1964-02-07 - A Visitor in the Dark
Summary: Bobbi returns home to her apartment only to be surprised by the Winter Soldier
Related: None
Theme Song: None
bobbi bucky 

Bobbi's pretty good. She can spot a tail. She sets a different route home regularly— checks doors and windows as she goes. Small, subtle signals are on her doorway, the things that'd let her know someone's broken in. All intact.

So when she gets inside, after a long day, there are no indicators that someone's in her room— until the light in the living room won't turn on.

Then there's another, louder, much more metallic *click*— the familiar sound of a revolver hammer being drawn back.

"Agent Morse," comes a gravelly voice. A low table light turns on, revealing the craggy, highboned features of the fellow she'd always known as The Winter Soldier. Premiere Russian assassin. Currently in her living room.

And aiming a revolver at her. The butt of it rests on the arm of the easy chair, but there's a sense about him that he doesn't need much work to aim it.

"Have a seat. We need to talk," he says, tilting his head towards the sofa in her living room.


February was a month in which the sunset early. When it was possible for Agent Bobbi Morse to leave for work and return home in utter darkness. This was one such time that daylight savings time had put the spy in a pinch it would seem. As she shifted her keys from her palm to between her fingers as the light remained off despite a rigorous flick of the switch, Bobbi felt her heart leap to her throat.

The click of a hammer being drawn, the metallic sound loud and thrumming in her ears stilled her pace backwards toward the hall. Halting her movement to reach for her own pistol tucked under her leather jacket.

Then came the voice, the oh so familiar voice and Bobbi's features schooled themselves into a mask of careful blankness as she strode further into the room. Her footsteps tapped lightly against floorboards that creaked with each movement, this was an apartment that had been purposefully left neglected. A spy's den. Lacking any personal touch it seemed beyond the bare essentials.

She perched on the edge of the couch that was directly to his left, her hands held carefully up before her.

"Right. Well, given that you took the trouble to break into my apartment, never mind finding it, I don't see why not." She crossed her legs slowly, her gaze narrowed on him in the low light that streamed in from outside. "It's just as well, I've got a few questions for you too."


He's moved the furniture a little. The coffee table's been shifted close to the sofa, enough that it's a minor barrier to rapid movement. He waits until Bobbi settles into the seat, then— very deliberately— aims the revolver away, thumbs the hammer down, and rests it under his hand. He can still get to it fast, but at least he's not making her stare at .35 caliber bullets.

"You and I both know that I would have been bagged and taken to a rendition site in the Keys or West Germany or something. Even if the Russians didn't end up trading for me, I'd spend the rest of my life in some dank hole without ever seeing sunlight."

A matter-of-fact explanation of his breakout. "I don't want to be on the outside forever, but I ain't dumb enough to walk up to SHIELD or the Bureau and say 'Hey guys, let's make a deal'. So. I figure I'll talk to someone with a reputation for being a straight shooter." There's something strange about his accent— it's decidedly Brooklyn, not missing a beat.


Bobbi lowered her hands to settle directly on top of her lap, laid flat, as the gun was lowered as well. At least she wouldn't have to have a conversation while her arms started to ache. That would've been quite the way to go out. Shot because your arms were tired.

Still, she didn't smile, merely watched him with a sharpness of her gaze that had sent many a lesser man running in the opposite direction. "Considering your list of crimes I wouldn't be surprised, no. Though we had orders to bring you in alive rather than dead because of higher ups." She didn't particularly have to say 'Because Captain America asked' but there it was between the lines.

"I do have a question though, that's been bothering me." She pursed her lips, as if considering how to phrase things before she plunged onwards.

"When you tried to assassinate our Director Carter.. did you happen to know that it was an alien creature replacing her?" An arch of a golden brow followed her question as she sat back.


"…you're bullshitting me," Bucky says, flatly. He stares at Bobbi's face.

"You're not bullshitting me. Okay, I don't feel as bad for trying to kill her," he mutters, rubbing a hand against the stubble on his chin with a rasping drift of his fingers.

"No. I didn't know," he tells her, a few seconds later. "That's… yeah." He shakes his head. "Anyway. That's neither here nor there. One less charge of attempted murder isn't going to do me any good. I appreciate Steve pulling for me, but— let's be real. I'd get disappeared. You and I both know this," he tells Bobbi. "Steve's got some blind spots and he's been on ice a long time. I know how the CIA handles domestic threats. I'd have a car accident or something."

"But I'm out in the cold too long and I know sooner or later the Russians are gonna get even. I'd like to get ahead of that. And…" His jaw tenses. "Pepper needs help. I think she's still addicted to Vigor. And SHIELD is the only edge I've got to help get her off the junk."


Bobbi waited. And waited.

Not so much as a smile quirking at the edge of her lips as he realized that she was in fact stating the truth. "Yeah, aliens invading the Earth. Apparently they've been trying it, well, current theory says since the last World War. We believe that they started out in Nazi Germany, and worked from there. Using it as a staging ground. Testing, among other things. Rogers is what lends strength to that current theory." She mused, shifting to settle her arms back against the armrest properly.

"So, we've been compromised. We can only assume that other nations, possibly NATO has too. So whatever is in charge over Russia may very well be the same." She arched a brow, wondering if he'd pick up on her insinuations there.

"As far as Miss Potts is concerned.. I've read the files. We've people working on figuring out a cure. We're tracing the paper trails and the alike, but it's slow going with so many of our people having been taken and reclaimed as of late."


"So… Steve's the product of alien research." Bucky almost rubs his forehead. "Jiminy Christmas," he mutters, shaking his head slowly. "This just got surreal."

"Look. I'll make you a deal," he tells Bobbi, focusing on her. "Pepper needs help. You need a gun hand, and you need someone who isn't part of NATO or SHIELD. Someone you know is looking out for himself. You get Pepper on top priority for treating her Vigor addiction, then you get Steve. The three of us meet. Once Pepper's being looked at by real doctors… I'll help you deal with this… alien invasion."

"God, I can't believe I had to say that out loud," he mutters.


A single shoulder lifted in a roll, a shrug, "Dunno if they were here already on these shores and played a hand in Rogers' creation, but our current estimates put them in Germany. They seem to have an interest in our enhanced people, enough to have ordered that prison you busted out of to be constructed."

Blue eyes scanned over him, her lips thinning. "I can't promise you anything, you know. I'm a senior agent, but I don't have any power to make deals. I still take commands from on high." Her voice was flat, and even.

"I am however, a skilled biochemist. And the woman that has come the closest to ever recreating the Super Soldier formula from scratch." A twist of her lips at that. "I read the reports on that drug, and we have samples in the lab. The problem is the man power involved in finding a cure. We've been forced to work on reviving over a dozen people from cryogenically frozen states."

"So here's my counter offer. I will personally see to Miss Potts regardless of commands on high, which I will check out those first. You have my word."

She paused, considering him as she tilted her head back. "I won't turn someone in trouble away. She clearly needs it considering how she put herself into so much danger last time chasing you." She folded her arms slowly, making sure it wasn't taken as a threat. "However as far as your personal protection or the alike in terms of Shield? I can't make that promise. I'll have to speak with the Director."



Bucky shakes his head. "Steve. You, me, him. Keep it between the three of us for now. I'm reasonably sure you aren't an alien, and I don't think there's an imposter in the world who could keep up Steve's boy-scout shtick for long," he says, with a mutter.

"Three of us. We'll figure something out. You help Pepper. Then once this… problem… is dealt with…" He shrugs uneasily. "We'll figure something else out." He rises and disappears the revolver into his waistband. He wears a heavy, slightly oversized field jacket, which covers several firearms before he buttons it shut.

"We square, Morse?" he inquires.


A arched brow followed that, "Director Carter had been replaced for the past three months. That thing managed just fine." She muttered, her lips thinning as she frowned at him.

"You're asking me to break several orders, mandates, and codes to work with you and Rogers on this. Not only putting my career on the line, but also my freedom. Not exactly 'by the books' to work with an internationally wanted criminal." She didn't budge as he rose, eyeing still as if she expected him to lash out at her at any given minute.

Then a sigh dragged from her lips as she lowered her gaze for a brief flicker of her eyes, slowly shaking her head. "I'll help Miss Potts though. Where is she so I can get some blood work started?"


"Hey. Life of a spy, right?" Bucky does something VERY weird— he grins at Bobbi. Just a little.

"I'll see myself out, because I'm pretty sure that the CIA is gonna be here any minute. He digs in his pocket for a crumpled sheet of plain white paper, and tosses it on the table. "That's her address. She needs help, Morse. Take care of her." He turns off the lamp on the table again, and then there's the sound of a car horn through a suddenly open window. Moments later, the lights come back up— and the Winter Soldier is gone, just ahead of the screeching of hard-braking cars as government Lincolns come to a halt down on the street."

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