#hellospringday1

Your careful steps became a little more hasty, but still, your composure remained. To any onlooker, you were just another person on their commute to wherever was your destination. No one but you could know you were going three blocks further down the path you were supposed to take if you meant to go home. The signs were still familiar. It’d be a shame if you didn’t have all of the small city mapped out in your brain by now. You wouldn’t call yourself a spy if you didn’t.

Looking up before crossing the street, the familiar strange face was somewhere to your left. Quickly your brain told you to take advantage of the sea of people to weave in and out of sight, and you would have stopped right after losing the face at the crosswalk, had your senses not told you that somehow, someone was still hot on your tail. At least that’s what it felt like and you hadn’t lived as long as you had by ignoring that gut feeling that had been drilled into you all those years ago in training. 

Damn it. The footsteps were familiar, but not enough so that you’d feel at ease. They disturbed you more than anything. Your hood was thrown up over your head as a mere hiding instinct as you turned corners, your feet dragging you through paths without your eyes needing to see them, as they were busy scanning for easier escapes and the looming figure that was close enough to make you want to run, far enough to make you nauseous with suspense. Jumping over fences, almost tripping over rocks, spewing semi mute apologies as you tried to leave people behind, take the silent empty routes, the white bag with bold kanji was forgotten, the sourness in your mouth present at the lost of your yummy Takoyaki dinner. 

Mr. Kimura would surely give you more, and for free, that is if you could ever return to his small stand. 

Looking over your shoulder was something you thought you could leave behind, but much like right now, the feeling of a chase never stopped, and so your ears, perking up at every sound, they never rested. Marrakesh, Budapest, Milan to name a few, and now Osaka. You never fully rested. 

Running now. The strong pitter patter of your light shoes echoing in your head, scaring you somewhat, that you didn’t know what chased you, yet you knew something was there. Absolutely disturbing. And then it stopped, but you didn’t. 

You didn’t until you were blocks away, regaining your breath as you slowed your steps and descended into the first subway station you came across. Brain working overtime, the job of a thief, an agent, a spy, an assassin, to plan everything ahead, leave no trace. A quick trip uptown to throw anyone off, a change of clothes at a random souvenir shop, and then you’d catch three cabs; the long way home, make sure you didn’t hint anyone towards your actual place. 

But why was the station so... quiet. Empty.

The train breezed by on the other side of the tracks, going downtown. You hid your hands deep in the pockets of your raincoat, hair blowing with the breeze from the speed of the wagons. Still looking behind you, but the looming feeling that had stopped was now creeping back in, as through the small windows, a shape appeared on the other side of the station, making your eyes widen in realization, your breathing reduced to short jagged gasps. The black cap, longish strands of dark hair and ever present gloomy stare more familiar than you’d like. As the last wagon flashed before you, it left the clear image, his stance similar to yours, with hands deep in his pockets and light stubble coming to view as he eyed you down. 

His right hand, slowly coming out of hiding, moving as if time had stopped, flicking nonchalantly over to you, and the distinct clatter of something hitting your shoe. 

A red poker chip. The memories immediately flooding back. Thankfully, good ones, with the faint, distant howl, of all the bad they hid. You stared at it, not needing to look up to feel how he illegally ate the distance between you in three strong strokes, avoiding the dangers of the train lanes, and standing at a mere 7 feet away from you. Whistling from the coming train that whizzed by, not even bothering to stop. The station long forgotten at this time of the day.

“Y/N” his voice was just as you remembered, as if you could forget. Husky, breathy, deep and so enticing. “James...” you look up at him, the bags under his eyes were more prominent, the clear indicator that he, much like you, couldn’t stop. Couldn’t rest. “You’re hard to find” “For you?–” you scoff lightly – “Allow me to doubt it. It’s been what? Four years?” He takes a deep breath, coming just a little closer. “Three” You knew, but somehow it was easier to act as if you didn’t remember all those things. “Only took you that long to call in that favor” you bit your lip, trying to keep a shocked gasp of a laugh at bay. “I’m not.” your head’s shooting up, eyes looking between his blue ones, you’re confused, he’s determined and there’s something else there you still haven’t placed. But the chip... He shakes his head as if reading your mind. This wasn’t about the poker chip. This wasn’t about that past. This was not the favor. At least not yet. 

You knew he was enhanced, but his ability to read you like a book did not come from any serum or junk put in his brain. Your ability to read his mind didn’t come from any training either, no matter how hard anyone tried you can’t beat super powers into a person. No, this ability came from the same place as his. Familiarity. 

It had been three years for a good reason, but you understood back then, and it came to bite you back right now as you looked around, much like running away, you couldn’t outrun your past, you would never fully leave James and all that came with him behind. Considering all your options - none - and noticing the two men that stuck out like sore thumbs coming down the steps on the other side of the station – Sam Wilson and Steve Rogers – things fell into place, as they always did when James Buchanan Barnes was involved. No wonder they felt like familiar strangers. No wonder this was all Bucky after all. And you knew. Sighing, you unclenched your fists by your side, mimicking James’ stance as you cracked your neck. He gave you a grimace, he hated this as much as he knew you would, but his hands were tied, and suddenly so were yours. It was as if no time had gone by at all. 

You zipped up your hoodie and leaned against the wall crossing your arms and closing your eyes “What’s the mission?”