#cause i need to wear a suit to this stupid fucking conference in two weeks

[tskumoyuuma]

anxiety is so stupid. been dreading n putting off doing this one stupid thing for literal months cause I'd never done it before. finally forced myself to do it today n it took like 10 minutes, most of it walking to n from the place. was shaking the entire time

[luveline]

Hello Jade! I have a request for hotch if that’s okay, I was thinking something like he’s dating sunshine!reader who goes to a police precinct with the team and the sheriff/deputy insults Hotch in front of her (maybe she’s not part of the BAU so he doesn’t realise she knows Hotch?) and she snaps and punches him/pushes him to the ground and afterwards she’s really quiet and refusing to tell anyone what happened cause she doesn’t want Hotch to hear that people were bad mouthing him. Everyone is confused cause she’s usually so bubbly and it’s disconcerting to see her so stern but she has to protect her man damnit 😤

(Ps I’m the anon who got confused about rules n you’re right I was looking under guidelines not requests 🤦🏼‍♀️ sorry!)

hi babe, thank you for your request! (and no worries at all, no sorry necessary!!)

—hotch is dumbfounded when you slap a deputy sheriff, but you have your heartfelt reasons. fem, 2k

You're not specifically BAU, but when Hotch calls, you answer. You don't look BAU either in your skirt with your blue laptop carry case; twice you're asked what you're doing in the precinct and if you need assistance, but eventually you get to the centre of the action upstairs, meandering through the detective's desks toward a conference room with a sticky-taped sign that says to knock before entering. 

"Hey, Spencer," you say, shouldering open the door. "They leave you behind?" 

Spencer turns away from his white board. "I'm more useful here right now. Did you bring the ethernet cable for Garcia?"

You put your laptop case on the table and pull out her desired cable. "Where is she?" It's hard-pressed for Penelope to be found anywhere away from her computer during case times. You must get twenty or more rejection emails a month from your fellow tech analysist. Sorry, working a case :'( 

"Bathroom. There's a kitchen if you need coffee. You have a badge?" 

You flash your visitor's badge at him. "Get you one?" 

"Four sugars. Thanks, L/N." 

You flash him a smile. The kitchen is back the way you came and to the right. It's nowhere near big enough for the workforce, three tables and one microwave next to a sink full of mugs. You smile at anyone who looks at you and beeline for a coffee pot. No one questions you. They must be used to outsiders invading their space this week. 

"Mean fucking guy." 

You tilt your head to the side, hand paused in their cup cabinet above the sink. You shouldn't be nosy, but they're not being very quiet, either.

"He has to be mean, I guess. That's a tight ship to run," says a second voice.

"I'd understand it if I thought they were getting somewhere. It's been four days, and between the string bean and his pushpin map and that tech girl who won't shut up? They're doomed. The boss is either too stubborn or too damn stupid to realise." 

You close the cabinet and turn around. 

"I fucking hate this shit. Ties in their suit jackets coming into our investigation and chasing the wrong leads. We could've had Miller in cuffs two days ago if Hotchner hadn't shut us down, two days ago! And now another kid is dead, and there's not a drop of remorse on him. He doesn't care about doing his job, he–" 

"He what?" you ask. Your heart is beating hard before you've so much as parted your lips, your hands trembling. You screw them into tight balls. 

"Excuse me?" 

Your opposition is a rough hewn man in a deputies badge, a cup of coffee held between two paws. He narrows thick salt and pepper brows at your question, his mouth screwed into a telling snarl. 

"You think Agent Hotchner doesn't care about his job? So why is he here? Why did he agree to take the case?" 

"Who the fuck are you?" 

You shake your head in annoyance and take the FBI badge from your little cross body bag. You toss it on the table, your beaming face looking up at him a juxtaposition to the glare you wear now. 

He stands up from his table. The lunch room hushes but the riot of precinct cacophony stays strong just outside of the door, a thrum that battles your roaring heart. You're so angry you can barely speak, and it'll only get worse. 

"I'm sorry you have to hear it from me, darling, I am, but your boss out there? Agent Hotchner?" The deputy scoffs. "He's a fool running blind. He turned away from the real issue here. He's a prideful, narcissistic idiot who's let the power of his paycheck get to his head, and as far as I'm concerned? So long as he stops us from arresting Jaden Miller? He's a murderer, too. The blood is on his hands." 

You know you're going to slap him from the moment he says 'murderer', but the knee to his crotch straight after is a surprise even to yourself. All you're thinking for one horrible white-hot moment is How can I hurt him? It's shameful, and you slam your knee up a second time anyhow. 

—

"You can tell me what happened now or later, but it's going to be much easier on you if you tell me now." 

Hotch hates this part. What he wouldn't give to have someone else here to reprimand you. He understands why Gideon left and he wouldn't want him back unwillingly, but Hotch thinks your nightly phone call may go over smoother tonight if it were Gideon standing in his place. Half the time Hotch finds he's uninterested in scolding you. It's why you stay firmly in your department and away from his bias in the BAU. He can't be optimal at his job while you're around. 

It's not limited to telling you off, of course. When you're near, he wants to act like it. He wants to take your hand, hold your arm, rub a palm between your shoulders. He wants to pull you into his lap, or pinch the soft lobe of your ear between his fingers to watch you shiver, blow warm air at the back of your neck to hear your laugh. This cold silence is his worst nightmare, but he can't cross the line. 

Well, he can't cross the line too much. 

In the privacy of a cordoned, borrowed office, Hotch can sit beside you. The blinds are closed, and his intimidation act wasn't getting him anywhere anyways. More flies with honey than vinegar. 

"I can't show favouritism here, do you understand? Especially when you're being physically violent against the deputy sheriff." Hotch watches the soft pillow of your bottom lip tremble in a private terror. "I know you wouldn't do this for no reason. I know. Give me a reason to take your side and I will." 

"I don't want to talk about it." 

"Did he say something inappropriate?" 

You don't answer.

"Did he?" Hotch can feel the anger he's been pushing down start to rise. When a woman like you, happy-go-lucky, pretty, and always smiling, turns to violence, it's not hard to picture why. He knows full well the horrible things a man can say to a woman. "Please, trust me to take care of this." 

"Hotch, I really don't want to talk about this. You can reprimand me, send me home." 

"No. Tell me what he said." 

You glare at him. Hotch finds with a heart-skipping hurt that it's the first time he's been on the receiving end of your disdain. "No. I don't want to." 

"And I don't want to send you home." He knows how he looks, stony-eyed and furrowed brow. He has to try hard to relax into a more neutral expression. "I won't. Not when I know you'd never hurt someone." 

"Well, I did." 

"We all do things we don't mean to in anger." 

In the quiet, he can hear Emily asking loud questions about what happened, and her almost comedic gasp as someone informs her of the situation. Morgan couldn't find the words to tell Hotch over the phone what happened, just told him to hurry back, and it was doubly difficult to get the story out of Spencer, who'd been the one responsible for standing in your way. 

"He called her a bitch," Spencer told him. "I didn't want to hold her back after that." 

The sheriff deputy has a good hundred pounds on you, so no matter what he called you, Hotch is glad you were pulled away. 

Hearing that you'd been called a bitch set his nerves aflame. When Spencer explained that this was said by a man on his knees after a swift jab to the crotch, Hotch was more confused. 

He follows a whim. He's biassed for sure, but he knows you're the most beautiful woman in any room that you walk into. It doesn't shock him that a high-ranking authority figure would take advantage of his position to make a pass at you. 

"You have nothing to be ashamed of," he says softly. "Whatever he said to you, I– I'm not supposed to support violence, but I understand if it got too much. Sexual harassment is unjustifiable, and I'll stand with you and your actions completely." 

"He didn't harass me, Aaron," you say, looking down at your knees. You're wearing dark stockings, pinching at the fabric distractedly. 

"Did he touch you?" 

"No, Aaron–" You sigh frustratedly. "I don't want to tell you what he said because it's not true." 

"He insulted you?" 

"He insulted you." You glance at him and then away. "I couldn't stand it." 

If there weren't cameras in the room he'd bundle you into his arms and kiss the slope of your cheek, because how is he supposed to handle this? You're hitting people when they talk bad about him now? 

Hotch doesn't need to ask to know it was bad. You're a well-meaning, well-adjusted person. You'd hardly hit somebody for calling Hotch a jerk. Something severe would've been said to have pushed you over the edge, but, to his detriment, Hotch has heard a thousand awful things about himself from a thousand different mouths, and he doesn't worry about what it was. 

"Alright. Listen to me carefully." Your shoulders stiffen. "I don't want you hurting people over me. I don't need you to defend me. I don't want you to fight my battles for me, and I certainly don't want you assaulting people on my behalf." 

Your lip again begins to tremble. "I'm sorry." 

"No. Don't be sorry." He covers your knee in his hand gently, ducking his head to meet your glassy eyes. He's gone about this the wrong way, upsetting you unnecessarily. He rushes to correct it. "I love that you want to defend me, I love that you did, and it isn't lost on me how much it means to have you at my side, but… You could have been seriously injured. Honey, picking on someone your own size is a double-sided coin. What if the deputy hit you back?" 

"I'm not afraid of getting hurt." 

He leans down more, imploring, desperate to be heard. "I'm afraid of you getting hurt. Me. I'm worried someone's going to hurt you when I'm not around." 

"He was saying all this stuff about you and it wasn't true–" 

"It's okay," he says, shaking his head slowly from one side to another. "It doesn't matter. I know what people like him think of me, and he's not in an easy position." He drops his voice to a murmur for your ears alone. "I'm not saying you should agree with him, I can't tell you that I like him much." 

You laugh weakly, the sound quickly melding to a sniffle. "I'm sorry, Aaron. I shouldn't have hit him. I don't know what came over me." 

"We get angry for the people we care about." 

He can't kiss you, really, not at work, but he can show you some heavy affection. It's a boundary crossed. Luckily, Hotch knows you won't report him. 

"Thank you for defending me. You can stay on the case if you promise not to do it again," he says, squeezing your smaller hand in his, drawing a lopsided heart with his thumb into the back of it. 

"I'll promise not to do it again if he promises to keep his stupid mouth closed," you mutter. 

"Is it wrong of me to like this version of you?" he says. 

You look him straight in the eye, your usual lightness restored, if dimmed just a touch. "I like all your versions, Agent Hotchner." 

"Good. Remind the version that's your boyfriend to treat you accordingly tonight. Okay?" 

You nod emphatically, both relieved and chastened. "Okay. Thanks, handsome." 

You look tired. Tonight, he'll kiss you like he means it, maybe a touch too rough but apparently you're a hard ass now who can handle it, and he'll hold you close even if he can't give you the attention you deserve until the case is done. He'll make sure you know how much he appreciates your protection, rub your back for hours just the way you like it while sleep fails. 

"You're welcome," he says. He has more to say but there's no more time to waste. There's still work to be done. 

It'll come easier with you at his side, he's sure. 

[wienerbarnes]

Left for Dead (1/2)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Cheek to Cheek)

Word Count: 1,803

Warnings: mentions to bombs and mission stuff, mentions to past torture

A/N: a lil two parter! I'm def a shorter writer so I split up reader’s first mission as opposed to posting like a 5k one shot (unless y'all dig that better for the future???) I’m gonna queue the second part to post on Friday idk what time but otherwise we all know id forget... so. enjoy!

MAIN MASTERLIST | CHEEK TO CHEEK MASTERLIST

It was finally time for your first mission. The night before, F.R.I.D.A.Y. prompted you with the fact that there would be a briefing this morning at 8 A.M. You’d figured the superheroes weren’t the type to sleep in.

As much as you’d been enjoying the return of your clothes, you figured it’d be safest to keep the black-on-black outfit for these briefings and anything else you’d be involved in. Attention is not necessarily something you’d want to draw on yourself right now.

You finally find the room you’re supposed to be in and find about eighty other agents. A wave of anxiety rushes through you and you feel your stomach churn. You want to look around and find someone you recognize but Sam is the only one you see; you don’t know anybody. You’re scared to talk to new people, to have small talk, you’re scared of what they’ll say to you, if they’ll remember your face from the news.

You see near the front a blonde head of hair - Sharon. You haven’t spoken to her, but she’d be the safest bet, except there’s no empty seat on either side of her. She’s conversing with a woman with ginger hair to her left and a large body with short brown hair occupies the seat to her right - Bucky!

You notice there’s an empty seat next to him and quickly make your way over before your luck diminishes and someone takes it.

Bucky registers somebody take a seat next to him, which surprises him because most of the agents are still a little scared of him after spending seven weeks training with him. He certainly doesn’t treat them like shit, but he doesn’t baby them, either. He almost doesn’t notice it’s you when he glances up; he forgot you’ve changed your look a bit.

The tattoo on your next is covered with makeup, the angry face too much of an identifying feature. He knows you hate it and were planning on getting it covered anyway. You’ve removed all of your piercings and all of the tiny holes remain empty along your ears. You’ve managed to keep the tiny stud in your nose, though. Your hair is a jet black color now and it shines in the light. How has your hair survived that many dye jobs? Stupid rules for this job; no brightly colored hair or large body modifications, excluding tattoos. Draws too much attention.

He can sense your anxiety next to him; your heart is beating a mile a minute and you’re super tense. He wants to say something, do something to make you feel a bit better, put you at ease, but he can’t think of anything before Sam calls the attention of the room.

“Morning, everyone. NCIS has requested our help with finding a bomb on a Navy ship and figuring out the identity of the woman who told them about said bomb,”

Images flash up behind him projecting pictures of said woman, looking scared with a bloodied bandage on her forehead. She has a fluffy pixie-cut style dark hair and pale skin, or perhaps her skin is pale in comparison to the caked blood matted on her head. Her eyes are a bright green with minimal wrinkles adorning the outer corners. She couldn’t be older than thirty-five.

“A citizen driving by saw her wandering about the street next to a forest and when he approached her she claimed she was buried alive and couldn’t provide any information about herself; not her name, age, where she came from, or who buried her. All she kept repeating was something about a bomb on a Navy ship that was going to kill a lot of people.” Sam continues.

“I’ll be sending some of you out to Rock Creek Park to scope out the scene and some of you to Georgetown University Hospital to talk to Jane Doe. You’re dismissed but await further instruction and be prepared to ship out.” Sam finishes and everyone begins to stand, engaging in small conversations as they exit the room.

You begin to stand and follow suit but a metal hand reaches out in front of you to encourage you to take your seat once more. You throw a confused look over at Bucky, but he’s not looking at you. You glance over to Sharon, who’s staring down at her phone, and to Sam who is flicking through the file in his hands. The four of you, you notice, are the only ones still in their seats, and you quickly make the connection that you’re supposed to wait until the rest of the agents leave after a briefing.

Maybe they’re gonna haze you, newbie. You roll your eyes at that little voice as the door shut and hear it lock audibly.

The three of them glance up and stare at you expectantly. You glance between all three of them before you give up on figuring out what exactly they’re waiting for.

“Are you guys gonna haze me?”

Sharon smirks and Bucky full on chuckles at your question as Sam clarifies, “Do you see anything?”

“Oh! Oh, right, right. Uhm… It kind of doesn't work like - um, I’ll try. I’ll try and concentrate.” You excuse, and close your eyes to force yourself into that mindset.

Most of your visions happen unexpectedly and randomly, otherwise you need to put yourself in a kind of entranced state of concentration in order to, essentially, force a vision. Forcing it is usually what causes you to get the most emotional and frazzled, but nothing you can’t handle.

You feel your face heat up at the shyness your abilities are presenting right now; “Um, can we turn the lights off?” You ask quietly.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” Sam speaks up.

The lights dim and you try to slow your breathing.

She’s covered in leaves and wet from humidity, the stickiness feeling unbearable on her skin. Her skin? Whose skin is that?

“It-It’s a shallow grave, and - and there’s leaves, um -” All you see and feel is pure confusion. You don’t know anything. “Why is it so shallow? They bury people six feet because - because that’s the depth where animals can’t smell dead, rotting flesh - except - except polar bears because they -” Your rambling is cut short at the sound of Bucky’s soft voice and his warm hand engulfing your shaking, clammy one.

“Sweetheart, try and focus on the Navy ship she was talking about, the bomb on the Navy ship.” He tries to get you back on track.

“Right, right, sorry,” You take a deep, shaky breath in and let out with force to calm yourself a bit.

It’s all quick white flashes, so fast and so bright that can’t see the images in between. All you get are feelings of fear and guilt -

“Do you know if she set the bomb?” A deep voice interrupts.

“Sam,” A feminine one scolds.

“What? There’s only one person that seems to know about this bomb and we’re not going to consider her a suspect?”

“She doesn’t even know who she is,”

“But -”

“She didn’t set the bomb!” You exclaim, everything becoming incredibly overwhelming all at once.

“How do you know?” Bucky asks, his calm demeanor influencing your own as you rub your face to somewhat pull yourself together.

“I - I - I just do! I don’t know! I - I keep seeing bomben hersteller, what - what is that?” You ask.

“That’s bomb fabricator in German.” Bucky translates.

“Okay, let’s stop for a second.” Sharon says, “This is a lot of new information, we should wait and see what evidence and samples come back from the crime scene and see what we can get out of her when the agents interview her at the hospital, maybe her condition’s changed and she remembers something, yeah?” You quickly realize that Sharon is the piece of mind between the dynamic of her and Sam while he strategizes the plans. They work extremely well together.

“Okay, okay. Agent, you did very well. Good job.” Sam praises before leaving to exit the conference room, you assume to go give the agents their orders. Sharon sends you a sweet smile before following Sam out.

You look back at Bucky and he’s already looking at you, smile on his face. “You did really good.” He tells you.

“Thanks.” You respond, feeling a lot calmer.

The two of you are sitting awfully close to each other, you notice, bodies turned to face each other in the rolling chairs you sit in. Bucky’s leaning closer towards you than you are him, his forearm pushing on the armrest and you find yourself pulling your eyes away from his and they travel around his face.

Bucky has beautifully long eyelashes and tiny sunspots and freckles that decorate his skin; skin that’s had over a hundred years of wear. He’s kept his hair short but has been growing out his beard, not to an uncomfortable burly length, but enough to leave quite the dark shadow. His tongue pokes out to wet his lips and your eyes flash down there.

You don’t even remember the last time you kissed someone, let alone someone you actually wanted to kiss, not a kiss that was forced upon you. Is he actually about to fucking kiss me right now?

Panic quickly rises through your body and you clear your throat and look away, “Uh, now what?”

“Huh?”

“Well, I can’t go out on missions or anything, so do I, uh, just wait to be summoned, I guess?” Summoned? Why are you so awkward?

“Pretty much, yeah. I’ll, uh, be sticking around, too. Sometimes for ongoing missions I stick around in one of the spare rooms until the case is over.” He softly tells you, unmoving from how close he’s sitting next to you and voice still low and smooth, not looking away from you. Can he tell how nervous and awkwardly attracted to him you feel right now?

“What about Alpine?” You whisper back.

“What?” His eyes are the ones drifting down to your lips, now. Soft looking lips that look like they could kiss him silly and unconscious.

“Alpine?”

“Oh, uh, she stays with my, uh, my neighbor. This little old lady next door to me.” Great, now I’m thinking about my old lady neighbor. You’re biting that lip now and he thinks he might start drooling when you stand suddenly.

“I, uh, just remembered. I have to… clean! I have to clean up, so. I’ll see you.” You push out before finally exiting the room and making your way down the hallway.

You release a frustrated, “Fuck…” as the elevator doors close in front of you.

Meanwhile, Bucky lets out his own groan of frustration in the conference room, hands pushed against his eyes rubbing harshly, “Fuck…”

[paodequeijofeliz-blog]

Let me tell you a good story

Bloodbound Fanfiction (characters and main story belongs to Pixelberry Studios).

Pairing: Kamilah Sayeed and MC (Annie)

Information:  this takes place after Bloodbound 3, here I’m recreating how Kamilah and MC would meet if she had never gone to Raines Corporation right away.

Summary: Thirty years after meeting Annie for the first time, Kamilah is now a wife and a mother. During a regular family dinner, she decides to tell her daughter and their new son-in-law the story of how she fell in love with Annie after an unusual meeting through the hallways of NYU.

Warnings: none

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Let me tell you a good story - Part 3

March 2nd, 2048 “No way!” Drake leaned back on the chair, laughing his heart out. “You didn’t realize that Ms. K. Sayeed was her??”

“No!!” Anna whined behind her hands. “I found out later.”

“A month later, might we add.” Kamilah was shaking her head judgementally. “You cannot imagine how much fun I had listening to her complaining about the boss, ‘Ms. Sayeed’, right in my office.”

“FOR ONE MONTH?” Drake’s chin fell.

“I… I… Uh, come on! It’s not my fault. She signed her works with ‘K. Sayeed’. How the hell would I know? I don’t google every author I read.”

“But, ma’am, she told you her name was Kamilah right before joining a conference which had for main lecturer a ‘K. Sayeed’.”

“Wait, let me defend her now.” Lysia put a hand on Drake’s arm, suddenly monopolizing his attention. The diamond ring on her finger sparkled against the light. “In Brazil, Kamilah is a quite common name, but not with a ‘K’. It’s always with a ‘C’. She had never met a ‘Kamilah’ with a ‘K’ before. Therefore, she couldn’t link my mom’s name with ‘K. Sayeed’. It’s like someone telling you her name is ‘Kate’ right before going to a conference held by, I don’t know, ‘C. Hudson’. Would you automatically think this could be a ‘Cate’ with a ‘C’?”

Kamilah gave her daughter a proud smile. There was her little genius lawyer showing up. Every time Lysia put on that tone on her voice, so delicate yet firm and confident, the vampire queen would feel the urge to applaud and hug her tight. She grew up so fast. When did my little fairy princess-ninja become a beautiful woman?

“Ok, ok. Now I get it.” Drake gave in, melted by the argument as much as by Lysia’s touch. “Go on. When did you find out? What happened?”

Annie took a deep breath, her face already back to its natural colour. “So, after I basically criticized and called her thesis’s conclusion to be stupid… And laughed at Adrian’s thesis as well… Kamilah just fell in love.”

The woman beside her almost choke on wine. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, please. You got horny cause I had the audacity to criticize your work. No one had done it before.”

“MOM!” Lysia twitched her nose. “Please, do not say horny. That’s not a picture I want in my head.”

“Alright. Your mother felt very… Blissful. She spent an entire week thinking about my gorgeous audacity, until she finally took the courage to invite me out on a date. Actually, to command her assistant to do it.” Anna shot an accusing glare. “Couldn’t do it yourself, huh? Coward.”

Kamilah crossed her legs, avoiding that look. “We could say, if you insist, that I was only being careful to let someone more… Social… Handling the situation. And it wasn’t a real date.”

Annie laughed. “Right. I know you just wanted to see me again.”

 August 22nd, 2018

             Days were getting a bit too cold for Anna’s taste. She had grown in such a hot city that anything under 25ºC (77ºF) was already considered freezing. Hence why she was wearing heavy pajamas and socks that afternoon, all covered in blankets while eating cookies. It was her day off and Princess Bride was on TV. She had seen it a hundred times, for it was her favourite movie, yet still laughed at the same jokes. One day, months later, Annie would watch it again with her girlfriend. Three years from now, with her wife. In ten years, with her five-year-old child between her legs. But tonight, all she was aware of was a warm feeling on her chest, the urge to see someone she didn’t know how to find.

           “Stop it”. She stared at the cookies, scowling. “It was just a random woman. You don’t even know anything about her. She could be a boring ass businessperson.”

             “Ahem.” Kamilah interrupted the story, an icy glare coming down at Annie. “I don’t understand why being a businessperson sounds like a flaw in your mouth.”

           “Not the point. Hush.”

             The movie was about to end when a high sound made Anna jump on the couch.

           “Phone! Ok, where is it…” She went looking around the mess of books and papers, until finally finding it hidden inside a pencil case. “Yes, hello. Hi.”

           “…Am I speaking to Ms. Anna Mali?”

           “Yup, that’s me. Who is this?”

           “Ms. Mali, my name is Jacob Lee, I’m… Kamilah’s assistant. She wished to know if you’re available to have dinner tonight, at seven o’clock.”

           “Oh.” Annie sank on a chair, confused. “Are you asking me out on a date? I mean, Kamilah. Through you.”

           “I’m… Not sure if she would like me to answer that. I was specifically told to call you and set dinner to either tonight or Saturday night. Whatever suits your schedule.”

           “Right. Can you put her on the phone, please?”

           “She is at a meeting now.”

           “Of course.” Annie sighed, disappointed. “Ok. Tonight’s perfect. Where should I meet her?”

           “I’ll text you the address. Thank you for your time, Ms. Mali.”

           Something was off. Anna stared at her phone, trying to understand what just happened when Lily’s voice appeared from the steamy bathroom. “So, I think now we’ve officially ran out of hot water. What ya doing, girl? Let’s put another movie on.”

           “I... Think I might have a date. In two hours.”

           “WHAT? Is it the hot woman you met that day? Was it her on the phone?” Lily grew impatient by the silence. “Come on! Give me something here!”

           “Yes, I… Lil, okay, listen, this is super important. Help. Me. Look. Gorgeous.”

           She took the mission seriously. Without much time to think about it, Lily fetched a nice fancy dress, combed her hair into a loose bun, put on a provocative shade of red lipstick and, finally, struggled against the decision of which coat letting her use. Normally, Anna would wear something warm and heavy. It was 20ºC (68ºF) outside, and for her that was enough reason to burry herself in clothes. But Kamilah would definitely judge it.

           “Ok, blood. You better boil in there and keep my friend warm because we’re doing this.” Lily handed her a light and elegant lace coat.

           “Is my accent too strong?” she bounced at the doorway, still unsure.

           “Yes, and for the hundredth time, don’t let this bother you so much. You speak four languages, for fuck’s sake. If anyone around here mocks your accent again, I’ll kick his ass. Stop worrying and go. Text me if you need rescuing, alright?”

           It was 06:45 when she left the apartment. Ten minutes later, her cab stopped at the destination.

           “Have a good date, miss!” said the driver.

           “Thank you! But… Wait, is this correct?”

           “Yes, miss. It’s the address you gave me.”

           They were parked outside a huge and beautiful business building. Not the kind of place for dates. Anna walked in with a confused look on her face. A sign on the wall said “Ahmanet Financial”. That’s oddly familiar. The moment she approached the balcony, a young man came to greet her. His voice sounded familiar the minute he started speaking.

           “Good evening, Ms. Mali. Kamilah must be down in a minute. Could you kindly wait at the lobby?”

           “Hm, Jacob… Right? Jacob Lee.”

           “Yes, that would be me.”

           “I’ll wait, no problem. She can take her time.”

           “No need.” Kamilah’s voice made them jump. She had just stepped out of the elevator. “You can go back upstairs, Jacob. Thank you.”

           “Yes, Ms. S… I mean, Kamilah. Boss. I’m going.” The assistant seemed troubled, walking hesitantly away from them.

           Anna opened her mouth to ask what the hell happened to him, but she shut it when her eyes noticed the look on the other woman’s face. Kamilah’s stare started on her shoes, slowly climbing the legs covered by pantyhose, passing through the black flowered dress, lingering a while at the neckline and finally reaching the red lips. The Brazilian felt so deeply analysed a shiver went through her spine. Kamilah’s critical eyes weren’t giving away her thoughts. She could be either enjoying or hating the view, there was no clue.

           “Good evening.” Anna spoke, both hypnotized and insecure. “Uhm… You… You look gorgeous. Well. Fancy. You look fancy. Let’s go with that.”

           Kamilah arched an eyebrow, slightly surprised. “Thank you. May we go?”

           “Sim. May. We may.” Annie sighed. “Sorry, sometimes I still struggle against the language.”

           “Don’t worry. I am familiar with the feeling.” Kamilah walked back to the elevator without even checking if the girl was following.

           “So, you’re not American?” she tried to catch up her fast pace.

           “No. I’m Egyptian. But I came here a long time ago.”

           Annie kept her silence, well-aware that the woman was staring at her again. Maybe that wasn’t a date at all, but a job interview. Maybe she was being considered to fit a position. No… It doesn’t make sense. My work has nothing to do with all of this. When the elevator doors opened, it was to the entrance of a highly fancy restaurant. A tall hostess came to greet them while another one guided both to an empty table by a huge window.

           “Red or white?”

           “What?” Anna looked away from the view. “Oh, the whine. White, please. Sauvignon Blanc.”

           Kamilah kept her posture, not even glancing at the whine menu. Even though her expression was unreadable, the tone on her voice seemed a little impressed. “You heard the lady, Mr. Kendall. Bring us the best Sauvignon Blanc you have.”

           “Right away, miss.”

           Anna watched as the waiter left them, suddenly noticing they were the only two clients there.

           “How was the other professor’s article?”

           “Who?” The Brazilian woman looked down, momentarily searching her memory. There went the fingers entangling again. “Oh. You mean Faith? From that night? It was good. There were a few improvements to do, though.”

           “I see.”

           Anna smiled as the waiter poured the wine for them. Her hands seemed to hesitate, waiting for Kamilah to drink it first, only then taking a sip herself. After that, her body began to relax, black eyes sparkling as analysing the Egyptian’s features. “How was the lecture? Did you enjoy it?”

           “It was pleasant. Some of the speakers were quite good.”

           “I actually googled Ms. Sayeed works afterwards, while I was waiting for Faith.”

           Kamilah’s lips opened a small smile, her voice showing a hint of curiosity. “And?”

           “She has some articles about history I wasn’t aware of. She can be really interesting when is not talking about economics.” Anna taped her fingers together, trying to speak slower so she wouldn’t miss the pronunciation. “I read four of them. Two about history itself. Loved these. She gets the job of the historian in a way only a few do… It’s almost like she can feel the passing of time, our history, differently than the rest of us.”

           Kamilah crossed her legs, still amused. “What about the other two?”

           “It’s hard for me to criticize it, they were about Egyptian history. I don’t know much of this subject. It was well-written, that’s for sure.” Anna narrowed her eyes, like something was finally connecting. “Wait.”

           Egyptian history. Egyptian woman. Ahmanet Financial.

           “This place…” She inclined her head, confused. “Is this place hers? Ahmanet Financial?”

           “Yes, it is.”

           “And you… Are you like… Her partner or something? Do you work for her?”

           Kamilah sighed. I cannot believe this. “Well, yes. I suppose we can say that.”

           Anna was still blushing. A beautiful tone of pink matching the red lips. “I knew the name of this building was familiar. Why didn’t you tell me? I wouldn’t have said all these things if I knew she was your boss.”

           “I appreciated the honesty.” Kamilah seemed to become more serious, her smile replaced by a solid face. “Ms. Sayeed… People don’t often say such straightforward thoughts about her work. Although I do disagree with you in many aspects, your opinions were truthful and valuable.”

           Annie closed her eyes of embarrassment. Since she was already feeling exposed, why not rip the band-aid off? “Kamilah, is this a date or a professional meeting?”

           The woman in front of her laughed for a second. “Oh, dear. You couldn’t possibly handle me on a date. Now… Let’s get down to business.”

[diinofayce]

Like A Whisper In The Night - 10

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC (Layne Hardin) | Word Count: 5,494 | Warnings: Swearing (probably), Violence, Angst, a dust bunny amount of fluff | A/N: I hope this chapter flows okay. I’ve been having a rough time getting my brain to do brain things. I re-read and re-wrote this like eight times. Scrapped like a whole 6k words to get this even remotely okay-ish. | PREVIOUS CHAPTER

If anyone can guess what song Layne is using in this chapter to help her block Hydra from her head gets a prize of some sort. Like a cookie or a prompt request. No using Google though!! That’s cheating!

It had been four days since FRIDAYS emergency alert sounded through the tower notifying everyone of Layne’s distress. The team had all rushed to the conference room, everyone looking confused and wild eyed. Bucky looked around at the others who mirrored his concern and all had the same question: how the hell did she get taken? No one knew she had even left the tower after the interrogation which had only been about fifteen minutes prior to the alert sounding. It all seemed to happen so fast, the enemy must have been waiting positioned outside of the tower looking for the perfect opportunity and Bucky was acutely aware that he had given it to them. Tony had pulled up the tracker that was in her bracelets and it said she was in Central Park. Steve and Bucky took off and found her things sitting neatly on a park bench. Bucky picked them up with slightly shaking hands and Steve watched his best friend carefully because it had been a long while since he had seen the man so distraught.

The days following had been filled with extensive searching of the surrounding areas and keeping an eye on all the nearby airports. They were coming up empty day after day and Bucky was starting to get more and more combative with the rest of the team. It wasn’t until breakfast on the fourth morning when Bucky nearly ripped Clint’s head off, throwing a ceramic mug at him, for taking the last cup of coffee without starting a new pot that Steve grabbed Bucky and pulled him aside.

“What has gotten into you?” Steve asked harshly, his hands locked on Bucky’s shoulders holding him in place.

“I just, I’m pissed. Why wasn’t a tracker in her suit? How are we not finding her?” Bucky asked trying to brush Steve off of him.

“We’re all frustrated, Buck, but none of us are attacking each other over it.” Steve countered. “Look, I know you have feelings for her or whatever is going on, but I need you to calm down. I need you level.”

Bucky let out a huff of air and carded his fingers through his hair, thumping his head on the wall behind him. “Steve, it’s my fucking fault she was out there. What if she was so pissed at me that she left with them willingly?”

Bucky had been crippled by that fear for the last couple of days. He kept replaying the day of the interrogation over and over in his head. It was stupid, flirting with Agent Mahoe, but he was just trying to see if he felt any sort of spark with someone like he did with Layne. He hadn’t been into it and was at the point of just going through the motions out of courtesy until he could get the chance to ghost the agent when Layne had graced them with her unfortunate timing. Bucky still had that fifty in his wallet, burning a hole in his back pocket reminding him of his idiocy, anxious to be able to give it back to her and ask her to go on an actual date with him.

“How is it your fault? She probably just needed to clear her head after the interrogation. She should have known better than to leave the tower on her own, she knows we always go in pairs,” Steve clapped his friend’s shoulders and stepped back, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Bucky took another deep breath and chewed on his bottom lip, looking at Steve hesitantly. He was going to get chewed out for his confession, good ol’ Captain America would have plenty to say on Bucky’s behaviour. “We slept together. The Thursday before the mission,” Bucky admitted, not able to meet Steve’s gaze.

“What?” Steve asked perplexed. “That’s incredibly unethical, Buck.”

Bucky frowned and raised his gaze to glare at his friend. “As unethical as you fooling around with Natasha? Does she know you went to coffee with Sharon?”

Steve flushed, thinking that him and the red headed assassin had been more discrete. But Bucky had always been more observant than Steve was, even before the training. “Of course she does. Natasha trusts me.” Steve blushed brighter remembering how in between coffee with Sharon and the interrogation Natasha reminded Steve exactly which relationship he was apart of. Steve paused, realization dawning on him and he looked at Bucky with a mix of incredulity and disappointment. “You were flirting with Agent Mahoe.”

Bucky dipped his head in defeat and pursed his lips, shoving his hands in his pockets and kicking his heel against the wall. “Layne didn’t want to talk about us or make anything official until after the mission and then we got so swept up with helping the new recruits…I just never bothered trying to talk to her. I figured she was over me or was not into me in the first place or I don’t know. I don’t have a line of thought for anything that’s happened the last couple weeks.” Bucky groaned closing his eyes and thumping his head back onto the wall.

“That’s crap, Bucky, and you know it,” Steve said and pulled himself up to full height, ready to give Bucky one of his Captain America lectures when FRIDAY’s automated Irish lilt filled the air.

“There is a woman on the main floor demanding to speak to Sergeant Barnes, Captain Rogers, and Mr. Stark. She is getting quite persistent and is claiming it has to do with Agent Hardin.” FRIDAY  informed.

Bucky and Steve looked at each other, Steve still looking at his friend very sternly. “We’re not done with this chat,” Steve said with a bit of a threatening note before grabbing Bucky’s jacket collar and tugging him off to the elevator.

Steve and Bucky met Tony coming off of another elevator in the lobby. They exchanged confused glances before their attentions were redirected towards the main commons of the lobby. There was a bit of a commotion and both tower employees and tourists who could come and take pictures with cardboard cutouts of the Avengers in the main entrance were standing around staring at an aggressive argument happening between two agents and a woman.

As Bucky got closer he immediately recognized the red hair, bandanna, and bright sleeve tattoos of Layne’s best friend; Susanna Sweet. She was wearing a black T-Shirt with a ripped denim vest covered in patches and leather pants. Her motorcycle boots were sans heels this time but she had a motorcycle helmet and leather jacket tucked under one of her arms as her free hand jabbed a finger into the chest of one of the agents. It was the tourists sudden excitement and flashing of cell phone cameras that alerted Susanna to the arrival of the three men. She looked up at them, her green eyes flashing with anger and it caused the men to pause.

Tony finally stepped forward waving off the agents who had also paused at their arrival. “Agents…you. Go back to what you were doing. We can handle this from here.”

“Johnson and Ramirez,” Steve whisper-hissed at Tony.

“What? Oh. Agent Johnson, Agent Ramirez. Good work, thank you.” The agents looked at each other and then back at Susanna who quirked an eyebrow at them. They quickly stepped out of her way as she stomped over to them.

Susanna raised her chin as she stared at them with controlled rage, when drawn up to her full height she stood nose to nose to with Tony and to the man’s defense only the muscle in his jaw twitched at her aggressive stance. “Do you want to take me somewhere private so I can tell you all how you fucked up or do you want me to let you know here?” She bit out through clenched teeth.

Tony cleared his throat and clapped his hands together. “Conference room then? Right this way, Ms. Sweet.” He reached out to guide her, but retracted his hand when she gave him a look that threatened to leave him needing a permanent iron appendage. Susanna quietly fumed the entire elevator ride up and until Bucky closed the conference room door behind them. She tossed her bike helmet and jacket on the table with a loud clatter and pulled her phone out of her vest pocket.

“So, one of your team members gets kidnapped and you can’t open your phone lines up? I have to come all the way out here from Minnesota to do your job for you?” Susanna seethes at them.

“Phone lines?” Bucky asked stepping forward, placing his palms flat on the table, his face knitted in confusion.

“I have FRIDAY block all encrypted calls to the tower. We’d get basement losers with voice scramblers calling the tower all the time reporting fake catastrophes,” Tony explained, leaning against the far wall and crossing his arms. Steve stood next to him with his hands on his hips, eyes trained on the woman in front of him.

“I got this call three days ago and I couldn’t get any of your agents to listen to me when I tried calling, eventually they blocked my number,” Susanna explained, hitting a few buttons on her phone and setting it on the table.

White noise crackled through the speaker before a soft hint of labored breathing could be heard. “Suzu? It’s Layne,” her voice was strained and quiet. “I have to be quick. You have to get a hold of Tony or Steve - I can’t - FRIDAYS defenses wont let me through. I was taken and I sneaked a phone from a guard but they’ll figure it out soon. Tell them I think I’m north of border, tell them I’m outside of any major cities and I heard one of them say something about a river and I heard rushing water when I was outside. There’s a complex of old bunkers. Please? I’m sorry.” There was a scuffing noise just as a sound of a large heavy metal door was thrown open. There was yelling and swearing and the sound of flesh against flesh before the line went dead. Sue’s fists were clenched around the back of a chair, her knuckles ghost white as she glared down at her phone on the table.

“There’s an old Hydra base on Moose River in Ontario, they had a meltdown at some point - I think in the seventies - and abandoned it,” Bucky said softly, his voice cracked and broken. He felt like someone had reached into his chest and clamped around his heart as he listened to her message, the thought of someone laying a hand on Layne made the acid in his stomach roll.

Steve nodded looking from the phone to Bucky. “I’ll get Natasha and Clint out there scouting ahead immediately. The rest of us will be wheels up in two hours. FRIDAY?” Steve called, immediately going into Captain America mode.

“Already alerting the others, Captain,” FRIDAY answered as Steve left the room, clapping Bucky on the shoulder as he went by.

Tony looked from the phone to Susanna to Bucky before clapping his hands together again, a nervous reaction he was never able to shake. “Right. Barnes, why don’t you show Ms. Sweet to Hardin’s room? You’ll have moderate access around the living and common areas. I’m going to go pick a suit.” He nodded to Susanna politely before also taking his leave.

That left Bucky and Susanna alone in the conference room, he looked up from where he had been staring a hole into the table to her through his chestnut hair. She was still radiating anger as she looked furiously at him. He stood and tucked his hands in his pockets, “Um. I guess if you want to follow me?” Bucky said reaching for the door. Before he had a chance to grab the handle Susanna had made her way to him in two strides, her fists tangled in his jacket and slamming his back against the wall, the plaster cracking on impact.

Bucky stuttered slightly, staring at her with disbelief. Sure she had caught him off guard, but he wasn’t exactly the lightest guy on the team and the walls of the tower weren’t exactly made of flimsy drywall.

“I’m going to level with you, Robocop. I don’t like the fact that I get a text saying you’re an asshole one second and a voice mail saying my girl is in danger the next. I like to think I’m pretty goddamn calm, but I’ve watched you stand here and scuff your toes in the carpet. So if you do not man the fuck up and bring her home safe I will personally make sure that you’re no longer able to shit without a bag attached to your side,” Susanna stated, sounding ever so calm and level headed.

Bucky reached up to carefully grab Susanna’s wrist with his metal hand to pry her grasp from him, but she redirected the grab slamming his metal arm into the wall next to him. The vibranium plates that made up his arm groaned and more spider cracks appeared around the impact point. Bucky raised his eyebrows at her in surprise, “You didn’t need help unloading your truck, did you?” She gave him a cheeky wink in response. Letting go of Bucky, Sue stuffed her phone in her pocket and grabbed her things from the table. “You going to show me to my room or what?”

~*~

Natasha and Clint had confirmed activity in the bunkers off the Moose River, so the rest of the team dropped the second quinjet down behind the tree line a mile out. When they converged Nat and Clint informed the others that it seemed like a fight had broken out in the complex. Bucky’s heart swelled with both pride and worry knowing that the only thing that should be causing a fight in there was Layne. They had decided that Bruce would stay on one of the jets unless there was a Code Green, so that they would have him for emergency medical if needed. Steve and Natasha were going to take the left couple of bunkers while Loki and Bucky were going to pair up and take the right. Sam, Tony and Clint would be running air interference. Wanda and Vision were tasked with finding any other hostages and getting them to safety.

Bucky hadn’t had the chance to really work with Loki yet and having both an unknown force with him and against him had his nerves on high alert, but he knew that if anyone was going to have a chance to help with Layne it was going to be him. Only Loki knew the full extent of Layne’s powers, even more than she did. All comlinks active in their ears the team dispersed, knowing their directions they started to make quick work of the complex.

Bucky and Loki made it through a bunker, taking down a handful of Hydra agents, but seeing no sign of Layne or Daniel. They weren’t necessarily here to rescue Daniel, but they figured if they came across the man they would bring him in. They didn’t even know if he needed rescuing or capture, but they knew Layne would never forgive them if they had a chance to get him and let him go. As Bucky and Loki approached the second bunker Natasha’s voice came over the comlink. It sounded strained and disgusted.

“I doubt we’ll find hostages. I have a bunker full of bodies, all various states of decay.”

Bucky’s heart caught in his throat and he almost ran to where Natasha was, willing to dig through corpses to make sure Layne wasn’t in there.

“Stay on target, we’ll go back to that building after if needed,” Steve’s voice responded, sounding just as distraught as Nat. Bucky couldn’t bring himself to picture what they might be looking at. After having been captured in the forties and dealing with that prisoner camp, he knew what a pile of rotting death looked like and he steeled himself hoping that he wouldn’t have to go foraging for Layne’s body.

“We need to split up,” Loki said tersely. He would never admit the affinity that he allowed to grow for Layne. He admired her quite a bit and the thought of her lifeless in that bunker terrified him more than he would ever let on. “We can’t risk them disposing of her or leaving with her. I’ll take this one, you take the last.”

Bucky nodded in understanding and shifted his hold on his gun. He trudged through the ankle deep snow, making barely any noise as he approached the last bunker. The door had already been blown off it’s hinges but no scorch marks or blast damage could be seen around the sight. Leading with his gun, one eye down the scope Bucky checks both directions and hears voices down the left hallway. Stepping carefully, wary of any traps that were activated with their arrival, he froze as a Hydra soldier was physically thrown from a room to his right and collided against the opposite wall crumpling to the ground.

Bucky could hear a man’s voice talking softly, as if trying to placate a child, as another’s voice screamed in pain before being silenced suddenly. Bucky peeked around the corner, gun risen, to see Layne with her back to the doorway and a man with a shock of brown curls approaching her carefully with his hands up, a Hydra agent lying still on the ground at Layne’s feet. Layne was dressed in a white hospital gown, bruises bloomed bright against her pale skin on her legs and arms. The man was in dark jeans and a blue t-shirt with a black tactical vest on. What drew Bucky’s gaze was the small metal box that seemed to be surgically attached to the left side of his head, small red scars roped out of the sight across his shaved scalp.

“Stand down,” Bucky barked appearing in the doorway, gun trained on the man. He looked up over Layne’s shoulder and raised his hands more.

“No, you stand down. You don’t know what you’re walking into,” the man barked back. Layne turned slowly to Bucky’s voice and his chest clenched in pain as he saw the left side of her head shaved and the same box attached to the side of her scalp. The rest of her long brown hair was swept to the side, held off the fresh looking surgery sight with a braid and some pins. A trail of blood ran from Layne’s left ear and her upper lip and chin had blood crusting to them as well, a sign that Bucky has come to notice that she was overexerting her powers.

Layne assessed Bucky, her head tilting to the right and she took a slow careful step towards him. A small light on the silver box activated and Layne’s brown eyes melted into a fiery gold. Bucky felt a strong flutter in his chest, it was like the training session when Layne was forcing his consciousness out of his body. He tried to suck some air into his spasming lungs but the feeling just intensified. Layne’s expression hardened and she raised her hand, another light switching on on the little box.

It happened suddenly, the last four days of memories pulled to the surface of Bucky’s mind. The initial conference that had everyone full of confusion and concern before they dispersed to try to find her. The hopeless searching, Bucky sneaking into her room at night to surround himself in her comforter and smell, finding a small stash of her booze and finishing it himself. His encounter with Susanna and being over powered followed by the antsy flight to Canada. But then it went further back and Bucky winced at the feeling of his mind being invaded. It wasn’t like Hydra when they would wipe them from him, it was more like she was flipping through the pages of a book. Layne landed on the coffee shop with Steve, Sharon, and Lola. The memory played like a movie, every comment Bucky made to Lola and every little touch; Bucky could feel Layne’s jealousy rip through him like fire and Bucky tried to push back with his own lack of feelings towards the other agent.

Then memories that weren’t his filled his head. Layne sitting on a park bench alone in Central Park, feeling sad for herself, when suddenly her brother sat down next to her. The long car ride where Danny would refuse to talk to her and a Hydra agent getting fed up with her questions and knocking her out with a blow to the temple. Layne sneaking a phone from a guard and trying to get through to the tower before finally calling Susanna in a fit of desperation - the beating that followed her discovery. How she was strapped down and forced to project into different girls, they were trying to get Layne to separate their powers from them and put them into Hydra agents. Bucky watched as every girl died at Layne’s forced hands twenty odd girls in the three days she had been forced before a woman, not much older than Layne, declared she would get the same enhancement as her brother. They did it to her while she was awake, they couldn’t risk putting her to sleep or she ran the risk of going brain dead. Bucky felt everything she felt in that instant, searing through his head, and it dropped him to his knees.

Layne released her mental hold on him and wobbled slightly, Danny rushed forward and caught her elbow - worry etched on his face. Bucky growled at him and stood shakily. Layne brushed her brother off and approached Bucky, running her fingers along the scruff of his jaw.

“She doesn’t know but when she’s gone I sit and drink her perfume. And I’m sure she’s drinking too, but why, where and what for and who?” Layne muttered and Bucky looked at her with confusion, but the opening of a door distracted the three of them. The doctor from Layne’s memories stepped forward, pistol raised and pointed at them. Layne and Daniel bristled instantly, Daniel stood with defiance while Layne almost shrunk back from the woman trying to make herself small.

“Whisper, the activation words,” Doctor List ordered simply, her black hair falling stick straight to her shoulders in a shiny sheet. Daniel had rooted through Layne’s memories for List on Layne’s first night here, he had told the doctor that Layne knew the Winter Soldier activation words but he couldn’t quite get a hold of them. Her dark eyes were crazed and menacing and Danny took a step to the side to put himself in between her and his sister.

“That’s fine, Specter. Give me the Winter Soldier, Whisper or I kill your brother,” she demanded again, pulling the hammer back on the gun.

Layne whimpered and shook her head. Her eyes were screwed shut tight and her teeth clamped down on her lower lip. A light was blinking on the box on her head and she started humming some song. Blood starting dripping from her nose and down her lip. Bucky growled and raised his gun to the woman. There must be a control in the little box and the thought of her being a puppet for Hydra like he had been for so many years made him even more furious.

“That’s not gonna work, sweetheart,” Bucky responded harshly, grabbing Layne gently to pull her behind him.

“Forced fed, forced meds ‘til I drop dead. You can’t defeat her, when you meet her you’ll get what I said,” Layne whispered behind him. Bucky glanced back at her quickly, worry flooding his eyes before refocusing on the woman in front of him, gun pointed back at her.

“What did you do to her?” Bucky demanded, clicking his comlink line open.

“I gave her brain an enhancement, the same as I did her brother. She’s stubborn and strong willed, she just wants to fight. Daniel was such a good boy, compliant and strong, but now he wants to fight too. No bother, once I bring the Winter Soldier back to Hydra I wont need two little ghost children,” She fired her gun, and Daniel fell to the ground. Bucky responded by landing a bullet in between her eyes. Bucky felt Layne rush passed him and watched her fall to her knees next to her brother. Daniel let out a groan and moved to sit up.

“I have Layne and her brother, I need an evac immediately - Daniel has been shot. The doctor is dead,” Bucky said into his link and strode over to the two siblings. The bullet connected with Daniel’s shoulder just to the inside of the strap finding the soft spot under his collarbone, Bucky looked to the wall behind him and saw the bullet impact. “It’s a through and through, you’ll be okay. Can you stand? I have a good doctor on the plane,” Bucky held his hand out for the man and Daniel looked at it warily before reaching up with his good arm and taking it.

Bucky looked down at Layne who was still kneeling on the floor, her hair hanging in front of half her face. Daniel put a hand on her shoulder, rocking her softly and she looked up at them.

“Come on, doll, we need Banner to look at you. Let’s go home,” Bucky said bending down and picking her up carefully. She responded by burying her face in his neck and letting out a soft whimper. Bucky and Daniel met the rest of the team outside and everyone loaded into the jets. Bruce immediately went to work on Daniel’s shoulder, Natasha and Clint stayed behind to make sure there was no intelligence left in the base.  

Bucky sat towards the back of the jet, waiting for Banner to have a moment. He still had Layne in his arms, she made no move to get out of his lap when they got into the jet and he didn’t move to let her go. As selfish and guilty as it made him feel, he was relishing this contact with Layne. He buried his face in her hair and could smell the underlying scent of blackberries lingering under the sweat and blood. He softly ran his hands up and down her back in soothing motions as he closed his eyes to shut out the world. He could feel Steve and Wanda watching him carefully, both the only two that probably had an insight to what had been going on between himself and Layne, but he didn’t care. Bucky felt hot tears on his neck and he rocked side to side softly, making soft shushing noises in her hair.

He felt like such a fool, wasting time avoiding Layne after they got back from the mission and then messing around with Agent Mahoe. One big week of bad decisions led to Layne getting taken and experimented on and it was all his fault. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter as tears pricked at the corners.  

“Who’s jealous, who’s jealous, who’s jealous of who? If I get busy then I couldn’t care less what you do. But when I’m by myself I think of nothing else than if a girl just might be getting through and touching you,” Layne whispered against his throat and Bucky sucked in a sharp rattling breath.

“I’m sorry, doll. God, I’m so sorry. We’ll get this all fixed and then we’ll talk. I promise, I’m not leaving you,” Bucky whispered into her hair, squeezing her to his chest.

Banner and Daniel approached the back of the jet where they were sitting. Danny had a bandage wrapped around his shoulder, the arm up in a sling. “Does she still have the block up?” Danny asked, looking at his baby sister with concern. Layne looked up at Danny sharply, betrayal evident in her gaze as her eyes started to shift. Danny held his good hand up and stepped back.

“Block?” Bruce asked looking cautiously between the siblings.

“There’s a control in these boxes. I broke mine a while ago, I kept playing the part of their puppet and they never questioned. Layne is blocking their command signal, knowing her she’s probably playing some really annoying song playing over and over in her head,” Daniel responded. “She, for obvious reasons, doesn’t trust me so I don’t want to break into her mind to pull her barrier down. She’ll do it when she feels safe again.”

Layne continued to glare at her brother, not seeming pleased that he was speaking for her. A yellow light lit up on Layne’s box and she made a snarling noise, flicking her eyes over to Wanda. Wanda sucked her bottom lip in between her teeth and held her hands up, remorse evident in her eyes.

“I just wanted to see if I could help,” Wanda explained softly, a soft sob catching in her throat.

Bucky could hear the little mechanisms turning in the little three inch by three inch box, the yellow light going out and he could feel Layne’s muscles relax. He watched as Loki, Steve, and Tony all exchanged glances before Tony stepped up and clapped Daniel on his good shoulder.

“You wouldn’t mind working me through those little boxes of yours?” Tony asked.

Daniel looked at Tony carefully, taking in the iron suit that he had yet to take off. “They’re enhancers and I’m not exactly sure I want to hand over the secrets to them to the one other person who could replicate them. You already manufactured warfare once.”

“Well, I’m probably the most suited to getting them off of you.” Tony snarked, folding his arms across his chest. His stance was was a weird combination of offensive and defensive. He hated having the weapons thrown in his face and he was disgusted by the notion that he would mass produce an Inhuman control device. Tony was having serious thoughts about throwing the man out of the jet.

“Get them off?” Daniel scoffed. “That’s the last thing you should be doing. Hydra did us a favour with these, I just need to get Layne to let me take the control monitor out and she’ll be fine. The power mutation that runs in my family’s line is more of a burden then anything, there’s no way to actually control it all of the time. Now we can; pull memories selectively, remove souls from our opponents without leaving our bodies vulnerable, flip a mental switch and be able to read the auras. There is so much we can do now because of these enhancers. Besides it was brain surgery to get them in, it’ll be brain surgery to get them out.”

“And you just offered your sister up to them freely?” Bucky growled softly, he felt Layne knit her fingers in his jacket, but kept his glare on Daniel.

Daniel narrowed his eyes and licked his lips. “I had to play my part, I’m supposed to be their little puppet. If Hydra had told you to go kill your mother when you were the Winter Soldier - would you have?” Bucky tried not to wince at his question, knowing that he was right in that regard. “Besides, as horrible as getting the damn things put in is; she needs it. Once she gets the hang of it, no one kidnapping her or forcing her to do anything ever again.”

Everyone blinked at Daniel, Bucky looked down at Layne who was now blankly fiddling with a zipper on Bucky’s jacket. Tony pursed his lips as he looked down at the newest member of their team. When he had flown out to Minnesota to recruit Layne it was for a motley of reasons. He figured her intensive research into the DNA behind Inhumans would prove invaluable to Banner’s research and maybe give a break in the mystery behind the boy’s serum. He figured her powers would not only be good at keeping everyone in check, especially Barnes, but he also could see the asset behind her meticulous work and planning that was evident in her research papers. Tony, however, for all of his infallible planning never saw the girl getting taken and tainted like the rest of them.

“Yeah, well, I know a guy who could have those out in two seconds,” he finally spit out and turned away, bottling his emotions deep down inside like he was one to do.

“Wheels down in five minutes,” Steve called back from the pilot’s seat and Layne burrowed herself into Bucky more, still keeping a wary eye on her brother. Daniel looked down at his sister and frowned, she would forgive him eventually, she’d have no other choice.

NEXT CHAPTER

TAGLIST

Strikethrough means your tag doesn’t work

@tilltheendwilliwrite @inumorph @vaultingphilosophy @this-kitty-has-claws @suz-123 @fiveftofury @hippie-taco-lady @magellan-88 @winterbuttmunch @part-time-patronus @amandarosemire @lloeppky @ruinerofcheese @marvel-lucy @antares1980 @lbouvet @epicbooklove @sarahp879 @champion-ofthe-sun @youngmoneymilla @oddone92 @sebs-manbun @zombienaomi @kagome1414

[pnrrish]

♦ pynch :3c

♦ slow dancing

Uncomfortable heat and the clatter of too many voices swirl out the door as it opens, light from inside the conference hall spilling out onto the empty veranda in stark blocks of gold and almost-black on the cement. Adam doesn’t look up, only shifts his weight from one foot to the other; there’s enough glass in the French double doors that the difference between open and closed is minimal. He’s supposed to be schmoozing since Gansey had hinted at networking opportunities, despite that it’s just the graduation reception for this year’s crop of Aglionby seniors, but Adam just wishes he hadn’t left his jacket in the coat closet when he’d arrived. It’s either unusually cold for mid-May or he’s just having that much trouble getting warm.

“I thought I’d find you out here.”

Adam turns his head to see Ronan making his lazy way across the patio, thumbs in his pockets, cutting an impressive figure in the well-fitted charcoal-gray number Matthew had gently bullied him into wearing. He looks good in it–very good, in fact, and Adam has to turn back around to surreptitiously loosen his tie so that his suddenly-pounding heart doesn’t pop a button. Of course, Ronan doesn’t notice, just installs himself at the railing, close enough to bump shoulders and wall off a little of the night breeze.

Adam sighs and leans the side of his head against Ronan’s warm shoulder. “I needed some air. All that networking with fifteen-year-olds and their parents was giving me a migraine.”

Ronan barks a laugh, slips his arm around Adam’s waist and presses in close, burying his face in the cool skin of Adam’s neck and breathing deeply. Even though he can’t see it, he can imagine the face Ronan is pulling, that marriage of tolerant grimace and fond smile that he loves. “They love you,” Ronan says. “Best-looking salutatorian in Aglionby history. How many job offers did you get?”

Adam laughs and leans closer. “None. I got about six board members asking for yearly donations, though. I told them nobody’s getting anything until they take my shitty picture out of the brochure.”

“Serious?” Ronan huffs into Adam’s shirt collar, his smile poking through the fabric. “I would have paid good money to see the look on Pauls’ face.”

Andre Pauls, the decrepit and bad-tempered head of the Giving Society, would have very quietly had an aneurysm at the mildest of curses, so it’s with a wistful tone of regret that Adam says, “Well, I didn’t say ‘shitty’.”

“That’s real funny, Parrish. I didn’t think you were a wuss.”

The door glides open again and the dwindling chatter inside washes over them–it’s gotten late enough that most everyone has left in pursuit of sleep or a wilder party. Footsteps. A muttered oh, excuse me. The footsteps retreat; the door remains open. Grumbling, Ronan shucks his suit jacket and tosses it over one of the rusted wrought-iron lawn chairs, yanking at the knot of his tie.

How unfair, how that does nothing to ease the constriction in Adam’s chest.

“C’mere,” he says, tugging at Adam’s sleeve and pulling him close. He laces their fingers and buries his face in the crook of Adam’s neck, next to his right ear. Someone inside finds an acoustic guitar and starts plucking a skillful, if tone-deaf, rendition of some John Mayer song that Ronan groans at. But he sways to the music all the same.

I don’t think I wanna go to L.A. anymore; I won’t know what it’s like to land and not race to your door….

“I hate this song.” Adam smiles, leans more fully into Ronan’s warmth–he’s not listening to the music at all, just relishing the chance to be close. A chance he regretfully hasn’t had since Christmas—spring break had been a hectic maelstrom of internship interviews and service projects and twenty-page papers that left a total of zero time to go home—

(when had he started thinking of the Barns as home?)

—and so this light touch is more than enough for the moment, cheek to cheek, his fingers linked behind Ronan’s neck, Ronan’s hands settled on Adam’s hips, gently shifting weight from one foot to the other, not quite on the beat.

I’m gonna steer clear: I’d burn up in your atmosphere.

“Think you’re gonna be around much this summer?”

I’m gonna steer clear, ‘cause I’d die if I saw you, die if I didn’t see you there…so I don’t think I’m gonna go to L.A. anymore.

Adam really should have seen this question for what it was, but instead he answers without thinking. “Oh, I hope so. It’ll be tricky with the internship but I’ve got a couple weeks between that and my summer classes—”

His first hint that this conversation isn’t going the way he’d expected is Ronan’s wary interjection: “Summer classes?” This isn’t the first time they’ve talked about this. This isn’t even the first time Ronan’s given even the slightest hint that he might not be thrilled about the idea. Adam presses on, ignoring the sudden churning in his gut because if he can just explain one more time—

(The guitar stumbles drunkenly over a chord progression and skips a verse: Wherever I go, wherever you are, I’ll watch your life play out in pictures from afar….)

“Yeah,” he says, unable to keep a hint of annoyance from creeping into his voice. “The two summer classes that’ll take me a month and a half to finish. Seriously, Lynch, it’s like you haven’t heard a word I’ve said all year—”

“I heard the part where I get two weeks with you from now until Christmas—”

“You know Thanksgiving is a thing, right?”

“That’s two days, and I honestly don’t know why you’d bother when it would be so much cheaper to stay up in Philadelphia.”

“Because I want to? Because I miss you and I want to spend time with you?”

The second hint that this conversation isn’t going the way Adam expected is the barb laced in Ronan’s response:

“Why?”

The kid with the guitar has stopped playing and the conference hall is dark—and honestly, that’s probably for the best. With the party well and truly over, the only people privy to the argument are Adam and Ronan themselves.

“The hell do you mean, ‘why’?” Adam’s long crossed the line from bewildered and annoyed to pissed, not just at Ronan’s instant, overboiling hostility, but at all of this in general. The way Ronan gets moody and snappish the day before he has to leave. The way he answers every question with either deflection or unwarranted venom. The way he walks around like an explosive on a timer that’s steadily ticking down to an unknown deadline.

Like he thinks there’ll come a day when Adam decides there’s nothing in Henrietta worth coming back for.

Like he thinks it’s so inevitable that he might as well blow it all up now and save them both from wasting any more time.

When Ronan doesn’t answer, Adam keeps talking, his voice shaking and his hands numb with anger. It’s all he can do to scramble for the right words; if they’ve had this argument once, they’ve had it a hundred thousand times, and he keeps hoping he can find the magic combination that will make him finally understand.

“You really think I’d rather be in Pennsylvania right now? Where it starts snowing in September and traffic is always the shittiest and the only person I can have a normal conversation with is my eighty-year-old history professor?” His breath is growing shorter and shorter by the word, his fingers tremblingly clutched in Ronan’s shirt collar, his heart thudding painfully. Somewhere under his ribcage, an ache like roots is spreading, oily and deep. “If I keep doing summer classes, I–there’s a good chance of me graduating early. I’m not just thinking about tomorrow and next week. I’m thinking about in three years getting to come back and stay instead of doing this for one more year. I don’t want to stay up there. I want to come back home.” His throat catches on the last word, tripping over the h like a scratched disc, and he feels the burn of tears beginning to fall.

Ronan’s blinking owlishly, face full of understanding, silent only for a few moments.

“Oh, Adam,” he says softly. “Don’t cry. I’m not going anywhere.”

He can’t help it—his breath goes shuddery and deep and dry, groping dumbly for the air he’d almost been afraid he’d lose. Ronan’s hands are warm and soothing on his neck, thumbs swiping at cheekbones, forehead against forehead.

“You’re incredible,” Ronan murmurs. “Sometimes it’s hard to even look at you ‘cause I know you’re gonna do something amazing. And all I can think is, wow, I sure hope I get to watch it happen somehow. I wanna see where you go ‘cause it’s going to be fucking mind blowing.”

Adam is reminded, briefly, strangely, of the dreamlike summer before Penn: wandering the Barns for hours at a time, only working when he wanted, eating his fill, and Ronan a ghost in his own house for weeks, too insecure to start a real fight but too stubborn to try to talk it out. It had turned out to be nothing, but Ronan had made a similar confession the night before Adam left.

“You sure you don’t want to stay up on campus for Thanksgiving? That’s a lot of driving to only be down here for two days.”

“That’s stupid,” Adam said, rolling over to pull the blanket out from where it had fallen between the bed and the wall. “When would I see you?”

Ronan heaved a sigh. “I just figured you’d rather do anything except come back to Podunk Central.” His voice twinged, like it cost him a lot to admit. Adam went still, his arms still half tangled in the threadbare quilt.

“I’m coming back to you, dummy,” Adam said. He leaned across the pillow to pepper kisses along the expanse of Ronan’s mouth and cheek. “And I can’t wait.”

Finally, Ronan smiled.

“And what the hell,” Adam says now, “am I gonna do when I get there and you’re not with me?”

“Die, I guess,” Ronan says instantly, easily. “Since you always forget to eat.”

“Dickhead.”

Laughter shakes the azaleas in the blue shadows outside the veranda. Where the ache was, curling and twisting in his ribcage, now there’s only feather-lightness.

“Come on,” Adam whispers, sliding his hands into the back pockets of Ronan’s slacks and relishing the warmth. “I thought we were dancing.”

Ronan doesn’t answer, just smiles as he leans down to press their lips together. He hums tunelessly, and they spin lazily around the porch with the light off and the door open, and the cold night air stills at last.