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starryixora · 1 month ago

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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.