Ghostwalker ▷ b. barnes [2]

xvii. shwarma and secretary duty

Hail Hydra.

The two words were haunting.

Sam sat beside Steve and poked at her shawarma, but didn't make a move to take a bite. Her mind was spinning far too quickly. The world was moving too fast.

The entire team seemed taken off guard. Coming down here had been to celebrate their victory. The fact that they hadn't all died fighting Loki.

But so many things had come up in such a short amount of time, they could only sit in silence. Sit and try to process it all.

Tony finally broke the silence.

"So, something fishy is going on at SHIELD. And I don't mean Fury's pirate eyepatch."

Sam glanced up, lowering her fork, and gazed at the billionaire. Hail Hydra. Of all the things she'd expected, that had been the last. Tony met her gaze and shrugged. Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, she shook her head.

"Is it possible that Fury's with HYDRA?"

"Not a chance," Natasha said. "I know him. He's saved my life before. Fury hates HYDRA more than most anyone."

"So what, then?" Steve asked. "He doesn't know it? Some of SHIELD... all of SHIELD? How do we know who we can trust?"

"Well, we can trust the people at this table," Clint said. Sam pressed her lips together, nodding.

"We can trust each other. Right now, that's it."

"How many?" Natasha muttered. "How many are HYDRA?"

Silence fell over the table again. They all exchanged looks but nobody said a word. After all, nobody had an answer.

Thor burped.

"Really Pointbreak?" Tony asked. "We're in the middle of a tense moment and you gotta do that?"

"Shawarma is good," he said. "But does not sit well."

Sam pushed her plate away, losing her already thin appetite. She glanced over at Steve, whose face was unreadable, and offered a small smile. But his blue eyes didn't reflect it back.

"So what are we gonna do?" Bruce asked.

It was silent for a long moment.

"We carry on," Steve said finally. "Until we know more, that's all we can do. If we can dig deeper into SHIELD, we will. Whatever we can figure out, we've gotta. But we gotta do it quietly."

"They can't know we suspect," Sam murmured. He nodded.

"Sitwell is a snake," Clint muttered. "A yellow-bellied, bald, arrogant little snake. If I could just put a few arrows in him—"

"They can't know we suspect."

"One arrow?"

"No, Barton."