bucky had slid a business card into your palm like it was nothing.

it was the kind of gesture you wouldn’t have blinked at under normal circumstances—polite, nondescript, forgettable. except the congressman wasn’t exactly known for doing anything without good reason. and more to the point: you didn’t recall saying a single word to him all evening.

you’d been standing near the terrace of valentina’s over-the-top diplomatic gala, talking to mel about the suspiciously classified memos related to project sentry. something about the security clearances being misaligned, and wrapping up val's loose ends. a facility that didn’t show up on maps, and four unlucky agents. but bucky had breezed behind you just once, pausing only to thank the bartender, before that card ended up between your fingers.

white stock. black ink. no logo. no job title. kind of shitty. just a phone number and a meeting time, the same one mel had warned you that he'd issued her as well.

you turned just in time to see him lean against the wall, a glass of bourbon in his hand and the vague outline of a smile curving one side of his mouth as he was washed in golden light. not quite smug. not quite amused. something between i know and i’m watching you.

the super soldier didn’t look like a congressman, and didn’t hold himself like one either. he was all relaxed limbs and heavy shoulders, that metal arm still visible beneath a sharp-tailored cuff—not polished for show, not covered to hide. just there, like the rest of him, and as some would say, a living weapon.

“you work for valentina,” he said, loud enough for you to hear over the low drone of the jazz quartet. his tone wasn’t accusatory, but it wasn’t warm either—it seemed that his pr manager had trained him to be slightly less awkward in the public eye than he was the last time you'd met. “mel, too.”

a sip of bourbon. a glance toward the marble floor where the rich and powerful moved like chess pieces, completely unaware that said soiree was merely a distraction as valentina cleared everything that could indite her from the face of the earth. “i’ve read the transcripts. as val's right hands, you two know more than you’re supposed to.”

“i don’t need you to do anything stupid. not yet.” another glance, this time toward val, laughing a little too brightly with a baltic diplomat near the champagne tower. “but there’s another inquiry coming. and when it does? i’m going to need someone inside the house of cards to admit it’s collapsing.”

his blue eyes were tired. colder than you'd expected. not cruel, just practiced. the kind of look people wore after they stopped being afraid of their own ghosts—or went to therapy, you supposed.

“i’m not here to convince you,” he added, setting down his glass as he rose, voice pitching conspiratorially. only for your ears, now. “just wanted you to have my number. in case you decide you’d rather talk to me than testify after everything falls apart. i don’t believe in lost causes anymore. but i’ve learned to spot people who want out before it’s too late.”