Rodgers. Pierce needs you at S.H.I.E.L.D.” A sharp and unbearably familiar voice cuts through Andrea’s thoughts like an arrow, making her whip her head towards the door. She hadn’t even noticed that Maria, Natasha, and Steve had joined her in the room.

“I just need a moment, Rumlow.” Andrea responds, turning back towards the cold metal table where Fury rested.

“He said immediately,” Rumlow states matter-of-factly, his steel-toed boots tapping the floor tile impatiently.

Andrea huffs as she rolls her eyes, “Fine.”

She shoots Maria an emphatic smile, squeezing her arm in reassurance as she exits the morgue. She takes about twenty paces, keeping a safe distance behind Rumlow- wondering if anyone would make a scene if she stabbed him right there and then -until he turns towards her dramatically, looking straight past her.

Andrea turns as well, abandoning all habits of self-defense. Natasha was pulling Steve aside, exchanging in what looks like a heated discussion.

“Rodgers, Pierce said now.” Andrea hears Rumlow bark from behind her. Natasha rolls her eyes in defiance

“I’m coming,” Steve snaps. He glances towards Natasha a final time before heading towards Rumlow. Andrea catches Natasha’s eye, a hint of worry etched between her brow.

“Liar,” Natasha mouths before spinning on her heel and heading back towards where she came, leaving Andrea to question- what in the world was Captain America lying about?”

[starryixora]

Gilded- Bucky Barnes

Chapter 3: The 3 D's: Death, Doctors, and Deceit

"My whole life, I've tried to avoid fighting, but it always has a way of catching up to me. Maybe that's because it's what I've always been. A fighter" Andrea Rhayn has everything. A successful career at S.H.I.E.L.D- the most renowned intelligence agency in the world, thriving friendships with the Avengers, and a lavish D.C. penthouse in the center of the city with her best friend. But when she becomes entangled in Steve Rodger’s pursuit of the Winter Soldier, she’s faced with risking everything she’s worked so hard for. Will Andrea help the most ruthless assassin in the world seek peace, or continue to run from her own turmoil?

Gilded; covered or highlighted with gold or something appearing rich or luxurious but concealing something of little worth

TW: death

Andrea practically runs through the hospital corridor, doing her best to ignore the uneasiness growing in her gut. Natasha greets Andrea outside a room labeled Surgical Operations. “Hey,” she says while slowly opening the door. Andrea nods stiffly as she impatiently thrusts the rest of the door open, stepping inside.

She first sees Steve and Maria Hill, Fury’s loyal partner. Her eyes quickly are drawn to where their eyes are. Nick Fury. On an operation table. He’s hooked up to what could be a dozen machines that all hum and groan rhythmically, pumping his chest, helping him breathe, and monitoring his brain activity. Andrea’s speechless as she steps closer to the scene until she’s stopped by a glass barrier. Doctors are surrounding Fury with clamps, scalpels, and sutures, frantically working on several different parts of his body. Andrea barely registers Nastasha approaching her side, and Rumlow and Agent Sitwell coming up behind her. Her heart drops to her stomach as a constant ringing echoes throughout the room. Fury flatlines, and doctors rush to perform CPR on him, blurting medical terminology that sounds like a foreign language.

“Please. Don’t do this to me, Nick,” Natasha whispers. Andrea takes her hand, giving it a firm squeeze without peeling her eyes away from the scene unfolding in front of her. She watches, hope rising with every shock they give Fury, and dissolving as the heart rate monitor stays flat. One by one, her coworkers leave the room, and it feels like hours until a doctor's solemn voice cuts through the machine- “Nicholas J. Fury. Time of death, 1:03 AM.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Andrea’s fingers brush over the white linen sheet draped loosely over Fury, her ears still ringing from the faint hum of his heart rate monitor. She feels everything and nothing as she glances at his face for what feels like the 100th time. Seeing people die is nothing new to Andrea. In fact, she considers herself desensitized- or even unremorseful towards death. The paleness that takes over the corpses once lively skin and eyes drained of any sort of livelihood always greets her like an old childhood friend. But there's something different about this corpse. She’s talked to them, had late-night drinks with them, and sought advice from them. As she looks at its once lively face, she feels mournful. She’ll never get another offensive but helpful pep talk, or a heavenly cheat meal while reviewing tedious mission reports. Andrea can’t help but long for just five more minutes with her boss- whom she always saw as a mentor- and fondly reflect on the time they shared.

“Rhayn. Rodgers. Pierce needs you at S.H.I.E.L.D.” A sharp and unbearably familiar voice cuts through Andrea’s thoughts like an arrow, making her whip her head towards the door. She hadn’t even noticed that Maria, Natasha, and Steve had joined her in the room.

“I just need a moment, Rumlow.” Andrea responds, turning back towards the cold metal table where Fury rested.

“He said immediately,” Rumlow states matter-of-factly, his steel-toed boots tapping the floor tile impatiently.

Andrea huffs as she rolls her eyes, “Fine.”

She shoots Maria an emphatic smile, squeezing her arm in reassurance as she exits the morgue. She takes about twenty paces, keeping a safe distance behind Rumlow- wondering if anyone would make a scene if she stabbed him right there and then -until he turns towards her dramatically, looking straight past her.

Andrea turns as well, abandoning all habits of self-defense. Natasha was pulling Steve aside, exchanging in what looks like a heated discussion.

“Rodgers, Pierce said now.” Andrea hears Rumlow bark from behind her. Natasha rolls her eyes in defiance

“I’m coming,” Steve snaps. He glances towards Natasha a final time before heading towards Rumlow. Andrea catches Natasha’s eye, a hint of worry etched between her brow.

“Liar,” Natasha mouths before spinning on her heel and heading back towards where she came, leaving Andrea to question- what in the world was Captain America lying about?”

[starryixora]

Gilded- Bucky Barnes

Chapter 2: The Secrets He Keeps

"My whole life, I've tried to avoid fighting, but it always has a way of catching up to me. Maybe that's because it's what I've always been. A fighter" Andrea Rhayn has everything. A successful career at S.H.I.E.L.D- the most renowned intelligence agency in the world, thriving friendships with the Avengers, and a lavish D.C. penthouse in the center of the city with her best friend. But when she becomes entangled in Steve Rodger’s pursuit of the Winter Soldier, she’s faced with risking everything she’s worked so hard for. Will Andrea help the most ruthless assassin in the world seek peace, or continue to run from her own turmoil?

Gilded; covered or highlighted with gold or something appearing rich or luxurious but concealing something of little worth

“Neutralize!!” Andrea’s hands gesture sporadically as she sits cross-legged on her couch. It’s been hours since her meeting with Fury. Now, her dress slacks and button-up blouse are replaced with a pair of tiny hot pink shorts and a dainty white camisole. And her usual slicked back curls are bundled atop her head in a messy bun. Natasha plucks the empty glass from Andrea’s hand, pouring it to the brim with red wine. 

“Neutralize,” Natasha repeats, placing the glass of wine on Andrea’s still open palm. She shrugs, “I’ve neutralized, it’s easy. All you have to do is find where they would keep their deepest darkest secrets and slowly use it against them until their whole life is ruined!”

“Not when it’s, Rumlow.” Andrea huffs, taking a giant swig of wine. “He’s a prick. And very difficult to neutralize.”

“Well, pricks are always the first ones to die in horror movies,” Natasha responds, standing from her place on the couch to close the blinds on the windows of their shared penthouse. She has a unique way of signaling when a routine should start. Closing the blinds means it’s time to pour more alcohol, turn on a movie, or debrief about their days at work. 

“This is not a horror movie. And Black people always die first.” Andrea retorts, pointing to her brown skin. It appears more dewy than usual from the last rays of the D.C. sunset, which peak through the thin cracks of their window blinds, illuminating her skin. Andrea chugs the last of her wine as she walks to the kitchen, rinsing her glass. “I’m just so tired.”

“Of?” Natasha questions, closing the last blind and propping herself atop the countertop across from Andrea. 

“Of everything, Nat. The headlines, Rumlow, the Helicarrier launch. It’s too much, too quickly.” Andrea sighs as she slumps against the counter, giving into the chaos of the last few months. Ever since Andrea rejected doing field work for S.H.I.E.L.D. and stepped into the corporate branch, or the “real world” as Fury called it, she’s had a nagging feeling that she hates it as much as she hates fighting. Day after day, Andrea feels as if she goes through the motions. Report after report, sleepless night after sleepless night, it’s taken a toll on her. The bags under Andrea’s eyes and her wilting curls are clear evidence.

“My life is so boring. I thought coming here and refusing to fight would be more interesting. I’m constantly knee deep in paperwork, and whenever I have time to give orders, I just get eye rolls back.” Andrea’s voice is almost a whisper as she slides her back against the cabinets, her butt meeting the cool tile as it thumps against the floor.

“It’s been months since we’ve been in the house at the same time for more than 4 hours, Andi. And you’re more stressed because of this promotion. I mean, I barely see you eat a good meal, and sometimes I hear you rummaging around in the middle of the night. ” Natasha pads to where Andrea sits, sliding down the counter to meet her on the floor. “Is everything okay? You know I’m always here for you if you need to talk.”

Andrea freezes at Natasha’s question, her shoulders tighten as she shuts her eyes, squeezing her index finger and thumb between the bridge of her nose. But all she can see is that face. Staring right back at her- angry, unforgiving, and resentful. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees her. She sees both of them in her dreams. It’s hard to sleep when all you can see are the people you’ve abandoned and hurt the most, Andrea thinks. It's been years, but she thinks about them all the time. More than usual nowadays. Andrea’s golden-brown eyes fly open as they meet Nastasha’s blue ones. Natasha’s eyebrow furrows, her eyes softening emphatically as she scans Andrea’s face, trying to search for her emotions. 

“I’m fine,” Andrea answers simply, swallowing the growing lump in her throat. “I can handle this. I can handle myself. I probably just need a good night's rest.” Andrea plasters a weak smile towards Natasha, lifting herself from the cold tile.  

Natasha lets out a light chuckle, “Right. No Grey’s Anatomy tonight then, straight to bed.” Her tone is that of a strict mother as she joins Andrea from off the floor, grabbing her hand and leading her to her room.”

“Wa-it’s only 7!!” Andrea exclaims, light giggles escaping her lips.

“Yeah. And you’ll thank me in the morning when you finally wake up in a good mood!” Natasha jokes, squeezing Andrea’s hands lightly. “I love ya. Goodnight!” She chirps, closing the door in front of Andrea’s face, her hair blowing back with the sudden gust of air. 

Andrea lets out a big huff as she throws herself face down on her bed. And as her eyes close as she succumbs to exhaustion, she finds the courage to ignore the faces she’s so used to seeing.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Wow, Rhyan. Flats? Either you got laid, or have the worst hangover in history,” The security officer at the Triskellion’s entrance is quick to point out Andrea’s sudden change of footwear as she scans her badge for entry, receiving a cringe from her as a response. And although it’s true that she might’ve had too much wine last night, Andrea’s on a mission- breaking into her impudent coworker's office- and heels aren’t the most flexible for tasks like that. God, I better not die today, Andrea thinks as she flips the In A Meeting sign attached to her door towards the hallway and locks it. As far as she’s concerned, Rumlow is on recon until the evening, and Fury is “clearing his head” with a drive around D.C. Andrea stands on three books atop her desk as she unlatches the vent above it. Tight spaces aren’t her thing, but what’s a small panic attack over saving lives?

She hoists herself through the vents, clutching her office's floor plan as she steadily crawls through the metal pathway. Andrea’s knees ache, and she feels her heartbeat drumming through her ears. Not the time, Andrea thinks as she shuffles towards Rumlows office, taking deep inhales through her nose and exhales out her mouth, doing her best to enclose the panic rising from her chest. 

Andrea lets out a sigh of relief as she approaches Rumlow’s vent. She pumps her fist in victory, but the celebration is quickly spoiled as her fist hits the top of the vent, causing Andrea to yelp in pain as she shakes off her now throbbing hand. She quietly unscrews Rumlow’s vent, sliding it aside and descending using all the strength she can muster from her upper body. As much as she hates training arms, in this moment Andrea is grateful for her consistent discipline at the gym. She quickly locks Rumlow’s door and turns around to scan his office. 

Brock Rumlow is a boring man, and his office decoration reflects that. So Andrea’s not surprised by his minimalistic approach. Books and files stacked neatly on top of each other are scattered around his room, while his shelves and cabinets are sleek with a matte black finish. A stark contrast from Andrea’s maximalist approach- bold colors and dynamic furniture. Andrea swears under her breath as she notices his desk. A long, glass table. For the love of God, please. Andrea pushes her palms together, praying to anyone that would listen. Glass isn’t the best for compromising someone’s personal space; it’s the easiest to get handprints on, or know if someone other than you was there. 

Andrea circles the desk, looking for anything out of place. She lightly runs her hands across a bookshelf covering the entirety of one of the walls, but stops suddenly when she hears a faint click. The book she touched was nestled further in the wall. Andrea quirks an eyebrow as she pushes the book away from her even more, hearing a small whirring coming from the bookshelf. Holy cow. Andrea takes a step back, jaw dropping as the display spreads apart, revealing nothing short of what looks to be a super villain’s lair. 

What’s uncovered is a sturdy, metal, box-like room with a matching table in the center. On all 3 walls is a storage paradise- cabinets with hundreds of files dating back hundreds of years. Andrea’s breath hitches as her eyes are drawn to the red bolded acronym carved above each cabinet: H.Y.D.R.A. I was expecting Rumlow to be hiding some love affair, not a Nazi alter ego, Andrea thinks as she steps into the room, pulling a small camera out of her shirt pocket. 

The camera’s flash lights up the dim room in short bursts as Andrea takes pictures, doing her best to avoid the pit forming in her stomach. After her camera snaps every crevice of the room, she dives into the file cabinets. Starting with recent dates, her eyes rake over familiar names- Howard Stark, Margaret Carter, even Steve Rodgers. Andrea stops when she sees a folder different from the rest. It’s a bold red instead of muted beige, but what catches her eye is the date: April 15, 2014. “The Helicarrier launch,” Andrea whispers to herself. With slightly trembling hands, Andrea removes the folder from the cabinet, opening its contents. Project Insight is its title page. Andrea flips the page, and a small gasp escapes her lips as she’s met with pictures. Not normal ones, but pictures of the most renowned attacks in history. 9-11, the London Bombings, the Boston Marathon, Pan Am Flight 103. There are manufacturing plans of the planes, floor plans of the building structures, and a map of the marathon’s route. The ID of the criminals behind the attacks all have a similar, bold lettered acronym- H.Y.D.R.A.. They were behind it all. The innocent lives taken, the terror it caused, everything S.H.I.E.L.D. worked so hard to cover up and fix. It was all H.Y.D.R.A. That’s as far as Andrea can get through, as she’s interrupted by a sharp knock on the other side of Rumlow’s door. 

“Hey?! Who’s in there?” A sharp voice barks out. Rumlow. 

Andrea snaps photos of the pictures quickly, before stuffing the folder back into the cabinet it came out of. She curses the concept of secret rooms as she looks for a way to conceal H.Y.D.R.A’s basement of doom. The knocking gets louder as Rumlow begins to jiggle the handle aggressively. Drawing her knuckles across the empty spaces on the walls to hide fingerprints, Andrea’s fist lands on a small button blended in with the metal walls. Gotcha. She clicks the button, stepping out of the room just in time as it transforms back into a sleek bookshelf. 

On the other side of the door, Rumlows muffled voice asks the receptionist for a key. Andrea’s heart races, stepping carefully on his glass desk to hoist herself onto the vents. Her feet disappear from view just as Rumlow’s office clicks open. Andrea holds her breath as she screws the vent back into place. She watches as Rumlow steps into his room, an eyebrow raised with suspicion. He looks over his bookshelf as he approaches his desk. Right where Andrea stood. Rumlow dusts off a stray speck of dirt off his desk, eyes following the path it took- right where Andrea is. Her head ducks out of view just before his eyes land on the air vent. Rumlow scoffs, muttering something along the lines of custodians being incapable of cleaning is as useless as S.H.I.E.L.D agents who don’t know how to fight as he trots out of his office, slamming the door behind him. 

Andrea lets out a shaky exhale, crawling back to her office and uploading the photos to her phone, encrypting them and sending the to Fury. For the rest of the day, she huddles in her room, analyzing the crumbs of evidence she found. Her butt practically merges with her office chair and she’s sure her eyes sustained permanent damage an immense exposure of blue light, but she comes to one conclusion- H.Y.D.R.A is back, and they’re planning something that could destroy S.H.I.E.L.D.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Andrea constantly looks over her shoulder as she strides through the parking garage, anxiously checking her phone, occasionally swiping to her messages with Fury, where she sent him the pictures she found earlier. No response. 

Andrea locks her car doors as soon as she’s in the driver's seat, taking a deep breath as she checks all the seats in her car- just in case. As Andrea connects her phone to aux, her ringtone blares through the car speakers, making her jump. She tilts her head to the side in curiosity when she’s met with an unknown caller ID. “Rhayn,” she answers simply, starting her car and pulling out of her parking spot. 

“Andi,” Natasha answers, her voice more quiet and jittery than her usual bold self. 

“Nat? What’s wrong?” Andrea’s voice is laced with concern as she stops at a red light.

“You need to come to GW University Hospital. Fast. It’s Fury.” Natasha’s voice comes out in panicky fragments, raising Andrea’s heart rate. 

“What?? What happen-” She’s cut off as Natasha abruptly ends the call.

[starryixora]

Gilded- Bucky Barnes x Female!

Chapter 2: The Secrets He Keeps

"My whole life, I've tried to avoid fighting, but it always has a way of catching up to me. Maybe that's because it's what I've always been. A fighter" Andrea Rhayn has everything. A successful career at S.H.I.E.L.D- the most renowned intelligence agency in the world, thriving friendships with the Avengers, and a lavish D.C. penthouse in the center of the city with her best friend. But when she becomes entangled in Steve Rodger’s pursuit of the Winter Soldier, she’s faced with risking everything she’s worked so hard for. Will Andrea help the most ruthless assassin in the world seek peace, or continue to run from her own turmoil?

Gilded; covered or highlighted with gold or something appearing rich or luxurious but concealing something of little worth

“Neutralize!!” Andrea’s hands gesture sporadically as she sits cross-legged on her couch. It’s been hours since her meeting with Fury. Now, her dress slacks and button-up blouse are replaced with a pair of tiny hot pink shorts and a dainty white camisole. And her usual slicked back curls are bundled atop her head in a messy bun. Natasha plucks the empty glass from Andrea’s hand, pouring it to the brim with red wine. 

“Neutralize,” Natasha repeats, placing the glass of wine on Andrea’s still open palm. She shrugs, “I’ve neutralized, it’s easy. All you have to do is find where they would keep their deepest darkest secrets and slowly use it against them until their whole life is ruined!”

“Not when it’s, Rumlow.” Andrea huffs, taking a giant swig of wine. “He’s a prick. And very difficult to neutralize.”

“Well, pricks are always the first ones to die in horror movies,” Natasha responds, standing from her place on the couch to close the blinds on the windows of their shared penthouse. She has a unique way of signaling when a routine should start. Closing the blinds means it’s time to pour more alcohol, turn on a movie, or debrief about their days at work. 

“This is not a horror movie. And Black people always die first.” Andrea retorts, pointing to her brown skin. It appears more dewy than usual from the last rays of the D.C. sunset, which peak through the thin cracks of their window blinds, illuminating her skin. Andrea chugs the last of her wine as she walks to the kitchen, rinsing her glass. “I’m just so tired.”

“Of?” Natasha questions, closing the last blind and propping herself atop the countertop across from Andrea. 

“Of everything, Nat. The headlines, Rumlow, the Helicarrier launch. It’s too much, too quickly.” Andrea sighs as she slumps against the counter, giving into the chaos of the last few months. Ever since Andrea rejected doing field work for S.H.I.E.L.D. and stepped into the corporate branch, or the “real world” as Fury called it, she’s had a nagging feeling that she hates it as much as she hates fighting. Day after day, Andrea feels as if she goes through the motions. Report after report, sleepless night after sleepless night, it’s taken a toll on her. The bags under Andrea’s eyes and her wilting curls are clear evidence.

“My life is so boring. I thought coming here and refusing to fight would be more interesting. I’m constantly knee deep in paperwork, and whenever I have time to give orders, I just get eye rolls back.” Andrea’s voice is almost a whisper as she slides her back against the cabinets, her butt meeting the cool tile as it thumps against the floor.

“It’s been months since we’ve been in the house at the same time for more than 4 hours, Andi. And you’re more stressed because of this promotion. I mean, I barely see you eat a good meal, and sometimes I hear you rummaging around in the middle of the night. ” Natasha pads to where Andrea sits, sliding down the counter to meet her on the floor. “Is everything okay? You know I’m always here for you if you need to talk.”

Andrea freezes at Natasha’s question, her shoulders tighten as she shuts her eyes, squeezing her index finger and thumb between the bridge of her nose. But all she can see is that face. Staring right back at her- angry, unforgiving, and resentful. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees her. She sees both of them in her dreams. It’s hard to sleep when all you can see are the people you’ve abandoned and hurt the most, Andrea thinks. It's been years, but she thinks about them all the time. More than usual nowadays. Andrea’s golden-brown eyes fly open as they meet Nastasha’s blue ones. Natasha’s eyebrow furrows, her eyes softening emphatically as she scans Andrea’s face, trying to search for her emotions. 

“I’m fine,” Andrea answers simply, swallowing the growing lump in her throat. “I can handle this. I can handle myself. I probably just need a good night's rest.” Andrea plasters a weak smile towards Natasha, lifting herself from the cold tile.  

Natasha lets out a light chuckle, “Right. No Grey’s Anatomy tonight then, straight to bed.” Her tone is that of a strict mother as she joins Andrea from off the floor, grabbing her hand and leading her to her room.”

“Wa-it’s only 7!!” Andrea exclaims, light giggles escaping her lips.

“Yeah. And you’ll thank me in the morning when you finally wake up in a good mood!” Natasha jokes, squeezing Andrea’s hands lightly. “I love ya. Goodnight!” She chirps, closing the door in front of Andrea’s face, her hair blowing back with the sudden gust of air. 

Andrea lets out a big huff as she throws herself face down on her bed. And as her eyes close as she succumbs to exhaustion, she finds the courage to ignore the faces she’s so used to seeing.

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“Wow, Rhyan. Flats? Either you got laid, or have the worst hangover in history,” The security officer at the Triskellion’s entrance is quick to point out Andrea’s sudden change of footwear as she scans her badge for entry, receiving a cringe from her as a response. And although it’s true that she might’ve had too much wine last night, Andrea’s on a mission- breaking into her impudent coworker's office- and heels aren’t the most flexible for tasks like that. God, I better not die today, Andrea thinks as she flips the In A Meeting sign attached to her door towards the hallway and locks it. As far as she’s concerned, Rumlow is on recon until the evening, and Fury is “clearing his head” with a drive around D.C. Andrea stands on three books atop her desk as she unlatches the vent above it. Tight spaces aren’t her thing, but what’s a small panic attack over saving lives?

She hoists herself through the vents, clutching her office's floor plan as she steadily crawls through the metal pathway. Andrea’s knees ache, and she feels her heartbeat drumming through her ears. Not the time, Andrea thinks as she shuffles towards Rumlows office, taking deep inhales through her nose and exhales out her mouth, doing her best to enclose the panic rising from her chest. 

Andrea lets out a sigh of relief as she approaches Rumlow’s vent. She pumps her fist in victory, but the celebration is quickly spoiled as her fist hits the top of the vent, causing Andrea to yelp in pain as she shakes off her now throbbing hand. She quietly unscrews Rumlow’s vent, sliding it aside and descending using all the strength she can muster from her upper body. As much as she hates training arms, in this moment Andrea is grateful for her consistent discipline at the gym. She quickly locks Rumlow’s door and turns around to scan his office. 

Brock Rumlow is a boring man, and his office decoration reflects that. So Andrea’s not surprised by his minimalistic approach. Books and files stacked neatly on top of each other are scattered around his room, while his shelves and cabinets are sleek with a matte black finish. A stark contrast from Andrea’s maximalist approach- bold colors and dynamic furniture. Andrea swears under her breath as she notices his desk. A long, glass table. For the love of God, please. Andrea pushes her palms together, praying to anyone that would listen. Glass isn’t the best for compromising someone’s personal space; it’s the easiest to get handprints on, or know if someone other than you was there. 

Andrea circles the desk, looking for anything out of place. She lightly runs her hands across a bookshelf covering the entirety of one of the walls, but stops suddenly when she hears a faint click. The book she touched was nestled further in the wall. Andrea quirks an eyebrow as she pushes the book away from her even more, hearing a small whirring coming from the bookshelf. Holy cow. Andrea takes a step back, jaw dropping as the display spreads apart, revealing nothing short of what looks to be a super villain’s lair. 

What’s uncovered is a sturdy, metal, box-like room with a matching table in the center. On all 3 walls is a storage paradise- cabinets with hundreds of files dating back hundreds of years. Andrea’s breath hitches as her eyes are drawn to the red bolded acronym carved above each cabinet: H.Y.D.R.A. I was expecting Rumlow to be hiding some love affair, not a Nazi alter ego, Andrea thinks as she steps into the room, pulling a small camera out of her shirt pocket. 

The camera’s flash lights up the dim room in short bursts as Andrea takes pictures, doing her best to avoid the pit forming in her stomach. After her camera snaps every crevice of the room, she dives into the file cabinets. Starting with recent dates, her eyes rake over familiar names- Howard Stark, Margaret Carter, even Steve Rodgers. Andrea stops when she sees a folder different from the rest. It’s a bold red instead of muted beige, but what catches her eye is the date: April 15, 2014. “The Helicarrier launch,” Andrea whispers to herself. With slightly trembling hands, Andrea removes the folder from the cabinet, opening its contents. Project Insight is its title page. Andrea flips the page, and a small gasp escapes her lips as she’s met with pictures. Not normal ones, but pictures of the most renowned attacks in history. 9-11, the London Bombings, the Boston Marathon, Pan Am Flight 103. There are manufacturing plans of the planes, floor plans of the building structures, and a map of the marathon’s route. The ID of the criminals behind the attacks all have a similar, bold lettered acronym- H.Y.D.R.A.. They were behind it all. The innocent lives taken, the terror it caused, everything S.H.I.E.L.D. worked so hard to cover up and fix. It was all H.Y.D.R.A. That’s as far as Andrea can get through, as she’s interrupted by a sharp knock on the other side of Rumlow’s door. 

“Hey?! Who’s in there?” A sharp voice barks out. Rumlow. 

Andrea snaps photos of the pictures quickly, before stuffing the folder back into the cabinet it came out of. She curses the concept of secret rooms as she looks for a way to conceal H.Y.D.R.A’s basement of doom. The knocking gets louder as Rumlow begins to jiggle the handle aggressively. Drawing her knuckles across the empty spaces on the walls to hide fingerprints, Andrea’s fist lands on a small button blended in with the metal walls. Gotcha. She clicks the button, stepping out of the room just in time as it transforms back into a sleek bookshelf. 

On the other side of the door, Rumlows muffled voice asks the receptionist for a key. Andrea’s heart races, stepping carefully on his glass desk to hoist herself onto the vents. Her feet disappear from view just as Rumlow’s office clicks open. Andrea holds her breath as she screws the vent back into place. She watches as Rumlow steps into his room, an eyebrow raised with suspicion. He looks over his bookshelf as he approaches his desk. Right where Andrea stood. Rumlow dusts off a stray speck of dirt off his desk, eyes following the path it took- right where Andrea is. Her head ducks out of view just before his eyes land on the air vent. Rumlow scoffs, muttering something along the lines of custodians being incapable of cleaning is as useless as S.H.I.E.L.D agents who don’t know how to fight as he trots out of his office, slamming the door behind him. 

Andrea lets out a shaky exhale, crawling back to her office and uploading the photos to her phone, encrypting them and sending the to Fury. For the rest of the day, she huddles in her room, analyzing the crumbs of evidence she found. Her butt practically merges with her office chair and she’s sure her eyes sustained permanent damage an immense exposure of blue light, but she comes to one conclusion- H.Y.D.R.A is back, and they’re planning something that could destroy S.H.I.E.L.D.

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Andrea constantly looks over her shoulder as she strides through the parking garage, anxiously checking her phone, occasionally swiping to her messages with Fury, where she sent him the pictures she found earlier. No response. 

Andrea locks her car doors as soon as she’s in the driver's seat, taking a deep breath as she checks all the seats in her car- just in case. As Andrea connects her phone to aux, her ringtone blares through the car speakers, making her jump. She tilts her head to the side in curiosity when she’s met with an unknown caller ID. “Rhayn,” she answers simply, starting her car and pulling out of her parking spot. 

“Andi,” Natasha answers, her voice more quiet and jittery than her usual bold self. 

“Nat? What’s wrong?” Andrea’s voice is laced with concern as she stops at a red light.

“You need to come to GW University Hospital. Fast. It’s Fury.” Natasha’s voice comes out in panicky fragments, raising Andrea’s heart rate. 

“What?? What happen-” She’s cut off as Natasha abruptly ends the call.

[starryixora]

Gilded- Bucky Barnes x Female! OC

"My whole life, I've tried to avoid fighting, but it always has a way of catching up to me. Maybe that's because it's what I've always been. A fighter" Andrea Rhayn has everything. A successful career at S.H.I.E.L.D- the most renowned intelligence agency in the world, thriving friendships with the Avengers, and a lavish D.C. penthouse in the center of the city with her best friend. But when she becomes entangled in Steve Rodger’s pursuit of the Winter Soldier, she’s faced with risking everything she’s worked so hard for. Will Andrea help the most ruthless assassin in the world seek peace, or continue to run from her own turmoil?

Gilded; covered or highlighted with gold or something appearing rich or luxurious but concealing something of little worth

PSA: there’s no trigger warnings or anything right now either! But it can get a little dark in the coming chapters

1124 words

Chapter 1: Promotions & Orders

Another S.H.I.E.L.D Victory: Captain America Stops Mercineries and Saves Hostages

Andrea’s eyes scan over the newsletter for the fourth time before she lets out a coarse laugh. Really? I’m the one who strategized the whole thing. Cap just followed my orders. She thought. Ever since being promoted to an Executive, Andrea’s noticed a trend in S.H.I.E.L.D: debriefing headlines don’t feature the real victors.

Andrea groans when her cell's ringtone goes off. She curses under her breath as she reluctantly taps the answer button from her bedside table.

“This is Rhayn,” Andrea answers plainly, wiping her palms across her face in an attempt to brush off her initial frustration.

“Andi! Where are you?!” Andrea’s shoulders relax at the familiar raspy voice blaring through her phone.

“Hey, Nat! I’m not in yet.”

Speaking of in, Andrea’s reminded that she should be getting up from bed. She turns over on her mattress and is met with the time- 9 AM.

“Crap,” Andrea whispers under her breath. Maybe her promotion is getting to her head-and sleep schedule.

“You’re not in?!? God, I thought you just got a pay raise, not a shift change.” Andrea scoffs dramatically at Natasha’s remark.

Along with Steve Rodgers, Natasha Romanoff was Andrea’s first friend when she got here, and the first to genuinely welcome her to S.H.I.E.L.D. Everyone else was too busy seeing her as an alien- although that’s not exactly far off from what she is. “No, I got both. I've actually been blessed with being the higher authority instead of taking orders from one. So I make my own schedule,” Andrea replies as she swings her feet off the side of her bed, already missing her soft duvet and silk pillow sheets.

“Something tells me that you’re not even out of bed, hun. Be here in 60 or I’m tattling to your boss!” Natasha hangs up abruptly as Andrea pads to her bathroom sink. She's left to her devices as she removes a mane of curly hair from under her bonnet. Andrea’s ringlets bounce to attention from under it, wildly sticking out from her head, disregarding her efforts to calm them the night before.

Yeah right, like she’ll be ready in less than an hour.

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As Andrea settles into her office at the Triskellion-S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters, she glances at the gold-plated plaque perched on her desk. Andrea Rhayn (Level 2): Special Operations Executive Coordinator. It’s just a stupid plaque, words don’t mean anything. Andrea thinks, drumming a pen against her chin. But it means everything to her. Shows her where she came from and where she’ll go- if they can stop mercenaries from hijacking cargo ships.

“How’d we do?” Andrea whips her head from her desk and her lips curve into a smile as she's met with friendly blue eyes.

“Well, if it isn’t Mr. America himself!” Steve Rodgers greets Andrea in a quick embrace.

“We almost didn’t pull it off.” He says, pulling away to make eye contact with her, his eyes glinting with their usual playful spark.

“Sure…” Andrea says flatly, rolling her eyes. “I saw your headline, Steve. I’m sure you were fine.”

“You know that's not true.” Steve objects, “You’re the brains behind every single mission. That headline is yours. We both know that, Andi.”

Andrea sighs, running a hand through the ponytail she slicked back earlier that morning. “Do you have a report for me? Where’s Nat?” She changes the subject, shoving her hands into the back pockets of her dress slacks as she sticks her head out of her office’s door frame, waiting for a scarlet-haired woman to appear.

“Nat’s meeting with Fury, giving more intel. Hostages are secured, and-”

“Good.” Andrea interrupts, “I expect nothing else. This is like breathing for you guys.”

“Yes ma’m.” Steve throws up a stiff salute, flashing a smile. “Well, I outta get out of here, Rumlow also needs a report.”

Andrea frowns. “Level 3 agents don’t have clearance for classified mission reports.” He’s lucky Fury even let him in on this one.

Steve shrugs. “So, should I give it to him? He seems pretty adamant”

“Yes. Just keep me updated if he asks for any more reports.” Andrea answers, walking Steve to her door.

Steve nods and retreats out of Andrea’s office, shutting the door behind him. What does Rumlow need with a report? Andrea asks herself, pacing across her room. Level 3 agents aren’t permitted to ask for reports. As suspicion rises inside of her, part of Andrea wants to let Fury know, but he’d just roll his eyes and ask her to deal with that “insolence” herself.

Rumlow isn’t exactly the nicest either. Most times, he ignores Andrea’s direct orders, often smirking in defiance. Oh, how Andrea wishes she could punch that smirk right off his face. And his posture. Rumlow struts around with nothing but arrogance, ego, and a little bit of sexism.

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“Rumlow’s a threat, but I’m sure you know that already.” Andrea states as she stands in front of Nick Fury’s desk, her 3-inch red bottoms clacking as she taps her foot impatiently.

“Then neutralize him,” Fury answers bluntly as he signs another mission report.

“I don’t neutralize. That’s not me.” Andrea quips, finally settling into the chair in front of Fury’s desk. Doing her best to bottle up her frustration and seal the lid. Tightly.

“I’m not asking you to kill him Rhayn. I’m just asking you to put him in his place.” Fury sets his pen down as he leans forward on his desk. “I can count the amount of people I trust on one hand. You’re one of them. Rumlow is not. I know something is going on, that’s why I want to put you in a position to investigate. The Helicarriers launch in less than a week, keep him out of our hair until then.”

“So you promoted me to keep an eye on your men?”

“That’s one reason, yes.”

Andrea sighs, crossing her arms. “I’m not one of your spies, you have Romanoff for that.”

“You’re not. You’re more to me than that. Listen, you’re practically sunshine and rainbows, and I know confrontation doesn’t come easy to you. But you can use that to your advantage-.”

“So you’re calling me timid then?” Andrea interrupts with a raised eyebrow, unconvinced by Fury’s statements.

“You're not like Steve or Natasha. They're direct. Defiant. Rumlow read your files, he knows your past. And because of that, he knows that you’ll follow my every word. He's looking for a weakness." Fury states.

“To do what?”

"Maybe knock you down a few pegs? He’s always wanted Level 2 but he’s given us no reason to give it to him. But I’m not sure, that’s what I need you to find out. You have forty eight hours." Fury picks up his pen and goes back to signing papers, a clear sign that Andrea's dismissed.

Andrea exhales in a heavy sigh, smoothing out her pant legs as she stands. “And if I’m compromised?”

“Neutralize him.”