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Setting: After TWS
His hair fell in his face, damp with sweat. You exchanged looks for a few moments, your face scrunched up as you winced in pain.
There was no chance that you'd be able to free your leg from the debris on your own. You weren't bleeding bad, but the bone was definitely broken. And though you didn't say a word, you'd hoped James could see that you needed help—his help.
The odds of him helping you were slim, however. All of this—all of the destruction—had been caused by him. You knew people had lost their lives and that blood was on his hands. He'd carry that weight forever.
You also knew that none of it was actually him, though. This James was controlled by Hydra; this James was not the man he used to be. And even though you never knew him any other way, you somehow knew that the old James was still in there, buried within the monster Hydra had made.
You laid there, your eyes pleading for his help. It wasn't only for yourself; it was for him and for everyone else that might stand in his way. If he helped you, it would distract him from his mission, and maybe you'd be able to get through to him and stop the mission all together.
James wanted to help you. You could tell. You could tell he was conflicted, maybe even fighting his urge to complete the mission so he could possibly help you.
After another minute of you two staring at each other, James took off. You felt defeated, like maybe you'd failed him. Your whole purpose of being undercover in Hydra was to help James—to help him escape. You were going to convince him to hand himself over to Nick Fury once you got through to him. He was going to get help. The things Hydra had done to him could possibly even be reversed.
This had been your last chance to save him, and you'd failed.
•••
You sat up and rubbed the sleep from your eyes. This was the fourth time you'd dreamt about that day in D.C. in the last month. Each time you had that dream, you remembered it as crystal clear as the day it happened. The disappointment you felt was as strong as it was the day it happened, as well.
"You can't keep beating yourself up about this, you know?" A voice caused you to look over.
"I could say the same thing to you," you replied to Steve, who stood in the doorframe with two coffees in his hand.
Steve shook his head and walked over to you, handing you one of the coffees, "It's different for me."
"Thanks," you sighed, knowing he was somewhat right.
You took a sip of the steaming hot coffee and ran your other hand through your hair in a lousy attempt to fix your bed head.
"Thanks for letting me crash here again," you said quietly, watching him take a seat in the chair across from your spot on the couch.
Steve shrugged, setting his cup down on the coffee table, "I like the company. And besides, you're the only one who has the patience to read all these files with me." He gestured at the dozens of papers scattered across the table, most of which had come from the file Natasha had given him.
"Sam is of some use, too, though." You defended your friend, only to receive a look from Steve.
"Like I said," he chuckled, but it was dry, "you're the patient one. Sam can't sit still for more than five seconds."
It was true; in the few months you'd gotten to know Sam Wilson, you'd come to realize that he was probably the most hyper super-hero you'd ever met, not that you'd met that many.
"Where do you think he is?" You questioned, taking another sip of coffee.
"Probably curing himself from a hangover right about now."
You shook your head, "Not Sam. James. Where do you think James is?"
"I told you, he prefers Bucky. And who knows? He probably left the country." Steve sounded defeated, but you knew that didn't mean he was anywhere near giving up.
You remained silent for a moment before standing up, coffee still in hand. With your free hand, you grabbed your phone and took it into the kitchen.
"What are you doing?" Steve asked, watching you leave the room.
"Making a call."
•••
"Thought I said something about not pulling on that thread too hard, Rogers."
Steve turned around and then shot you a look, "Really? You called her?"
You shrugged, "I love Sam and all but. . ."
". . .But, I'm better." Natasha pulled one of her side smirks and pulled you in for a hug. "Don't think that I'm not aware that you're encouraging Steve over here to keep searching for Barnes, though."
"We just wanted to know if you had any more info you could give us. Out of everything you managed to dig up, there has to be more." You explained, pulling away from the hug.
"I don't think so."
Steve sucked in a breath, "Then why'd you come?"
Natasha and you exchanged looks, "I got my hands on some security footage from a market in Barcelona."
"You knew where was and you didn't tell us?" You asked, your brows furrowed.
"It was three weeks ago."
"He wouldn't be there now." Steve spoke up, obviously taken aback by Natasha's words.
"But what if he is?" You looked at Steve, surprised that he wasn't already trying to book a flight to go find Bucky.
"He wouldn't stay in one place for too long. I know he wouldn't."
"No offense, Rogers, but he isn't the Bucky you used to know. He's a little more unpredictable than that." Natasha replied.
"Steve's right. Staying in one place would be too risky for him." You sighed, thinking of how this could help you and Steve in any way.
"Unless he found a good hiding place," Nat pointed out, folding her arms over her chest.
"So you think we should go?" You questioned her, unsure of what she was getting at.
"Hell no. I think you should leave it alone," Natasha answered, shooting Steve a look.
She then looked at you, and you knew exactly what she was going to say.
"The only problem is, I know Steve won't leave it alone. And I know that you won't stop looking, either."
_____
I was going to have only two parts, but I decided that I'm doing this in three parts. The third part will probably take place at the time of Civil War.
