𝙾𝚗𝚎 𝙿𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝 𝙵𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝙼𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚘𝚗 ~ Bucky Barnes

12. 207 HOURS REMAIN

Imogen is led through the sterile corridors of the precinct, the harsh fluorescent lights casting unforgiving shadows on the linoleum floors. The echoing footsteps reverberate with each step, a somber cadence accompanying her march toward the inevitable confrontation.

As they reach the interrogation room, Sam holds the door open, gesturing for Imogen to enter. The room is a stark tableau, with a cold metal table at its center and harsh lighting overhead. Bucky sits on one side, his expression a mix of weariness and determination.

Imogen and Bucky exchange a brief, surprised glance as she enters the interrogation room. Their eyes hold a silent conversation, a mixture of recognition, disbelief, and a shared acknowledgment of the twists that have brought them to this point.

Sam, observing the silent exchange, senses the undercurrents of their connection. He clears his throat, breaking the momentary lapse in conversation. "Take a seat, Grey," he repeats, his voice cutting through the unspoken tension. Imogen complies, her gaze momentarily lingering on Bucky before settling into the chair across from him.

The cold metal table between them becomes a metaphorical bridge connecting their past to the present. The precinct, with its detached ambiance, becomes an unexpected backdrop for the collision of their worlds.

As the door closes behind her, the sterile atmosphere of the interrogation room intensifies. The silence is palpable, broken only by the faint hum of the ventilation system. Imogen, acutely aware of the weight of the situation, locks eyes with Bucky once more, a curious yet irked expression to her eyes.

Sam takes a seat at the head of the table, his gaze shifting between Imogen and Bucky. The air is thick with unspoken questions, a charged energy that crackles between the trio. The harsh lighting casts harsh shadows on their faces, emphasizing the gravity of the impending conversation.

"Let's cut to the chase," Sam begins, his voice firm.

"And which chase are we going to cut, Sam?" Bucky interjects, his eyes flitting between his ex and his best friend. "The gala or the fact that you are wasting valuable time for mine and Gen's contracts here." He gestures to both him and Imogen, a slight sarcastic tone woven into his words, his gaze now fully fixed on Wilson.

Imogen simply rolls her eyes, reclining into her chair and crossing her legs as Sam maintains an unwavering gaze on his friend, "Buck, I'm not going to pretend to know how much shit you both are facing with your covert assassin roles, but I can tell you that you both are and will be in significant shit regarding this bombing if you two don't start talking."

"I told you yesterday that I had no part in that ludicrous stunt he pulled at the gala." Imogen throws in her two cents, shooting a sidelong glare at Bucky.

"Oh, so you two have been conversing now?" Barnes quips, looking at both of them once more and turning his body slightly to face Imogen, his arm resting on the table.

"And why does that matter, right now?" She too turns, her head tilting.

"You're really asking why it matters that you willingly decided to discuss all of this with my best friend?" Again, Bucky gestures with his finger between them, his gaze narrowing in her direction.

"It's not as if I actively sought him out, James! Sam showed up at my door, thanks to you!" Grey argues back, leaning forward.

"And it's not as if I intended to make you a prime suspect in it, Imogen!" He too leans forward.

The room crackles with a charged energy as Imogen and Bucky engage in a verbal standoff, their history and the recent events intertwining in a complex dance of words. Sam watches the exchange, the weight of the investigation heavy on his shoulders.