Agent Stark || BUCKY BARNES [1]

008 ― The New Recruits

2012 ― New York

Over the last year, Holland Stark and Steve Rogers had become inseparable. It hadn't been intentional at first—it had started because Holland was the only thing familiar in Steve's new world. But over time, it grew into something steady, something grounding. She was his anchor to both the past and the present.

She had spent the better part of the last twelve months helping him adjust—walking him through history lessons, new technology, world politics, and the immense changes that had unfolded during his seventy-year absence. They talked often, sometimes into the early hours of the morning, and despite the grief woven between them—of Bucky, of Howard, of everything they'd lost—Steve had come to trust her more than anyone else in this new world.

But even with that closeness, Holland held pieces of herself back. She never told him that she was an assassin. That she had killed for decades, sometimes under S.H.I.E.L.D., sometimes without their knowledge. She didn't think Steve would understand. Worse, she didn't think Bucky would forgive her either... and on some days, she wasn't sure she could forgive herself.

That night, she sat curled on the couch of her Manhattan apartment, a glass of whiskey in one hand and the television playing quietly in the background, when her phone rang. She answered without checking the caller ID. "Go for Stark," she said, her tone dry and sharp, the familiar bite of sarcasm on her tongue.

"How soon can you get your nephew and come in?" came the voice of Phil Coulson.

Holland's mouth quirked into a smirk. "Phil Coulson, is that any way to talk to your agency's founder?" Phil was one of the few agents she enjoyed teasing. He always took the bait, even when he didn't want to. She leaned back, propping her bare feet on the coffee table. "And you know that my nephew doesn't know I'm even alive..." she added, her voice softening just slightly. There was an edge of protectiveness in it—Tony was still her blood, even if he didn't know she existed. "What threat is risking a family reunion?"

"A global one. Nick needs all hands on deck," Phil said seriously. Holland sat forward immediately, the playfulness vanishing from her expression. Her fingers tightened around the glass.

"What's the issue?" she asked, her voice clipped, all business now.

"Barton's compromised. The Tesseract is involved," Phil said. That was all she needed to hear. Two words: Barton and Tesseract. It was enough to send her pulse racing and her mind into motion.

"You get my nephew," she instructed without hesitation, her voice low and commanding. "And don't tell him about me. I have someone else in mind." She didn't wait for Phil's response. She ended the call with a sharp press of her thumb and exhaled a slow, steady breath.

There was only one person she trusted to face something like this.

Steve.

⇎⇎⇎⇎⇎⇎

Steve Rogers was in a boxing gym, his knuckles bruised beneath the wraps as he pummeled the heavy bag with relentless force. Each strike came faster, harder, sharper—driven by a whirlwind of thoughts that refused to quiet. He saw Bucky falling. He heard the radio static from the cockpit. He pictured Peggy's tearful face, Holland's desperate voice. The weight of seventy years, of war, of loss—it was all too much.

The final punch landed with a sickening crack, and the chain snapped. The bag flew off its hook and hit the ground with a heavy thud.

That was when Holland walked in.

She stood by the door for a moment, watching him. Steve didn't see her right away as he crossed the gym floor to grab another punching bag. But she knew this was where she'd find him. She was the one who brought him here in the first place, back when he first woke up and needed somewhere to channel everything he was holding in. She had told him this place had saved her more than once. Now it was his turn.