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Chapter Text

[New York Public Library] - 7:30am

This is a weird number from the Machine today —— 54985870.

In theory, the Machine only gives an SSN of a victim or a perpetrator, and the SSN is supposed to be a nine-digit number. However, today Finch and Reese received an eight-digit number and that made them a bit concerned.

Reese just finished his Sencha green tea. “What if this number comes from some immigrants who don’t have an SSN and can’t work legally? This is a group of people that you can’t ignore nowadays, Harold.” Reese said.

“But that is not how the Machine works, Mr. Reese.” Finch is working on his keyboard, trying to figure out what this number means. “Numbers that the Machine gives have to be an ID of an individual who officially registered in this country. That could be either from a real person or an alias of a constructed figure. But those immigrants you’ve mentioned don’t really have any registered IDs. So…”

An unexpected answer just showed on the screen before Finch could make any further deductions.

54985870, the magical eight-digit number, is the service number of a WWII soldier called Steve Rogers, who is also known as Captain America.

“A WWII soldier born in 1918. That actually makes sense.” Finch printed out his picture and stuck it on the glass that’s about to break at any moment. “The United States did not use SSN that often during the war, and the service number was more recognizable in the army at that time. Maybe they forgot to get him a SSN when getting him out of the ice.”

“Wow, that is Captain America.” Reese looked at the face of the American spirit and said. “But the news says he’s dead. Shaw and I watched his funeral, which was live-streamed, a few days ago.”

Finch tilted his head and looked at Reese. “Oh, Mr. Reese. It’s not unusual for us to see people come back to life in our business, isn’t it? Not to mention these are some super soldiers.”

“You’ve got a point here, Finch.” Reese put his leg on the table, and started to play Finch’s pen pot. “But shouldn’t the government people get this number instead of us, if that’s Captain American’s number?”

“That’s something I can’t really answer for now, Mr. Reese.” Finch walked back to his seat with a little swaying gait. “I think it might be a good time to see what we can get from some secretive DOD documents.”

_______________________________________________________________________

[New York, Brooklyn, Barnes’s apartment] 8:30am

“Oh God, Steve, I’m getting really late!” Bucky is working on his clothes with a toothbrush in his mouth. “Why didn’t you get me up earlier?”

Congressman Barnes needs to visit a veteran hospital located in Brooklyn to know more about their special health services for the veterans. This is quite an important event for Bucky Barnes’s political career, because many of his proposals are directly related to veterans.

Bucky doesn’t really care about his career, but he thinks it would be nice to get some benefits for veterans, considering there are two living in this apartment.

“Sorry, Buck. You were exhausted last night, and I don’t really want to wake you up this early. ” Steve said. He prepared a hearty breakfast, but Bucky could probably only take a sandwich on his way to work.

Bucky had to change his proposal three times last night, because Mel was pushing him very hard on this. He could only get a little sleep because Steve helped him polish his speech.

Bucky grabbed all the papers on the desk and stuffed them in his bag. “Honestly, Steve, did Dr. Erskine specifically update your serum so that you could still be this energetic, after all these work we’ve done last night?”

Steve handed him a lunch bag and an extra bag of sandwich. “Because I have already retired. As for you, Congressman Barnes, you are all lit up as the Brooklyn voters are waiting for you to get us better lives.”

“Hahaha.” Bucky wore his shoes with the strap of the lunch bag in his mouth, while Steve leaned on the wall, like a wife sending his husband to work.

“Would you finish work on time today, Mr. Barnes?” “Yes, of course, Mr. Rogers. I’ll leave my desk right away when it’s 4. I need to be prepared a big date tonight, right?” Bucky gave Steve a kiss and then ran out of the room.

________________________________________________________________________

[New York veteran medical center at Brooklyn] 9:30am

“I actually have a question.” Reese said to Finch from his earphone. “Let’s say we are going after Captain America. We still won’t be able to take him down, even if you count me, Shaw, Bear and the entire NYPD, right Harold?”

“I think that is very true, Mr. Reese.” Finch said. He just hacked into the medical center and created a file for Reese. Reese is scheduled for today’s visit for his severe trauma after war.

“Well then, if he is the perpetrator, should we just give this information to the new Avengers or something, and ask them to take him down with their superpower? Or if he is the victim, would it be easier if we just inform himself of this situation?”

“First of all, since Mr. Rogers is now an irrelevant number, I don’t think we need to bring the new Avengers of something into this. Secondly, we don’t really know if he is a victim or perpetrator and we need to be more careful about that.” Finch’s screen showed the official documents of Congressman Bucky Barnes and his schedule for today.

“I’m personally more inclined to think that Captain America is the victim. He’s a man of great virtue. And it’s quite weird to picture him deliberately plan to kill someone given what he’s capable of.” Reese said.

“Then what could kill Captain America without bring in any national security concerns? Considering what he’s capable of?” Finch asked him back.

“Well, that’s also very true, Harold. I think we will have to figure it out ourselves.” Reese showed his ID and record to the nurse. She let him in and asked him to wait and have a seat. “Ok, I’m in. Mission today is to follow Captain America’s best friend Congressman Barnes?”

Reese noticed that some of the hospital executives just introduced Barnes the services the medical center offer to the veterans, including the recovery of injuries sustained during service, mental health support, as well as assistance with reintegration into normal life. And there are bodyguards. For god’s sake, why would anyone hire bodyguards to protect a super soldier?

“Yes, Mr. Reese. Official records indicate that Mr. Rogers died three days ago at the age of 94, which matches up his medial records. Detective Fusco helped us confirmed as well. His son is a fan. However, I’ve noticed,” Finch said, “in a hidden document, an individual with superpower called ‘Nomad’ was registered 12 months ago. Congressman Barnes has overseen him since then. Does the time point ’12 months ago’ ring a bell, Mr. Reese?”

“I see what you mean. So the old Captain America came back approximately the same time with this Nomad guy, and Captain America’s best friend took Nomad with him?”

“Exactly.”

“Well I’m more interested to see who Barnes has invited to his party at home.”

“I like your sense of humor, Mr. Reese. But I highly recommend that you take extra caution in this case, since at least two super soldiers are now involved. They probably won’t stop after you shoot them on their knees.”

“I know. What about Barnes’s place? You sent Shaw?”

Chapter Text

[New York, Brooklyn, Barnes’s apartment] 12:00pm

“Finch, are you there?” Shaw got an ice pop from a food truck. Summer of New York is fierce. Shaw was thinking maybe not wear dark clothes next time.

“Yes, Ms. Shaw.” Finch said. “Do you find anything around Congressman Barnes’s apartment?”

“Nothing special. It’s a nice place. It looks like congressman has got a good deal.” Shaw started on her ice pop. “Except Mr. Nomad, that he actually lives with Barnes. What are they? Like a cohabitation?”

“James Buchanan Barnes, previously known as the Winter Soldier, is now the U.S. Representative for Brooklyn, New York. He has been overseeing Mr. Nomad for 12 months.” Finch printed out the official pictures of Barnes and Nomad, and stuck them next to the picture of Captain America. “I don’t really know how the ‘oversee’ things work for super soldiers. Do they just ask one to take care of the other?”

“That sounds like an intimate relationship to me.” Shaw finished the ice pop and started to chew the stick. “I’m sort of surprised. I walked around this place and there’s no monitor point at all. I also went inside Barnes’s place and there’s no tapping device either. By the way, I almost ran into this Mr. Nomad, who just returned home from shopping.”

“Oh my god, Ms. Shaw! Please do take my suggestions about take extra caution in this case, since at least two super soldiers are now—”

“Blah blah blah, I know all about that, Finch.” Shaw interrupted him impatiently. “I am taking my distance, like a block away from him. And this guy has not run out of his house to hunt me down yet.”

“Why don’t you tell me something about this Mr. Nomad, Finch? Why is he related to Captain America? Except they look quite similar from behind and he might sneak his best friend in some sense?” Shaw said.

“Maybe more than that. I did search on Steve Rogers’s service number, which Machine gave us. It shows that the number is still active after Mr. Rogers’s death. Because Mr. Rogers did not have an SSN, so the government had been sending him his retirement benefit through his service number.”

“Oh wow, it sounds like he has got a really big piggy bank for all these years. You know what, Reese is actually not that far away from retirement—”

“Hey, Shaw, I am listening here. And you don’t have to worry too much about my retirement plan for now.” Reese just cut in. “I’m just letting everyone know that Congressman Barnes just returned to his office. And his lunchbox looks nice."

“And you didn’t show up in our Sencha party earlier today, Shaw. ”Reese said to Shaw.

“Oh, I’m so very sorry that I missed that part, but you know young people need more sleep and I can’t get up too early in the morning.”

“That hurts the feeling of old men here. By the way, how was the night with Root? Did she tie you up or vice versa? In your interesting little games.”

“That’s none of your business, Reese.”

“Ok, guys, please. If you are still interested in our case.” Finch wearily interrupted their chit-chat time. “The bank account that was related to Mr. Rogers’s service number is also active, and this account received the check from SSA this month.”

"SSA doesn’t send money to dead people. This could be either a mistake, or it’s not. They are sending money to someone who’s still alive. Here is another interesting fact. The address of that bank account was transferred to an apartment in Brooklyn 12 months ago. Not to Mr. Rogers's own apartment in Brooklyn Heights, but the one that Ms. Shaw’s been watching today.”

“That sounds a bit complicated. But are you trying to say that Steve Rogers is not dead?” Reese asked. “If he’s not dead and he still gets his retirement benefit at Barnes’s place, then he must live with Barnes. And that would suggest…”

“Then Nomad is Captain America. Voila!”

“But then who’s the dead old man?”

“Oh my god, did he kill him? Captain America killed Captain America? That’s why we got his number?” Shaw was a bit shocked by her own conclusion. It’s pretty rare for them to take cases where the perpetrator is his own victim.

_______________________________________________________________________

[New York, Brooklyn, Congressman’s office - the building opposite] 1:30pm

Reese is in the building opposite to the Congressman’s office, hiding and monitoring Congressman Bucky Barnes. He just finished his lunch and resumed the afternoon’s work like a robot on its last battery.

“I’ll have to say, Ms. Shaw, that’s an arbitrary conclusion.” Finch said. “And I think there’s another question over here. Let’s say that the Machine gave Captain America’s number because he killed himself. But then that number should to show up three days ago, right?”

“Actually, I might have an answer to that question, Harry.” A unique sweet voice suddenly showed up in the earphone, and that was Root speaking. “Did you miss me, Sameen? I’m sorry that I had to leave early this morning.” Shaw letted out an awkward cough but did not say anything.

“Welcome to our discussion, Ms. Groves!” Finch said. “Any ideas what’s going on over here?”

“As a matter of fact, she — the Machine has noticed this situation for quite a while.” Root said. Her voice was not very clear and there was a lot of noise around her. “Several years ago, a sorcerer from the Avengers part introduced the concept of ‘multiverse’ and started many ‘multiverse time travel’ events. That partially messed up the way she functions. Oh great, my Uber is here.”

“Most of the time, the avengers will be in charge of events related to the ‘multiverse time travel’ or any extraterrestrial events, since they are the experts.” Root continued, and her voice got much clearer. “In very few circumstances of the relevant cases, she was also affected by these ‘multiverse time travel’. Her judgement was influenced, but only on the timing of the events. Well, that part has already been fixed by herself, thank to your magnificent design, Harry.”

“So you are saying that irrelevant case part is still not fixed? And that’s why we are late on this number for three days?” Reese asked.

“Yes, John, but you can’t blame her for that. This is the first time for the irrelevant cases. And I mean, who would expect Captain America to be part of an irrelevant case?” Root said.

“But if I’ll have to guess. Last time Captain America participated in a multiverse time travel that caused a problem, and led to the timing problem from the Machine. But then he announced to retire directly, so his case went to the irrelevant case.”

“So, there is a chance that Captain America could kill Captain America?” Shaw asked.

“Oh Sameen, it’s good to hear your voice, sweetheart.” Shaw kept silence for 5 seconds and Reese could even imagine that she rolled her eyes. Root laughed and said, “oh well, as for the details, you guys have to figure out what’s going on there. I’ll have to go. See you all later!”

Everyone got a bit released since the case was not as complicated as they expected. At least no one has to worry about Captain America murdering or being murdering by someone else.

“A phone call coming into Barnes’s office.” Reese said. He eavesdropped Barnes’s office before he returned. Reese did take Finch’s advice of taking extra caution that he did not try to pair with Barnes’s personal phone. Luckily, this 90 years old man doesn’t rely his cell phone as much as other young people in this generation.

“Heyyyy, Bucky,” a girl’s voice with Russian accent rang out. “I was asking you about our mission. I left you a message and I thought you are supposed to say something?”

“Yelena. It’s still broad daylight and you should drink less.” Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Sorry, I didn’t see that. My documents is now looking like a fucking mountain of garbage.”

“Maybe you should fucking organize your documents! Or you should hire more people to organize it instead of hiring your fucking bodyguard!”

Yelena is now the leader of Thunderbolts or new Avengers or whatever it is called. She brought everyone together. And Bucky sometimes worked on some missions with them.

Bucky often felt that these missions offered him a way to further explore his path to redemption—though he had already found a sense of peace, thanks in no small part to Steve. As the most emotionally stable one on the team, he saw it as his responsibility to pull this group of volatile, half-crazy teammates back from the edge whenever they threatened to spiral out of control.

“All right, I see that.” Bucky said. Yelena not only left him one message, but hundreds of messages in their group message “Thunderbolts = Best Avengers of All👊🏻🔥👊🏻”. “What were you guys talking about?” Bucky asked. He could not understand why they could get 99+ messages out in this short period of time.

“We’ve got a job in France this Friday. There’s a suspicious lab there, might be working on some biochemical weapons. But there’re also rumors that this place used to be a Hydra place, so there might be something more than biochemical weapons. Valentina wants us to be there.” Yelena’s voice kept fading, and Bucky wondered if she was drifting off.

“Ok, that sounds fine. We can find a time to make a plan.”

“Ok, what about tonight?”

“No, not tonight.”

“What, you’ve got a date?”

“Yes, Yelena.”

“Huh, ok, fine, bye-bye.”

“Hey, if you want to talk to someone—”

[The line went dead.]

“Sounds like a teenage girl and a dad who doesn’t really know how to communicate.” Shaw commented. “Now we know that Congressman Barnes flies to France on Friday. Do we still care about the case that Captain America might kill himself? I think — Holy Shit!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Ms. Shaw! Are you all right?!” Shaw’s scream scared the hell out of Finch. “Mr. Reese!”

A soft and steady male voice came out of the earphone. “Hey, ma’am, I don’t mean to hurt you! Could you just drop your weapon?” And then came the sound of Shaw’s gun dropped on the ground. “You see, you’ve been wandering around for quite a while, and I've heard you and your friends talking about Congress Barnes and Steve Rogers.”

That voice continued. “Is there anything I need to know? You can come to my place if you would like to. And your friends in the earphone are also invited.” And then the line got cut off.

“Mr. Reese, do you know what just happened?”Finch asked.

“I think Shaw just got kidnapped by Captain America.”

Chapter Text

[New York Public Library] - 2:30pm

“Can you still contact Shaw, Finch?”

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Reese.” Finch stared at the screen of his computer. “Her phone was shut down after the line got cut off.”

Reese sank into the seat with a heavy sigh.

This might be the most helpless circumstance that Finch and Reese have faced since they started to work on the number together. Not because this is a life-and-death situation (maybe?), but because Finch’s signature hacking and Reese’s signature kneecap attacks seemed to have no effect at all on this battle-hardened super soldier.

Finch re-evaluated the situation of Ms. Shaw. Given the fact that it was Captain America, who has been showing a very peace-promoting and morally upright image, that just kidnapped her, Ms. Shaw was probably not in real danger. He had even just politely invited them over to his place. That said, considering that this Nomad-version of Cap was still the prime suspect in the murder of his elderly self, perhaps that assumption warranted a question mark.

“I’d say, let’s take his invitation to the party.” Reese said. “If the guy wants to talk then we will talk. If he doesn’t really want to talk, then we will leave Fusco a message. He could bring all the finest of NYPD and surround Congressman Barnes’s apartment. Let’s get them on the evening news.”

“I still recommend we handle this quietly, Mr. Reese.” Finch said. “After all, we cannot afford the risk of exposing the Machine.”

"That said, I do agree with you. We should reach out to Mr. Rogers as soon as possible. Would you mind paying him a visit first? I might be able to make another call, and I’ll meet up with your shortly.”

_______________________________________________________________________

[New York, Brooklyn, Barnes’s apartment] 2:30pm

This might be the most helpless circumstance that Shaw has faced since she started to work on the number with Finch and Reese.

Approximately 10 minutes ago, this “Nomad” who looks almost identical to Captain America from behind, suddenly showed up. He took Shaw’s gun, twisted her hands to her back and dragged her from a block away straight into his apartment.

“Nomad” started to introduce himself after he tied Shaw’s hands together with a plastic zip tie. “My name is Steve Rogers, and you’ve probably heard of me, ma’am. You can call me Steve if you like.” He was courteous, but Shaw wasn’t in the mood to talk.

Shaw looked around at her bound hands. She could easily break free if she wanted to — but she also knew that if the “Nomad” didn’t want her to leave, she wasn’t going anywhere. The last time Shaw felt this speechless, she’d been drugged and stuffed into a body bag.

Steve settled Shaw on a couch.

She looked around her. The speakers were on, playing an old song. Her gun has been disassembled and laid out on the dining table. There were newspapers and snacks scattered across the dining table, with a bowl of plums sat nearby. A T-shirt with “Brooklyn” printed on it was draped over the back of the couch.

This felt like a lived-in home, full of ordinary details. And they had the air conditioning on, which honestly was a lot more comfortable than baking in the sun outside.

Steve sat down on the loveseat next to the couch, then removed the nanomask from his face. The face of Steve Rogers — Captain America — was now right in front of Shaw: his unmistakable blond hair and blue eyes. He took off his jacket and the solid lines of his chest and arms stood out clearly beneath his T-shirt.

Is that meant to intimidate me? Or threat me? Shaw thought.

“Ma’am, I think we need to talk. I’m sorry about tying your hands — I was just worried you might make a dangerous move. Your gun butt nearly hit my face earlier. Oh, and your phone,” Steve said, holding up Shaw’s phone — it was shut down. “I’ve never been a fan of surveillance. Besides, I believe your friends already have my address. Seems like we both have a lot of questions about each other. Maybe se should start with your name?”

“My name is Shaw. I’m hungry. Do you have anything to eat? Better be something hot.”

Steve heated up a burrito for Shaw and poured her a glass of juice. The burrito was pretty big. Super soldier Steve Rogers could easily eat two when he needed the calories, but he was still a bit surprised to see this rather petite lady finished the entire thing.

“Thanks for the brunch, Steve.” Shaw had a hiccup. “Sorry I slept in and skipped breakfast.” Shaw said expressionlessly, grabbing a napkin to wipe her mouth.

“You are welcome, Shaw. I’m trying to clear out the fridge anyway,” Steve replied, gesturing for her to speak more. “So, are you ready to tell me why you showed up at my apartment?”

“I thought this is James Buchanan Barnes’s place. Your name’s not on the deed, Steve.” Shaw said, raising an eyebrow with a half-smile as she looked at him.

“Let’s not play word games, Shaw. You know what I mean.” Steve replied, still smiling, but there was an undeniable edge of authority in this voice.

“Alright, Steve, if you insist. I don’t really do the talking to the people involved. I’m good at breaking bones, not so much at talking, because most of the time I don’t really feel people. But since you want to know, it’s pretty simple. My friends and I have very reliable sources indicating that you are either the victim or perpetrator of a murder. When I was hanging around your door, my friends and I were trying to figure out which one you are. Based on the information we’ve gathered, you are currently the prime suspect for killing the elder version of Captain America, yourself. We were hoping to get more evidence, but since you’ve just kidnapped me, I guess I could ask your directly: Steve, did you brutally smother yourself in death in a hospital bed three days ago?”

Shaw fired off her words at Steve like a machine gun, leaving him momentarily unable to think.

Did you brutally smother yourself in death in a hospital bed three days ago?

How was that even possible? That Steve — he would never— Steve thought, and if he hadn’t been through so much, he might just have lost his composure right then and there.

Shaw wore a “told you so” expression as she took a sip of her juice, and then said, “well then, maybe we could wait a bit longer. The friend in my earphone is actually pretty good at talking.”

_______________________________________________________________________

[New York, Brooklyn, Congressman’s office] 2:50pm

[Someone knocked the door.]

“Come in please.”

“Congressman, a Mr. Harold Wren is here to see you,” said Barnes’s assistant, Linda.

“What? I didn’t see any reminder about meeting with a Mr. Wren,” Bucky said, hurrying to check his calendar.

“I’m so sorry sir. I believe the system may have crashed during the network upgrade last night, which prevented the reminder from being sent. I just checked, this meeting was scheduled two weeks ago,” Linda said, clearly apologetic. “I take full responsibility, sir. If you’d prefer to cancel the appointment, I can inform Mr. Wren for you.”

“Has he already arrived?”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Wren’s file has also been sent to your device.”

“Alright, thank you, Linda. Please have Mr. Wren wait for me in the conference room.” Bucky opened his iPad and quickly began reviewing the information on Harold Wren — a wealthy businessman looking to discuss a new round of investment in the New York Veterans Medical Center. His focus was on supporting mental health recovery and advancing prosthetic research and development. Wren was hoping to collaborate with Congressman Barnes on his veteran healthcare reform bill.

“Oh, and sir — Mr. Wren brought a service dog for physical disability support. Would that be a problem?”

“Not at all. I’ll be there shortly.”

Congressman Barnes entered the conference room. A refined-looking middle-aged man in a tailored suit with a pair of glasses was sitting properly on the cough. He had a cane resting by his side, and next to him sat a well-trained Belgian Shepherd.

“Mr. Wren, I’m Bucky Barnes. Sorry to keep you waiting.” Bucky said, extending his right hand for a handshake.

“Good afternoon, Congressman Barnes. I’m Harold Wren. Thank you for taking time to meet with me.” Wren said as he pushed himself up stiffly with the help of his cane, hie back held unnaturally straight. Bucky reached out to steady him.

“Thank you. This is Bear, my service dog — if you don’t mind.” Wren said. Bucky assure him that it was not a problem and politely asked about his condition.

“I sustained a serious spinal injury and had to undergo spinal fusion surgery. It’s been some time now, and I suppose my cane and Bear here have become my support system.” Wren said with a faint smell. “They put quite a bit of metal in my back, and it took me a long time to walk again — so I believe I understand the value of a well-made prosthetic.”

He smiled again and nodded subtly towards Bucky’s metal left arm. “I imagine that ’s something we have in common.”

“I suppose so,” Bucky said. He found Wren to be a very decent man and pleasant to talk to, but he still wanted to get to the point. It was quite a busy day.

“I’ve heard that you’ve already invested quite a bit into the medical center and helped them establish a real prosthetics unit. I think that’s really good. But I think if we can get mental health and prosthetic support included under veteran’s medical coverage, maybe we can offer these soldiers something better. A chance to find themselves again, to return to their families and to rejoin the society. They should not be left behind.”

“You are absolutely right.” Wren said quietly.

“I have a very close friend who’s a veteran. What he experienced on the battlefield left deep psychological wounds. It took him year to recover — if he ever fully did. A part of him, I think, will always be left behind over there. I just want more people to have a way out.”

Wren paused and then continued: “but if you’re committed to making real changes to the healthcare system, one term probably won’t be enough — wouldn’t you agree, Congressman? If you are interested in running another term, I’d be more than happy to offer my support. For the sake of our mutual friends.”

“Mr. Wren, thank you for your concern for our veterans — and for everyone who needs support. You’re a generous man with a good heart, and I’ll definitely take your offer into considerations.”

“Congressman, aside from our work at the medical center, there’s something else that I might need your help.”

“If it’s within my power, I’ll be glad to help.”

“A friend of mine has been kidnapped by your friend “Nomad”. I was hoping if you could help us get her back.”

_________________________________________________________________________

[New York, Brooklyn, Barnes’s apartment] 3:15pm

Steve Rogers heard someone knocking the door. A tall man with gray hair, dressed in a suit was standing outside.

“Hello. Mr. Rogers. I’m a friend of Ms. Shaw’s — my name is John Reese. You can call me John.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Reese — John. Please, call me Steve. Come in.”

Steve quickly assessed Reese’s combat readiness when he stepped in. He had a gun holstered at his waist — no other obvious weapons. Judging by his build and the way he moved, this Mr. Reese had definitely served in the military. Special forces, more likely. And Ms. Shaw appeared to be the same.

They both looked like they could fight, Steve thought. But they didn’t seem like part of any government agency or military. They didn’t have a look of a private security outfit either. There was something…off. Steve could’t quite put his finger on it. People who didn’t fall into one of the categories were rare — but then again, he’d dealt with his fair share of wildcards before.

Steve just hoped that, if thing went sideways, it wouldn’t take too long or leave too much mess. Sure, he didn’t have the shield anymore, but he had a pretty good idea where Bucky kept some of his more interesting personal items. Still — why today? Steve planned a date with Bucky tonight. And Congressman Barnes didn’t exactly have a lot of free time to spare.

Reese stood in the cozy living room. Shaw was seated on the couch with her hands tied. In front of her sat a half-full glass of juice and an empty plate with just a bit of cheese left on it.

“Hey, John. Don’t be shy — make yourself at home. Considering how efficient New York traffic is, you actually got here pretty fast.” Shaw said, with her face expressionless, again.

“Did Harold not come with you?”

“Oh, he said he had a call to make — he’ll be here shortly. Sorry for the trouble, Steve.” Reese said, turning to face him. “Maybe you and Shaw have already touched on why we are here?”

“We did. Ms. Shaw and I were just discussing the charming theory that I, in a fit of homicidal insanity, smothered my elderly self in a hospital bed three days ago.”
Steve said dryly. The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

“Now, I believe I can explain that part — don’t worry, I didn’t kill him. It’s… the result of some complicated multiverse time travel. But what I’d like to ask about is something else.” He returned to his spot on the couch.

“Why don’t you finish the explanation first, Steve?” Shaw asked, leaning back into the pillow and stretching her arms out.

“Maybe because you are technically his hostage now, Shaw?” Reese said, gesturing for Steve to go on.

“I’d say that my identity should be extremely low-profile and confidential,” Steve said, “especially after the other Steve — the elder version of me — died. Most people in the world would assume that the former Captain America has stepped off the stage for good. Few, if any, would connect ‘Nomad’ to Captain America.”

“I’ve judged you and Ms. Shaw aren’t working for the government, nor for any terrorist organizations. The kind of questions you guys are asking… they’re just not the kind of things those people care about. So, John — what I want to know is, how do you know I’m still alive?”

Reese sat down beside Shaw.

“Alright, Steve. The main reason you were exposed is because you’ve been getting 12 months’ retirement benefit at Barnes’s place.” Reese said plainly. “After the supposed death of Captain America, the SSA kept sending payments to this address.”

Like I’m some thief stealing my own money, Steve thought. Are these people SSA agents?

“Ok,” Steve said, summarizing calmly, “so receiving the retirement benefit check proves I’m alive, and the address led you here. Got it. But that doesn’t explain your source of information. Or why you think I’m involved in Captain America’s murder.”

“That’s where things get a little complicated.” Reese said, glancing at his watch. “My version of story goes like this: our friend built a computer system for the government. It monitors all electronic communications and videos to predict potential terrorist activity. While it can also see individual crimes, the government isn’t interested in dealing with those incidents that don’t pose national security threats. So our friend built a backdoor — allowing us to receive the intel on those smaller, personal crimes and intervene before they happen —“

The moment Steve heard “monitors all electronic communications and videos”, his expression darkened. “So you are telling me that you are helping and enabling the government to run unchecked mass surveillance, violating citizens’ privacy rights. And you left a backdoor?” Steve’s voice was sharp, his disapproval unmistakable.

Reese didn’t flinch under the former Captain America’s scrutiny. At the very least, he hadn’t reached for the gun at his waist yet.

“I don’t think he likes the surveillance part.” Shaw murmured to Reese. “You know… that whole Project Insight thing.”

Then she looked over at Steve. “I think our friend — you know, the one who’s good with words and talking — is probably still on his way.”

Chapter Text

[New York, Brooklyn ——Interstate 278] 3:20pm

“Pick up the damn phone, Steve!” Bucky slammed his phone onto the passenger seat after being sent to voicemail for the tenth time.

Fortunately, he managed to take the exit off the I-278 before New York traffic could get any worse.

“Mr. Wren,” Bucky said, trying to keep his tone civil as he addressed the man in his back seat. “I still don’t believe Steve would just kidnap an ordinary civilian. I think I need you to share a bit more details.”

Finch was desperately clinging to his composure — though the congressman’s impressive driving had nearly thrown him out. He was turning green. Poor Bear whimpered beside him.

“Congressman Barnes, Mr. Rogers didn’t just randomly kidnap my friend. She was one block away from your apartment — we were still discussing how to approach Mr. Rogers when he suddenly appeared and took her!”

“Ha, I’m guessing you were talking about something he didn’t like and he overheard you. Ever heard of super-soldier hearing? Four times sharper than normal, Mr. Wren.”

Bucky took a sharp turn into a residential neighborhood.

“We were trying to talk — to talk—“ Finch was clinging the seatbelt like a lifeline, still valiantly trying to speak even as motion sickness closed in. “About whether the death of the elder Captain America — was — connected to him.”

“What the hell would Steve have to do with —”

Bruce trailed off as something clicked. Bruce had said something once, something about how time flowed differently in the alternate universe that old Steve had come from. Could it actually be related?

“Wait, that’s why you’re looking for Steve?” It sounds ridiculous, but not entirely impossible.

________________________________________________________________________

[New York, Brooklyn, Barnes’s apartment] 3:22pm

Outside, the sharp screech of the tires skidding across the pavement tore through the quite street.

Bucky barely bothered to park. He threw the car into a rough stop, jumped out of the driver’s seat, and stormed into the house.

What he saw made him pause.

A tall, gray-haired man in a suit was sitting across from Steve, clearly ready for a confrontation. On the cough next to him sat a woman in a crewneck tee, with her hands tied.

Well, damn, Bucky thought. Former Captain America really did kidnap someone.

Then Harold Wren — or whatever the hell his name really was — stumbled in behind him with his service dog.

“Steve, are you ok?” “Mr. Reese? Ms. Shaw? Are you ok?” They all spoke at once.

“I’m fine, Bucky. What are you doing back?” Steve blinked those big blue eyes at him and gave a sheepish smile. He stood up quickly, stepping in front of Bucky to block his view and snapped the plastic tie binding Shaw’s wrists.

“I, uh - have guests.” He looked exactly like a golden retriever that had knocked off a flower vase and was now trying to nudge the shards under the couch with his paw.

“Why weren’t you answering your phone?” “Oh, Buck — I was just talking with my guests. Must’ve missed the calls.” Steve’s phone was buried somewhere between the couch cushions. The screen lit up with ten missed calls from Bucky.

“Sorry — did something happen?”

Bucky stared at him, exasperated and at a loss of words.

The two guests didn’t look good to be there.

“We were just getting into the part about how your Machine works, Harold.” Reese said. “The part Steve didn’t seem too fond of. You don’t look so great yourself, Harold.”

“That’s on me. I’m still more used to motorcycles than cars.” Bucky glanced at Finch, with a little apologetic look. “Sorry, Mr. Wren — Harold. Let me get you some water.”

Steve returned to his spot on the loveseat. Bucky poured a glass of water for Finch and then sat down beside Steve.

“Alright, everyone. Let’s sit down.” Bucky said. “Maybe we can calmly talk through what the hell happened today. Surveillance. Kidnapping. Alleged murder. The usual.”

Finch eased into a seat next to Reese, took a sip of the water, and let out a slow breath. Bear lay down by his feet, and Finch reached down to gently pat his head.

“Maybe I should tell you the story of the Machine.” Finch said quietly. “It’s… a bit of a long one.”

“After 9/11, my friend Nathan and I built a super-intelligent AI. I called it the Machine.” Finch’s voice was quiet and steady. “Our ultimate goal was to detect terrorist activity. I wanted to teach her to understand people — and to predict them. So I taught her to break human lives down into moments. And find patterns from them and uncover the reasonings behind behavior. With the support of the massive datasets, the Machine eventually learned how to predict.”

“When she was complete, we handed the Machine over to the government — because, frankly, they had more resources to hide her and use her capabilities effectively. Of course, I never trusted them. No one is more tempted to abuse power than those who already hold it.”

He looked briefly at Steve and continued. “So I didn’t give the Machine an interface. No one, not even the admin — including myself — could talk to her directly. All we ever received were SSN. Each number belonged to someone about to be involved in a crime — either as a victim or a perpetrator.”

Steve, who had been listening carefully, leaned forward slightly. “I still don’t agree with mass surveillance,” he said slowly, “but I believe your Machine must’ve save a lot of lives. Still, How did you get the numbers — outside the government, I mean? That must mean the Machine wasn’t completely cut off?”

“You’re right. Mr. Rogers.” Finch lowered his gaze. “Nathan…after he died, I discovered he had built a backdoor. According to my original plan, the Machine would see everything, yes — but it would only act on those national security threats. The relevant cases.” He paused. “Personal crimes — irrelevant cases — were supposed to be ignored. But Nathan didn’t see it that way. He believed that both kinds of numbers had equal values. So through that backdoor, he pulled irrelevant numbers from the Machine and he helped them.”

“It wasn’t until after I lost him that I truly understood the meaning of what he did. Every irrelevant case we’ve dealt with… mattered more than I ever imagined.”

These words had lived in Finch’s heart for years, replayed in silent loops, but saying them aloud always stung — like rinsing a wound that refused to close. Reese placed a hand gently on his shoulder.

“Would you like more water, Mr. Wren?” Steve asked softly. Finch shook his head.

“And then Steve’s number came in.” Shaw picked up where Finch left off. “Except it wasn’t the real SSN — it was a service number.”

“Can’t fault a WWII vet for not having a proper SSN, young lady.” Bucky chimed in, nudging Steve with his shoulder. “Honestly, I’m not even sure I have one either. I should ask Linda something — figure out how they’ve been doing my taxes.”

“Anyway!” Shaw rolled her eyes. “We traced the number back here through the address tied to your retirement benefit payments from the SSA. And while we were still trying to figure out whether you were the victim or perpetrator in this case, Captain America here dropped from the sky and kidnapped me.”

She gestured dramatically at Steve. “The court currently suspect you, Captain America, of the crime of murdering Captain America — three days ago. You may now present your defense.”

“First of all, Ms. Shaw,” Steve said with practiced calm, “ you were the one lurking suspiciously outside my house. And having a very suspicious conversation that involved Bucky and myself. Secondly, I didn’t kidnap you. I invited you inside. Politely.”

He glanced at her wrists and add, “okay, I apologize for the plastic ties. That was… unfortunate.”

Before Shaw could launch another venomous remark, Finch stepped in just in time. “Alright, Ms. Shaw. Perhaps, we could let Mr. Rogers get to the point first. Shall we?”

“Fine.” Shaw sighed. Steve gave Finch a grateful loo. “Thank you, Harold. I’ll just talk about what I do understand.”

He took a breath and looked around the room. “First of all — and let me be absolutely clear — I did not kill Captain America.”

He paused. Silence fell.

“That’s it?” Reese asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course not!” Steve said, sitting up straighter. “Alright— 12 months ago, I went on the mission to return the Infinity Stone. But something went wrong.”

“After I returned the last stone, I was supposed to take Mjölnir back as well. But in the time tunnel, something pulled at the hammer — some kind of force — and it got yanked off course. That caused a deviation in my trajectory. I didn’t land in the timeline I was supposed to, but ended up in a completely different universe.”

“The hammer was gone. And so was my way back.”

“That sounds… not very reliable.” Shaw remarked dryly. Bucky nodded slowly besides her. “Yeah, kinda does.”

Steve continued. “There, I met… an elder version of myself. He didn’t look that old when I got there — maybe mid-fifties. It was by the lake. He had the shield with him.”

“He looked at me and asked, ‘did we win?’” Steve’s voice grew quieter. “I figured he meant Thanos. So I told him — ‘Yes. We won.’”

________________________________________________________________________

[12 Months Ago —Another Universe — Lakeside]

“Yes. We won.” Steve said.

“That’s…wonderful.” The other Steve replied, his voice quiet and full of something unnameable. He pointed to the shield resting by his feet, then reached into his pocket and took out two vials of red Pym Particles.

“Steve, I want to make a trade with you. Would that be alright?”

Younger Steve frowned, puzzled.

“Unfortunately, in this world… we didn’t win. We lost half the world, permanetly. They never came back. But I survived.” The older man’s eyes drifted toward the lake. “I thought I had to go on living. That the world still needed me. And I tried. I really did. I did what I could for those who were left. But now, I think I’ve done enough.”

He looked at his younger self with a mixture of resolve and grief.

“Steve, there’s someone I’ve wanted to see again — someone I’ve thought about every single day for decades. And now, by some miracle, I’ve met you here. If he’s still alive in your universe… would you let me go to him?”

Young Steve’s eyes fell to the old man’s hand — and widened in shock. A platinum ring was on his finger.

“Wait…you and Bucky?”

“Yes.”

The old man’s voice broke. “We got married. In Wakanda, during the war. We vowed to love each other, until —” He choked back a sob as tears spilled down his face, landing on the ring. “But he never even got the chance to wear his.”

Young Steve stood there, stunned. He thought of the seventy years he lost, frozen in ice. He thought of the five years Bucky was dust. He thought of all the time they never had, and all the weight the man before him still carried.

He stepped forward and pulled the elder Steve into a tight embrace.

“Come with me, Steve.” He whispered. “Let’s go home. Let’s find Bucky together.”

[12 Months Ago — This Universe — Lakeside]

The two Steves arrived a little earlier than planned.

One of them — the younger Steve — was hidden behind the trees, watching form a distance. The other Steve sat quietly by the lakeside. Younger Steve watched as Sam took the shield from him, as Bucky stepped forward to embrace him, welcoming him home.

Bucky’s eyes caught the glint of a ring on the elder Steve’s finger. He froze for a second. He didn’t say anything, only offered a carefully measured smile and ready for a few words of congratulations.

From behind the trees, the hidden Steve couldn’t take it anymore.

He burst out of the brush and ran straight at Bucky, throwing his arms around him. “Bucky! Don’t let that old man fool you — I’m your Steve!”

Bucky glanced from the grinning, older Steve to the golden retriever—like big guy clinging to him. Then he punched him hard in the back.

“You absolute bastard,” Bucky muttered before pulling him into a fierce hug.

“What’s with the ring?” “It’s a secret.”

[7 Months Ago — This Universe — Banner’s Lab]

“His body is aging rapidly — almost four times faster than a normal person.” Banner stared at the report in his hands, brows furrowed with concern. He looked up at Steve. “I think it has something to do with the time dilation.”

“What does that mean?” Steve asked.

“I remember you said that when you met him in their universe, he looked to be in his fifties, but chronologically, he was in his nineties, right?”

“Yeah. And he mentioned that he was only frozen for about twenty years, far less than I was. So biologically, he should at least look like he’s in his seventies, right?”

“Exactly. Which leads me to believe that the time moves slower in his universe than it does here. The slower passage of time could have delayed his aging over there.” Bruce explained patiently. “But now he’s here. His body is being forced to adjust to our time flow and that causes his metabolism to disarray. He’s aging to fast. Steve…”

Bruce hesitated, the weight of the truth pressing down on him. “He doesn’t have much time left.”

Steve looked away with his jaw clenched. “Alright, thank you. Bruce.”

Steve pushed open the door to the room.

The man lying in the bed — another version of himself — still looked alert, but his hair had turned almost completely white since his arrival in this universe. Deep lines marked his face now. He was talking to Bucky, and they were reminiscing about the Vietnam War — an era this Steve had slept through, frozen far from the world and its cruelties.

“Hey, Steve. You don’t look so good. What’s going on?” Bucky asked.

“It’s probably what Bruce told him.” The Steve in the bed answered for him with a knowing look. “Come on, I’m over ninety. A man in his nineties dying peacefully is a privilege. Why do you look like the world just ended?”

Steve hesitated. “Did you know? Before you came here—?”

“Yes.” The elder Steve smiled. “Steve, my life had started to lose meaning long before you showed up. But when I met you, I knew — I had one last thing to do.” He turned his head toward Bucky and smiled faintly. “I’ve had regrets, sure. But coming here, seeing old friends again, using up a little of your retirement fund — that’s not a bad ending.”

“You did good, pal.” Bucky said softly, taking his wrinkled hand in both of his hands.

The elder Steve’s eyelids began to droop. His breathing was slow and even. Within moments, he drifted into sleep.

[Three Days Ago]

Captain America passed away peacefully in his sleep.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

[New York, Brooklyn, Barnes’s apartment] 4:00pm

“What a complicated story.” Everyone agreed.

“I think we can interpret it as this: the Captain America from another universe came to this one in what was essentially a long-planned suicide. But when two Steves appeared here, it confused the Machine. She recognized that Captain America’s life was in danger — the act of bringing him here is what ultimately triggered the countdown. So, she predicted that Captain America would kill Captain America.”

Finch summarized calmly.

Shaw downed the last of her juice. “Alright then. The court finds you not guilty, Steve.”

“So…this was all just a big misunderstanding?” Reese asked.

“Not exactly.” Finch said. “The Machine’s logic wasn’t wrong. In fact, her reasoning was quite sound. The only discrepancy might lie in the timing of the number’s appearance. I’ll need to discuss with Ms. Groves more about that. After all — superhero and multiverse time travel weren’t exactly on the table when I designed the Machine fifteen, twenty years ago.”

“I am really sorry for all the trouble I caused you.” Steve said. His guilty eyes landed on each of the three on the couch — lingering a little longer on Shaw. The lady, of course, looked completely unfazed.

"It’s alright, Steve," Reese said. "If it weren’t for you, we might never have spotted this kind of systemic flaw. And if your number ever pops up again, at least now we know where to find you.” He paused, then added with a faint smile, "Or, in case of an emergency, maybe we could call on the Nomad for backup?"

"Hey John, that’s not a bad idea," Steve replied, visibly perking up—then hesitated. "But a friend of mine once told me I’m terrible at covert ops. She said my stealth skills are practically nonexistent. Still, if you just need someone to throw punches, I’m in."

"And if you need a sniper," Bucky chimed in with a shrug, "you know where to find me."

"Oh, Congressman Barnes," Finch said, "I thought you were already stretched thin between your Thunderbolts missions and your legislative agendas. That mountain of paperwork on your desk surely deserves more attention. I believe Ms. Belova made a very valid point—you really should consider hiring another assistant."

"Were you eavesdropping on my phone calls, Harold?"

"Only your office line. And technically, it was Mr. Reese who did the listening."

Reese raised his hands in mock innocence. "Strictly business. I swear.”

“Well then,” Bucky said, suddenly remembering that Harold Wren was, in fact, a potential donor. “If you follow through on that medical center investment, I suppose I can pretend I didn’t hear what you just said. Say, are you really a millionaire, Mr. Wren?”

Finch didn’t answer immediately, but both Reese and Shaw gave small, knowing nods from the couch.

“In that case,” Steve stood up, brushing his hands together, “how about we all stay for dinner? I can whip something up—plenty of groceries, I went shopping this morning.”

“That’s a great idea. His burritos are excellent, John, you really should try one,” Shaw added, stretching out a bit on the couch, clearly making herself at home.

“Well, who are we to refuse such hospitality?” Reese replied with a smile. “Do you happen to have any chicken breast, Mr. Rogers? I could cook a bit for Bear—he’s had quite the day.”

“Oh! Right—” Finch suddenly looked alarmed. “My car is still parked like an absolute disaster outside your house, Mr. Barnes. Do you happen to have any proper parking?”

[New York, Brooklyn, Barnes’s apartment] 5:00pm

Bucky and Steve headed into the storage room to gather the gear for grilling. With this many unexpected guests, they’d also need extra plates and glasses, things they never thought they’d need all at once.

“I thought you were planning a romantic candlelit dinner for me tonight, Mr. Rogers?” Bucky teased, pulling down a box from the top shelf that clinked with four matching glasses. He crouched to rummage through another box, fishing out a long-neglected cutlery set.

“That was the plan, Congressman Barnes. But fate clearly had other ideas today. Besides—how could I let our potential donor leave hungry?” Steve stood with arms folded, watching Bucky navigate the clutter. Truthfully, he had no idea where anything was in this room.

“I wouldn’t mind skipping dinner, honestly. Harold’s a good man. I think he’ll make the right call.” Bucky stacked their finds on the floor, then turned around and yanked Steve by the collar until the blond stumbled into his chest. His lips hovered just a breath away. “But you, Mr. Rogers, now owe me a date.”

Steve’s arms slid easily around Bucky’s waist. “How about Paris on Friday?”

“You too?” Bucky started to say, but before he could finish, Steve leaned in and kissed him—slow and deep. Their tongues met, tangling with unhurried familiarity. When they pulled apart, Bucky’s cheeks were flushed, and he let out a shaky breath.

“I didn’t eavesdrop on your call, if that’s what you’re wondering, Buck.” Steve murmured, brushing his thumb against Bucky’s jaw. “But I have other sources.”

“Natasha?” Bucky’s voice dropped. “God. Is she ever coming back? Maybe she should just tell Yelena she’s alive. It might make things easier.”

“I don’t know. But I trust she has her reasons.” Steve nudged their foreheads together. “Now, let’s focus on our own plans. So—Paris on Friday?”

“Sure.” Bucky smiled, resting his forehead gently against Steve’s. He hummed softly, voice low and warm: Aux Champs Elysées，Au soleil, sous la pluie, а midi ou а minuit, Il y a tout ce que vous voulez aux Champs-Elysées…

Chapter Text

“So Steve, you two really settled down in a little apartment in Brooklyn?” Reese asked, mashing the potatoes as Steve stirred maple syrup into the melting butter.

“No more Captain America and Winter Soldier — just Rogers and Barnes?”

Steve smiled softly. “Yeah. Bucky and I grew up right here. The world’s changed a lot in the past seventy or eighty years, but in the end, we are still us. We are still together. That’s all that matters.”

As he spoke, he added a splash of black coffee. The mixture in the pot bubbled gently, like it was humming a tune.

“What about you, John” Steve asked. “Do you do anything besides work?”

“I don’t really have much time outside of work,” Reese said with a shrug. “When a number comes up, I have to be ready. But honestly, most of the time, it’s pretty fun. Breaking into places, doing a little role play — it’s more exciting than most people’s life.”

“But John, you know you can’t look to work to find the meaning of life.”

“Actually, it’s the opposite, Steve. I’m not looking for meaning in the job. It is the meaning.” Reese gave a small smile. “Your sauce is ready, by the way.”

Steve turned off the stove and poured the sauce into a container. Reese brought the mashed potatoes over to the table. Just one salad left to toss, and dinner would be ready.

“Have you ever met someone, John” Steve asked, “someone who made life feel meaningful?”

Reese looked up with a quiet smile. “Oh, yes, I did. There was someone once. I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with her and we could grow old together. But too many things happened. She can’t wait for me any more.”

“I’m sorry, John.” Steve placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “But you still have to —”

“Move on? I know.” Reese finished the sentence with a faint nod. “I’ve been on a few dates. Some really good nights, actually. But Steve — no matter what has happened to you, you have Barnes. You found each other, you held onto each other through everything. You are lucky. Not everyone gets that chance.”

He paused, looking down for a second, then added with a bitter little laugh, “you know, my old partner used to say — God, she was a pain in the ass — she said we were people who walk in the dark. And she was right. The things I’ve done, the secrets I kept.. no one really gets it. I used to think I’d drown it all in whiskey, or wait for someone to finish me with a bullet. But then —”

Reese glanced over Finch, who was helping Bucky with the salad, then looked back at Steve. “Then I met someone who turned out to be a pretty good boss. He found me, gave me a job. Or more accurately, he have a purpose — a reason to live. Every time we help one of those numbers — those people — we’re not just saving them. We’re saving ourselves, too.”

“I think that’s a perfect example of… ‘as the end but not as a means.’ Did I get that right?”

“Yes, you did, Mr. Kant.” Reese laughed, clapping Steve on the back. “I’d have no idea what you just said, if I didn’t live in a library.”

Dinner was actually pretty simple — Caesar salad, mashed potatoes, red-eye gravy with ham, and sautéed kale — but everything was prepared double in size. Bucky had been getting pretty handy with the air fryer lately, and he’d used it to prepare a batch of pre-marinated lamb chops.

“This looks amazing, Mr. Rogers!” Finch said, clearly impressed by the spread. Of course, it might also have been that his appetite had finally returned after an afternoon of kidnapping and high-speed car chases. He scooped some gravy over his ham and mashed potatoes and took a bite. “Everything tastes excellent. Have you always been this good at cooking, Mr. Rogers?”

“Absolutely not.” Bucky jumped in before Steve could talk. “Little Stevie here could barely look after himself back in the ’40s. But we didn’t have much back then — rationing and all. Once we hit the from lines, it was more about eating whatever you could get your hands on. These days, though, he actually has the time to experiment in the kitchen.”

“You must be pretty satisfied with all these, Congressman Barnes,” Reese said with a grin. “That lunchbox you had this afternoon looked impressive.”

“I am,” Bucky replied. “But don’t tell me you guys don’t get lunch while out in the field? That’s just ruthless capitalism, Harold.”

“Not exactly,” Shaw said, gnawing on a lamb chop. “Finch usually reimburses us. Our budget is actually pretty generous.”

“So you are a computer science genius and billionaire, huh, Harold?” Bucky asked.

“Sounds like someone else we know,” Steve chimed in. “Let me guess — MIT grads?”

“Ah, if you’re thinking about Tony Stark, then Finch here is his polar opposite.” Shaw said, wiping her mouth. “Back when I first started tailing him, I was floored — this guy acted like he had eyes in the back of his head.”

“I am just a very private person.” Finch said primly.

“He’s also the kind of person who’ll fly solo into a tropical storm to investigate a case on an island crawling with serial killers,” Reese added. “And he was this close to storming a federal prison singlehandedly to put someone out.”

“You were on that island too, Mr. Reese,” Finch said calmly. “As for the prison, well, it was a risky situation. Luckily, Detective Carter got to you first, so I didn’t have to actually break into a federal facility.”

“Wow,” Steve said, visibly impressed. “Your lives are way more exciting than I expected. We’ve been so busy chasing aliens falling from the sky and forgot how colorful things are right here in New York.”

Chapter Text

It was nearly seven o’clock. The scorching sun had finally dimmed, and the air had become a little cooler.

Dinner at Barnes’s place had ended, and everyone was helping clean up. Bucky was wiping the table, Steve had started the dishwasher. Finch had finished cleaning up the chicken breast he’d prepared for Bear, Shaw pulled out a tub of Nutella ice cream from the fridge, and Reese was about to take out the trash.

A suspicious car appeared at the entrance. Reese, holding the garbage, saw NYPD’s finest, Detective Fusco, sneakily peeking into the apartment.

Fusco received a call. “Hey, Lionel,” Reese’s low, gravelly voice came through the phone. “Mind telling me why you’re here?”

“Hey, wonder boy, just concerned about you guys, alright?” Fusco said. “What’s going on with you all? Glasses said you might be in some trouble, and then radio silence. I just happened to be in the area. You all doing okay?”

“We’re good,” Reese replied. “If you’d come a little earlier, you might’ve made the evening news. But now? Doesn’t look like you’ll have to.”

“Oh yeah? What, you saved a movie star or something? Hey, if you’ve got any more supermodel protection gigs, next time bring me along—”

Fusco’s window was suddenly tapped on. A short blonde girl with heavy smoky eye makeup was staring straight at him. She was holding a paper bag—judging by the shape, probably a bottle inside.

“Can I help you?” Fusco rolled down the window and asked.

With a strong Eastern European accent, she said, “Who are you? What are you doing here?” Fusco was stunned. He thought, Wait, isn’t that my line? He pulled out his badge.

“NYPD, 8th precinct. Detective Fusco. You—troubled kid—are you high?”

“Tch. A cop, huh?” the blonde girl kicked an empty can on the ground and walked off quickly.

“Hey! What’s your problem!” Fusco yelled as he stepped out of the car. “This city’s full of lunatics.”

“Oh Lionel, if you were talking about me, I might actually be offended.” Reese stepped out from behind the trash bins.

“Jesus, you scared me—what’s this new case of yours? Did you guys chop someone up and toss them in the dumpster?”

“Too brutal, Lionel. The case is closed. They invited us for dinner—that’s just kitchen waste.”

“They”? You and your chaos twins and Miss Cuckoo’s-Nest were invited? Anyone who can still eat around you people must be completely off.”

“Someone’s in a mood lately. Carter on leave leaving you helpless in the city?”

“Oh, Lord. I’m praying every day she comes back soon. But you know how it is—she’ll probably be stuck in Philly a while longer. Can you believe it? Taylor graduated from UPenn! But hey, if you ask me, NYU’s not bad. Let’s see if the kid can hockey his way in, hahaha!”

Ring ring ring—Fusco’s phone rang.

“Alright, alright, duty calls. You guys—have fun, or whatever it is you call this.” Fusco answered the phone as he got back in the car. “Szymanski! What’s going on? I’m on my way!”

Reese walked back to Barnes’s doorstep. He saw the blonde girl from earlier, the one who almost got into it with Fusco. She was leaning against the doorframe, looking like she hadn’t yet decided whether to knock.

She spotted Reese. “You’re with that cop? Since when does Barnes have so many police friends?”

“We’re not exactly friends. Today’s our first time meeting. We came to consult Mr. Barnes and his friends on some matters,” Reese said. “And you? Where’d you come from?”

“Russia.” The blonde rolled her eyes, clearly uninterested in conversation. Just then, the door opened, and she disappeared.

Finch was coming out, walking Bear.

“Oh, wonderful, Mr. Reese, you’re back. I think it’s time we head out. We’ve got a new number.” Finch turned to wave at Steve and Bucky. “Thank you both for your hospitality. Mr. Barnes, if you’d still like to discuss investing in the medical center, you have my number.”

“I think we’ll find an opportunity to work together, Mr. Wren.” Bucky shook his hand.

“Goodbye, Steve—or maybe never again. Gotta say, your cooking’s not half bad,” said Shaw. Steve waved at her and gave Reese a nod as well.

After the three left, Bucky called out into the seemingly empty hallway, “Hey Yelena, you wanna talk?”

The blonde girl suddenly reappeared from who-knows-where and shook the paper bag in her hand. “Let’s talk over drinks. Hope you’ve still got something to eat.”

Chapter Text

At the rehearsal of a new play by the wildly popular playwright Jensen Northland, a fan attempted to break into the backstage area and detonate an explosive device.

Mr. Northland’s latest play, a psychological thriller laced with political conspiracy, featured the on-stage death of a character named Mike Wolf—a symbol of idealism and resistance—who is killed by the government. The move shocked fans. Some sent death threats to the writer. Recently, someone threw a brick through his window and left a bloodied costume from the show on his doorstep, escalating the situation.

Naturally, the Machine produced his number.

During Finch and Reese’s investigation, they discovered that a person of unusual background had infiltrated the fan base. Dr. Eli Blake, a former CIA researcher in cognitive weapons development—specialized in emotion-driven manipulation and crowd behavior modeling—was one of the fans.
Dr. Blake had created a dark-net profile to attract like-minded individuals, spreading rhetoric like: “Writers are not gods, they are mere mortals,” and “Jensen must pay for Mike’s death.” His words incited others to threaten—and even plot to murder—Mr. Northland. That’s how the bomb at the rehearsal became a reality.

Backstage, Reese encountered an unexpected figure—the same blonde woman he had seen briefly outside Barnes’s house. She had already disarmed the bomb before he arrived.

“Ms. Yelena Belova, is it?” Reese said. “Sorry I didn’t recognize you last time. Mind telling me why you’re here?”

“Relax, John. We’re not enemies,” Yelena said with a grin. “I was just passing by today. Bomb’s taken care of—see you around!” And with that, she walked off.

“Mr. Reese, is everything alright?” Finch’s voice came through the earphone.

“I think so. Jensen’s safe—for now,” Reese replied. “But someone beat us to disarming the bomb. I just saw Yelena Belova.”

“How much do you think Ms. Belova knows about our operations?”

“Hard to say. But I think she wants to talk.”

Three days after the bomb scare at the theater, Yelena was tailing a man walking a Belgian Shepherd through Manhattan. She didn’t know his real name—he had too many aliases. Probably even used a fake name in school. For now, she decided to call him Harold, since that name appeared in several of his false identities.

Harold looked like he had mobility issues—just like Bucky had described. But even so, Yelena managed to lose him by the third corner.

A huge humiliation, she thought. She was a former Red Room agent, now the leader of the Thunderbolts, and she had just lost track of a man with a limp? If word got out, she’d be a laughingstock.

Before she could recover, a tall, gray-haired man in a suit appeared behind her.

“Perhaps I should let you know, my friend is a very private person,” said Reese. “Why don’t we sit in Central Park, Ms. Belova? If you would like to talk.”
And so the three of them—and Bear, the dog—sat side by side on a Central Park bench. To Yelena, it felt oddly like a clandestine spy exchange.

“Mind telling me why you were following me, Ms. Belova?” Harold asked first.

“Well... I was just curious,” Yelena said, fidgeting with her fingers. “I’ve known Bucky for over half a year, and I only got invited to his place last week. And suddenly he invites you guys over for dinner?”

“Actually, it was Steve who invited us,” Reese replied—though he did kidnap our friend first.

“Wow, you’re already on a first-name basis with the golden-haired, broad-chested boyfriend. That’s fast, John,” Yelena said casually. “Alright, so the two of them told me a bit about what you do—helping people. I thought it was pretty cool, you know? The way you do it—quietly, without fanfare. Bucky told me to keep it a secret, not to tell anyone else on our team or Valentina. Said it could mess up your operations.”

“Yes, Ms. Belova, if word of our existence could remain between us, I’d be very grateful,” said Finch. “Now, may I ask why you were backstage at Jensen Northland’s play? Was it curiosity again?”

“Not this time. Valentina’s team is pretty interested in Eli Blake’s work—you know, manipulating crowds and stuff—so she sent me to observe. I found out he was inciting people on the dark web to kill Jensen Northland. They even wrote up a detailed plan. So I went to the theater to check it out.”

“And what are you planning to do with Dr. Blake?” Finch asked.

“We? Well, most likely someone will go get him. After all, you guys didn’t catch him this time. As for Valentina’s team... hard to say. That woman is unpredictable.”

Yelena paused for a long moment before continuing.

“But Blake’s research reminds me too much of my time in the Red Room. That kind of psychological manipulation controlled me for years. That fan I saw backstage—he gave me that same feeling. I hate that feeling.”

“Ms. Belova, in our society, psychological manipulation is nearly everywhere. Look at the sea of ads, the press conferences—they all aim to influence their audience,” Finch said. “But I’ve always believed that every person deserves the space to choose, to change, to take responsibility for those choices. And those of us with more power—people like us—should protect that space. Don’t you think?”

“You know, Harold, talking to you is very... interesting,” Yelena said with a smile. “Next time, I will find out where you live. And we can talk more.”