HEADCANON : Early Deployment .

his brow furrowed seriously, his mind working through scenario after scenario. with the information she'd provided him with, it was going to be a shitshow no matter what they did. they simply didn't have the manpower or the equipment to ensure that everyone got out of the kill zone before their enemy set the bomb off and any sign of trouble would guarantee the bomb be set off early. ❝ too loud. no guarantee our bombs wouldn't take out some random civilian in the wrong place at the wrong time, ❞ he said almost absentmindedly.

bucky glanced at her, watched the way she pressed her fingers into her collarbone and rubbed at what he could only assume was a phantom injury. something old that had healed over but still gave her some kind of grief. he had similar wounds. ❝ i can get you in without being seen. these guys aren't suicidal, they'll want to put as much distance between themselves and the blast zone as they can. means you'll have time to diffuse the bomb. ❞

his brow was still furrowed. despite suggesting the idea, he was clearly still unhappy with the odds. ❝ while you do that, i'll take them out and clear out civilians as i go. we'll need something to disrupt their communications, keep them deaf and blind to what's happening around them. ❞

that's not going to work .. did she hear him correctly? A small frown formed on her features, well this was certainly a first. Yet Amelia knew that Bucky was far more experienced than she could ever be. The young Holmes gave a small nod of her head half in agreement and half in thought. "A diversion? We could always place some bombs on their trucks within the perimeter, that would distract them, take their eyes away from anything important" although that would take some planning and she was sure that she would need permission from her uncle to even get such weapons.

Amelia ran a hand through raven waves, a soft sigh passing rose coloured lips. Her hand instinctively rubbed the top of her left collarbone, where a scar was placed permanently upon her body. Her other hand began to tremor, she wasn't going to allow others to endure what she also had to endure by James Moriarty. She clenched her fingers into a fist, in a bid to stop the shaking. "We just need to be sure to slip in, and slip back out with those people safe." Hazel hues met his gaze, offering the smallest of smiles.

"Or if you have any suggestions, I am all ears" Amelia was tough, or at least that was what she wanted others to see, yet there were moments where vulnerability slipped through the cracks, and if one was to look close enough they would see the tired eyes of a soldier who woke up with nightmares, and a woman who distracted herself by throwing herself into adrenaline situations.

he didn't know her well enough to object on whether or not she was always right, but he was relatively certain that she was right about this. he exhaled slowly, a habit more than anything else and while his expression remained carefully neutral, it was clear that his mind was racing, running through scenarios and weighting the risks against necessity.

❝ that's not going to work, ❞ bucky said, voice firm, ❝ i can't clear the building without setting off every alarm they've got. the second i start moving people, someone's gonna notice. cameras, guards, hell—just one wrong move and we're screwed before you even get to the bomb. ❞

it was an ugly thing to realise that killing people was a hell of a lot easier than saving them. ❝ we need a diversion. something to pull their attention, force them to readjust. like a better target. ❞

Amelia knew that she could talk for England, bouncing off facts and conclusions that sprawled into her head as if it were nothing, the odd looks that she often got, yet here Bucky was looking at her as if she were normal. "I'm always right" Amelia responded, for she had calculated every aspect inside of her mind. "..If we don't stop this from happening, then a lot of people are going to get hurt, and if I call my uncle and make it a national emergency.. he will be too slow, too many protocols and hurdles to get over" Amelia paused.

"we are going to have to do this ourselves..we don't have a choice" She could hear it now in the back of her head, Amelia Jessica Holmes you are reckless! The sound of John Watson's voice often invaded her mind, to try and give her some sense of simple reason. "I have dealt with people like this before, we will have to tread carefully and not be seen. Once I'm in there, I can disarm the bomb and you can help get everyone out. I suspect from that point, we will have, five minutes before they notice that something has gone wrong and probably ten minutes to truly be out of the building before hell breaks loose" She gave a small cock of her head, a slight smirk formed across her lips. "But that's always the fun of it, isn't it?"

he didn't have to stay. arguably, it would have been smarter if he'd disappeared before the shooter arrived, circled back, and observed from a distance. but the shooter hadn't been targetting him, therefore, they must have been after the gangs. enemy of mine enemy, or something like that. bucky was crouched over one of the survivors, rummaging through his pockets for anything useful.

❝ only loose cash and bullets, ❞ he said, looking up as the shooter approached. there was something off about him, the same way there was something off about bucky. not broken, not exactly, but set wrong. more like a jaw that had been knocked out of place and healed without care. too hard. too tight. and the eyes, he'd seen eyes like that reflected back at him in the mirror too many times.

❝ i didn't call the cops. it's not a hit. and lately . . . i've been doing this a lot. don't really have a name for it. ❞ whatever this was, he was still figuring it out. bucky stood slowly, watching as the shooter dug his foot into one of the goons sides hard enough to make him whimper and twitch. bucky made no move to stop him. ❝ half of them work for la fierra. she's been supplying the coast with guns and explosives. didn't know about the women. ❞ and wasn't that a fucking oversight on his part. bucky's expression hardened, jaw tight, angry. pale gaze swept the area, inspecting the faces of the men that he'd bound and disarmed until he spotted the straw buyer.

❝ if anyone's gonna know where their boss is, it's him. ❞ bucky pointed. ❝ cops'll be here sooner rather than later. i've got a container on highland drive. ❞ the implication was clear: bucky was willing and able to help secure the women intended for utah.

"Got anything on our guest?" Frank radioed Micro again.

[ Nope. Got nothing. Which is really saying something, Frank. I'll keep looking, but so far I'm just getting weird garbage.]

"What do you mean?"

[ Well...the kind of stories people in the community tell each other to even scare us. Undying assassins, spooky disappearances, unknown and forgotten government projects that still run in some zombiefied way. This guy, his training, he should be known, but I'm not finding a damn thing, Frank. Someone's hiding him, or he gets help from someone and they are way up there in a very big chain. ]

"Alright, I get it. We don't know jack shit about him." Frank grunted and lowered the volume on his radio. Didn't want Micro's voice to come out while he's talking to the man. One thing for sure is that he's got some kind of code or strict guidelines because he didn't come rushing towards him after he shot and killed one of those assholes.

"Got anything good?" Frank asks, walking towards the man. He can see now that a few of the bastards are still alive, there's a twitch on his face, his trigger finger tapping, but he doesn't say anything about it. The way this man moved, he wouldn't get a shot off to kill the rest before hitting the sand like these idiots did.

"First: did you call the cops? Second: is this a hit? Third: I don't do this shit often. I don't even know what the fuck the protocol even is at this point. I doubt it involves us sticking around here for long. I'm trimming down the family tree. I just needed one of these assholes," his foot started digging into the side of one of the men who were bound," to tell me where their boss is. They were bringing a shipment of women from down south up to a cult in Utah. This is one of their stops before they make the handover. I need to know where those women are."

❝ then i'm not saying it right, ❞ bucky mumbled, because what he was asking her to do was the hardest thing he'd ever attempted. coming back from a lifetime of war, blood, pain, and violence was a constant work in progress and most of the time he felt as if he were performing for some invisible judge, jury, and executioner. ❝ it's not easy. it's the hardest thing you'll ever do. you'll fail, you'll try again, you'll fail again. ❞

bucky turned the mug of coffee absently in his hand. watched the steam rise from the surface and tried not to lose himself in the ordinariness of the motion. he didn't look at her when she asked about him, instead, his jaw clenched and his brow furrowed. truth be told, he tried not to think about it.

❝ i don't know, ❞ he said finally, ❝ but i believe it matters that we try. ❞ he nursed his jaw for several short seconds before he met her eye again, ❝ i don't have all the answers. i'm making this up as i go, but i do know this: you're not too far gone that you can't come back, kara. ❞

kara let the silence stretch between them,  let it settle around her like a weighted blanket,  unfamiliar but not unwelcome.  no history.  no past.  just now.   she traced the rim of her cup with a fingertip,  watching the way the steam curled  &  disappeared.  ❝you make it sound easy. ❞ the words weren’t an accusation,  just an observation.  she wondered if he really believed it — that the weight of the past could be shrugged off so cleanly,  left outside like a coat too heavy for summer air.   

her fingers flexed against the ceramic.  ❝maybe it is.  for some people. ❞ she glanced around,  watching the other patrons — people who belonged here in a way she never could.  the man at the counter flipping through a newspaper,  the couple sharing a plate of fries,  the waitress moving through it all like she had done this a thousand times before  &  would do it a thousand times again.  ❝i don’t know if i can be one of them. ❞  but she wanted to be.  what she wasn’t sure of was what she wanted from him.  reassurance? permission? maybe just the chance to sit here  &  pretend,  for a moment,  that she belonged.   

the waitress set a menu down in front of her with an absent smile,   &  kara nodded her thanks.  the gesture felt small but significant.  normal.  she wrapped her hands around the warmth of the coffee cup,  inhaling the scent of something burnt  &  bitter  &  real.  she looked up at bucky again.  ❝&  what about you?❞ her voice was quieter now,  but steady.  ❝do you believe that? that we can just …  exist?❞  her gaze shifted from him. ❝ do you think we can ever have … more? ❞

he pinched his lips together tightly, grim and final upon the bitter laugh that escaped her lips. yes, it was cruel, the cruelest part of what had been done to them was the aftermath. the trying and failing, and trying, and failing to piece some semblance of normalcy back together after being ravaged and having no one else to blame for it.

bucky didn't consider himself particularly spiritual, even with all the impossible things he had seen and experienced, but when their eyes met, something within him seemed to . . . connect. the same unknown thing reflected back, whole and seemingly so real it might as well have been tangible.

the corners of his mouth twitched into a bittersweet smile. he couldn't comfort her, he couldn't sooth her doubts or anxieties, and he couldn't heal her wounds but this—this he could do. the assurance that she wasn't alone, that there was someone who understood, who could share in the burden, who would not flinch or hide or placate with falsehoods. he wanted it to be enough. ❝ we take what we can get, ❞ bucky agreed.

the bittersweet smile lingered, softening at its edges as she mentioned a mostly abandoned library. the tension that had gathered around them as they spoke lightened as they shared their burden between them. ❝ i've got nowhere better to be. ❞ he stood, ❝ lead the way. ❞

kara closed her eyes for a moment,  exhaling through her nose,  as if she could push the weight of it from her chest.  it never worked.  the weight did not leave — it only settled differently,  shifting like sand,  filling spaces she hadn’t realized were hollow.  survival,  he called it,  but it did not feel like survival.  survival should have meant something more than this endless treading of water,  this constant recalibration of self,  this desperate attempt to define the edges of a person who had been reshaped too many times to recognize.  

she had spent years dissecting history,  unearthing lost truths from ruins,  believing that knowledge could illuminate the fractures in time.  but what of the fractures in herself? what of the moments lost to another’s will,  the choices stolen before they could ever be hers?  &  what of the things she had done in that space between will  &  coercion — things she could never quite convince herself weren’t,  on some level,  choices?  

she let out a quiet laugh,  humorless but not unkind,  the sound barely more than breath.  ❝isn’t that the cruelest part?❞ her voice was softer now,  frayed at the edges like something worn thin by time.  ❝that survival isn’t about winning.  it isn’t about answers.  it’s just waking up  &  carrying it again.   &  again.   &  again.❞ she had spent so long chasing resolution,  clinging to the belief that if she just found the right question,  the right truth,  the right name for what had been done to her,  it would make a difference.  that it would become something she could lock away in the archives of her mind,  catalogued  &  contained.  but there were no clean lines here,  no dates to mark the end of a war still waging beneath her skin. 

 &  yet,  when she lifted her gaze to his,  something shifted.  there was no judgment in his eyes,  no expectation — just the quiet understanding of someone who knew exactly what it was to live in the in-between.  the silence between them was not empty but full,  layered with something unspoken,  something almost gentle in its recognition.  her breath caught,  just for a moment,  before she softened,  her voice quieter now,  something raw threading through it.  ❝but if we have to carry it,❞ she murmured,  ❝then i suppose there are worse things than sharing the load.❞ it was a quiet offering of company in the places where ghosts still lingered.  maybe that was enough. 

❝there’s an old library a few miles from here,❞ she said after a pause,  the words careful,  deliberate.  ❝abandoned, mostly.❞ a beat,  then a faint,  fleeting flicker of something like wry amusement in her eyes.  ❝unless you have a better idea.❞

@whumpgifathon | Day #25: ALT PROMPT "Begging" Upgrade (2018)

the detective flipped through a notepad, a stalling tactic no doubt meant to make him nervous enough to slip up. james murphy, you said? they asked while staring down at the drivers license he'd provided. bucky neither confirmed or denied, only waited. he could've stood there all night while they poked and prodded, but he didn't have to.

[ ALIBI ]: the sender provides a false alibi to protect the receiver from legal issues.

steve fell into position at his side and the detective nearest him shifted instinctively. he was with me last night, steve lied. the detective studied steve for a beat before flicking a glance back to bucky to reassess. he'd been an unknown before, an enigmatic question mark but now, standing next to captain america, that question mark became something else entirely—something that didn't fit neatly into whatever theory they had been building about the gunfire fight down at the docks.

❝ we played cards, had a few drinks. ❞ bucky added smoothly. // @sh1elded , right place prompts .

- John Wick: Chapter 2, 2017

❝ i think we've found enough books for one night, ❞ bucky said, ❝ we can always come back. this place doesn't look like it's going anywhere anytime soon. ❞ he added. her second option had bucky releasing a breath that wasn't quite a laugh but had the shape of one, something easy, something light.

❝ reckless, huh? ❞ the word rolled past his lips with ease. he leaned in just a fraction, a movement that wasn't meant to intimidate, but to tease.

❝ you want me to read to you, palamas? ❞ his voice was low, edged with something almost smug, but warm all the same. the tease came almost effortlessly, easier than it should've. a year ago, hell, even a few months ago, he would've let the silence settle there, but not now.

❝ if we're gonna do this, you should know—i don't do voices. ❞

kara watched the way his fingers curled around the book,  the deliberate care of it.  like he was holding something fragile,  something that mattered.   &  maybe it did.  maybe it was more than paper  &  ink,  more than a story — it was a bridge,  a tether to a past that hadn’t been entirely stolen.  she didn’t say anything,  just let the silence stretch,  let him have the moment.  some things didn’t need words.   

but when he looked at her,  something different flickered in his expression — lighter,  a ghost of something unburdened.  it made her chest ache,  just a little,  the way it always did when she caught glimpses of what could have been,  what still might be.  he tucked the book into his pocket,   &  she tilted her head,  considering his challenge.   

❝next adventure … right,❞ she exhaled a quiet laugh,  glancing around at the hollowed-out remains of forgotten stories.  ❝well,  we could always stick around,  find the weirdest book title in the place. ❞ her gaze flickered back to his,  something warm beneath the teasing.  ❝or i know a rooftop,  one of those places no one’s supposed to go but everyone does anyway.  good view,  bad idea.  but we could read there,  if you’re feeling reckless.❞

he'd seen cold before, brooklyn in january, the hudson iced over, boots soaked through with slush, hands stuffed into too-thin coat pockets. but this wasn't just cold. it was something meaner. it gnawed at the edges of a man, not content to freeze him but intent on hollowing him out from the inside. his nose was already raw, bright and angry form the constant drag of his sleeve across it, and his fingers had gone stiff hours ago, turning a ruddy pink that throbbed beneath layers of blood and dirt. even the gloves he'd scrounged up from a dead german didn't do much more than hold the cold in place.

bucky's mouth twisted into something caught between a grin and a grimace. eugene looked about as good as bucky felt. eyes sunken, lashes rimmed with frost, lips cracked. red nose, red hands. dirt and blood both clinging to him like a second skin, and still, he managed to toss that dry wit like it was nothing heavier than a smirk. ❝ can't blame a guy for trying, ❞ he said, stepping in closer. the pews were gone. cots now lined the nave filled with the wounded, the sick, the dying. it stank of blood, sweat, and desperation.

❝ no morphine, just a bullet with a nazi's name on it . . . and this, ❞ he dug into his pocket, came up with a half-eaten bar of chocolate, and slapped it gently into the good doctor's palm. his fingers lingered a second longer than they needed to—maybe for warmth, maybe because he hadn't touched another human being that wasn't screaming in what felt like years. then bucky stepped back, squinting when eugene spoke around his cigarette and chattering teeth. in war, morphine made you the wealthiest man on the battlefield.

❝ i'll ask around and keep an eye out, ❞ bucky said, ❝ word is we'll be heading out before sunrise. maybe i'll get lucky. what else you need? ❞

nose is poised in the center of face, a bright shade of red, skin angry from the continual rub of sleeve to combat the persistent sniffling that lingers in a climate only growing colder. his hands are the same way, dusted with a shade of pink that cannot be avoided, darkened only by dirt and blood encrusted beneath nails and in cuticles. fingers are stiff as they work to roll scrapped sheets collected from the village nearby that had turned their church into a place for the wounded ... and while their supplies weren't much more generous than the dwindling stock of the other men, he wasn't one to complain.

besides, anything was better than nothing at this point; torn sheets, scrapped linens, medical supplies picked off surrendered germans - long as it did the job.

x ❚❙❘ how about a kiss before i go ?

❛ ah, sergeant barnes, 'fraid i'm all outta those. ❜ he shifts stare out toward @wintrb0rn from beneath the wide-mouthed brim of well-worn helmet. tired eyes & doe-lashes set idle on the other man as if he isn't damn near freezing and plenty in need of a good night's rest ( a good year's rest at this point ). the humor isn't lost on him, he welcomes it's chattering nature with a sort of fondness. when men were laughing, they sure as hell weren't screaming - a trade-off he'd give up damn near anything for all things considered. stained sleeve rises, it wraps tight in his fingers, hot breath blooms around the corners of mouth as he wipes at flesh before fingers move on to seeking the comfort of lucky strike poised behind ear.

❛ outta an awful lot of things, actually. ❜ cigarette roles between frigid figures; he hangs it betwixt lips, paper clamped lose between teeth. sure doesn't make him easier to understand, not that such seems to impede most of the men he works beside in making out what he's saying. ❛ you bring me some morphine, and maybe i'll find a spare. ❜