Forgotten feelings

Part ~ 4

— "What's your name again?" — Sam asked, sitting down opposite me. He seemed more patient and friendly, unlike his friend. We were sitting at their so-called base, and Bucky was nervously drinking whiskey. I could see how my presence bothered him, and he wasn't shy about showing it.

— "Ellen. Ellen Butler," — I said shortly, looking straight into his eyes. He nodded, as if memorizing it, and leaned back against the sofa.

— "How old are you, Ellen?" — Bucky opened a bottle of whiskey, pouring himself some over ice and downing it all at once. I squinted, wondering how much more he could drink and what he'd be like once he finally got drunk.

— "I prefer not to disclose my age; it changes the perception of my professional skills," — I said, unable to withstand his intense and cold gaze when looking him straight in the eye. It seemed much harder now that he was just staring at me than when I had ignored him in the bar. Now, there was that gray look of an empty soul. He noticed how I was staring at him in surprise, although I tried to hide it. A long, silent pause fell in the room, his gaze softened, and then he switched his focus back to the open whiskey bottle — he lost.

— "So, what's the plan, or do we even have one?" — I managed to ask, making sure no one was looking at me anymore, and turned to Sam. He seemed to smile slightly, shaking his head, his hands clasped together.

— "We're here to discuss that. At dawn, we plan to visit the chemist. I think that's our only lead so far..." — He didn't seem very satisfied with what they had, and I had hoped for something more. But we had to find out the rest ourselves.

— "Can't they be tracked in any way? They must be using some technology?" — I was surprised that nothing could be traced at all, not even a tiny piece of information that could definitely help. But I guess the chemist was that small lead. Sam shook his head. I heard the fridge open and gave Bucky a quick glance, keeping him in my line of sight.

— "I tried, absolutely nothing," — he said, handing me what I assumed was my laptop so I could check for myself.

— "Street surveillance cameras?" — I opened the gray lid of a brand-new "HP" and went through all the servers and files on the desktop. Nothing.

— "No footage, they probably have a hacker who covers their tracks," — Barnes approached the sofa and sat next to Sam, directly across from me, offering him an open beer bottle.

— "Not much..." — I said, holding the laptop on my lap, closing it, not understanding how they could have erased everything so skillfully as if they didn't exist at all. And the only proof that we weren't going insane were newspapers, news broadcasts, and other media sources.

— "Do you drink?" — Bucky didn't offer me anything, indicating that I was an unwelcome guest only to him, as Wilson was clever enough to guess to do so. Maybe I understood him, letting a stranger in who says she's now working with you as part of your team. Now she sits here, sees his arm... The arm, he didn't hide his arm in front of Sam, and now, not in front of me, although it was strange, he was wearing gloves in the bar. I assessed him with a subtle glance, only now noticing the black t-shirt that fit him like it was tailor-made. His chest rose erratically with every breath. The living hand confidently held a cold beer bottle, water running down from the temperature difference. A slightly protruding vein ran up his bicep. Legs spread wide in heavy black boots. His damn attitude, I would... Wait, stop! I've been quiet for two minutes, completely distracted from why I'm here.

— "No!" — I wasn't very talkative; maybe that's why I ended up as an agent. Or maybe I was more passionate about it than it seemed at first glance and never gave up. And I was stubborn, very stubborn.