The saddest girl to wear a yellow dress

"I need your help." (7)

Earlier that morning

Roofs. When it came to sleeping arrangements, they were far from ideal and his back was starting to get a bothersome crick in it, no amount of painkillers - and he required a lot - could ease.

It had been almost two weeks since he had dropped Amber off at the entrance of her aunt's building - her face glowing and hopeful. 

 On nights such as these, that memory was the only thing that made his hours go by quicker.

This particular organization - The Armada, they called themselves - was proving harder to track, it seemed. A mission that was supposed to take a few days at most, was turning into unending hours and those hours were turning into weeks.

He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear as he unflinchingly kept his rifle aimed toward the broad perimeter.

The first rays of a new day were peeking through the gaps between the trees. This particular operation was taking place in the outskirts of Washington, DC and he welcomed the stillness the city wouldn't grant.

"No luck. It's abandoned. We are too late." Nat's staticky, discouraged voice interrupted the dead silence.

"Was anything recovered this time?" Bucky grunted, loosening his grip on the rifle - eyes still alert.

"Negative," Nat confirmed - a sharp edge to her tone.

"You've got to be shitting me!" Clint chimed in, hopping off a nearby tree. Bucky could see him from where he was. "How many times this week?" he slid an arrow back into his quiver.

"They must've left SOME clue!" Bucky stomach clenched as he made his way outside the two-story building to regroup.

"I know this sucks, guys," Sam appeased, while he approached Clint and Bucky from behind. Nat followed closely.

"I promised my son I wouldn't miss his football game tomorrow!" Clint's gaze sunk to the ground, Nat rested a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"I understand we all have a life to get back to, but this is the job as you are all well aware. Why don't we go back, get a good nights rest and see if Tony has new intel for us?" Sam explained, forcing himself to keep an optimistic attitude. Inside, he was just as baffled by the assignment's unexpected elusiveness just as much as the rest of his comrades.

"Sounds good to me!" Nat said, reinforcing Sam's attempt at consolation.

"Alright, then..." A crestfallen Clint replied while they all headed toward the cloaked hovercraft behind the bushes.

"Can I have a word, man?" Sam tapped Bucky on the side of his arm before he got too far ahead. 

"You all go ahead and get the engines started, we'll join you in a minute," he half-shouted to the rest of the crew.

Nat raised a hand in acknowledgment and continued on alongside Clint.

"If this is an extended version of your morale shenanigans I'd much rather be asleep..." Bucky grumbled, slinging his rifle behind his back - Sam pulled a small bundle of polaroids from one of his intricate suit's compartments. He peered at Bucky - hesitation danced in his eyes for a brief moment.

"What's with the mystery, man?" Bucky shifted uncomfortably - eyes aimed at the polaroids Sam was holding.

"After much debate with myself, I ...think you should know." A deep breath and Sam finally stretched his hand out to hand Bucky the photos.

Bucky huffed a faltering little laugh and took them, his eyes drifting from Sam's distraught face to the contents on his own hand.

"What the hell..?" Bucky had to squint to really make out the face plastered in the photos - but even if they were blurry and dark - he would've recognized her face in a vast sea of millions. He blinked, eyes widening steadily as he examined the images.

"She was spotted with the head of The Armada, Ronald Pierce in the flesh...only a few days ago," Sam cautiously explained, but Bucky could not hear him. His mind spun and twisted, and the shock turned the pit of his stomach into a knot.

"How did you get these?" Bucky snapped.

"Tony had them on his desk during yesterday's debriefing, I took them because I wanted you to see them first." Sam's loyalty made his temper de-escalate.

"I'm sorry, brother, " Sam smacked Buck shoulder - his fingers squeezing slightly.

"This has to be Amelia's doing." Bucky words fled his lips before he could think.

"Amelia?" Sam lifted a brow, but wouldn't push it any further ."We should keep this under wraps until we have more info, if she finds out we are unto her, she might tip them off and they might vanish again." Each word was spoken with pained reluctance - Sam was trying to spare his buddy's feelings as much as he could.

A long pause, then "Agreed," Bucky acknowledged as he joined the rest of the team in the hovercraft.

----- ------

Another toss, followed by a turn, a deep inhale and he realized he was not going to be able to fall asleep. 

Retrieving the Polaroids from his nightstand he runs his steel-blue eyes over the blurry silhouette of her face - dark lips and a black knit cap. The rest too obscure to be distinguished, Ronald, the head of The Armada, crossed-armed, frozen in front of her - the glint in his eye the most distinct element in the picture.

Was she in Washington?

Why could she possibly want with The leader of The Armada?

A knock on the door accompanied by, "You've got a visitor downstairs, " and he leaps out of bed. He tosses the photos in his nightstand's drawer and slips his white undershirt on before he yanks on his bedroom doorknob.

The Avenger's headquarters was not very trafficked during those hours in the night. Everybody was surely getting as much rest as possible between missions - everyone...except him. He'd thought about heading back to Brooklyn before next morning's assignment, but if that picture was recent, he was not going to find her there.

He had reached the bottom of the building - the black hairband around his wrist was now being maneuvered around his raven hair, holding a low bun at the back of his neck.

He opens the huge glass door that leads to the even wider lobby. 

There's no one there.

"Bucky..." He knows that voice, his head whips around so fast it's a wonder he doesn't get whiplash. For a minute he can't quite distinguish which girl he has in front of him - she stalks, tense and rigid, forward.

"I need your help," she tugs on Bucky's arm and he stiffens at the contact.