bones that rattle ; bucky & steve
New York was infested, its streets teeming with rodents scurrying across layers of dirt. But he was accustomed to such filth, wore it like a mask to prevent unwanted attention. No one gave you a second glance if you looked like you slept in a gutter—
—or, they didn’t. That was before the news footage plastered his face across the country’s television screens, branding him a TERRORIST, a WANTED MAN. The government’s scapegoat, a diversion from the collapse of one of the biggest branches of secret service. He had been the face of HYDRA - and he would take the fall.
Now there were occasions people would stare too closely at the man underneath the cap, eyes widening as recognition blossoms into alarm— he’s gone before they can verbalise their finding, each incident chipping away at what precarious control he has over his sanity.
But it was worth the risk. Rats weren’t the only thing seeking refuge amongst the civilians - there had been whispers of a HYDRA base nestled deep within the heart of the city, and they were the worst rodents of all. It took a week and a half of careful monitoring and numerous tails for any results to materialise, but if there was one thing HYDRA had taught him, it was how to be PATIENT.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The watch on his wrist is flicked into view. 9:59PM. The building in front was no different from the rest on the block, but he knew what lay beneath its foundations.
In and out. No survivors.
He steps forward into the road, and as if on cue, all the nearby lights wink off, plunging the street into darkness. A slight upturn of a mouth is all he allows himself before footsteps quicken, flesh hand reaching for the weapon hidden in his waistband. The door jars against a silver palm, so he pushes it roughly, breaking the contact with the magnetic seal keeping it closed. A civilian front - all their defences must be underground.
“Excuse me sir, you can’t—”
A scream cuts off the rest of her sentence as the soldier lifts up the firearm, hood pushed back off a face hardened with resolve. In the gloom of emergency strip lighting, he can see the fear reflected in the whites of her eyes; this was no place for a civilian.
She doesn’t need telling twice; heels clack sharply across the marble floor as she runs past him, no doubt preparing to call the police. It wouldn’t matter. Unless they were HYDRA, they wouldn’t know where to look.
A ‘crack’ is the only warning he gets before the bullet embeds itself in the pillar he’s standing beside. Crouching, he ducks behind the obelisk, his own retort echoing around the vast entrance a second later. A choked gurgle is all the noise he needs to spring forward towards where he’d spotted the agent, eyes tracking across the room for the slightest movement. He ignores the man’s vacant gaze as the body is reached, searching the inside of his jacket for any I.D. Fingers clasp around a ridge of plastic just as distant footsteps make their appearance; he settles back into the gloom behind the reception desk and waits, I.D safely tucked away in a pocket.
