KHARKOV, UKRAINE.

A sharp, regal looking woman walked through the airport, sunglasses covering her alert brown eyes as she surveyed the tourists and arrivals making their way out the doors. Only a few carried weapons; a small Swiss pocket knife the most alarming amongst them. The place was basically made out of windows, which put her on edge. Nonetheless, she did not look around as she normally would have.

Her dark blazer hugged tightly to her body, she approached the first person she saw, a dark-skinned man with no hair and a face that seemed to have a frown permanently etched into it. In the span of a quiet breath, she discovered every single weapon he had on him, when he had sensed her presence (which had been moments before she actually spoke to him) and the fact that, apparently, she scared him a little.

"Agent Angeles, FBI," she stated curtly (in Ukrainian, of course) pulling out a badge from one of the hidden pockets that covered her persona. The man stared at the badge for a moment with scrutiny, before seemingly approving of it and looking back at her. Her vision was slightly altered with the sunglasses, but they were necessary. Her face could not be any records in the world. The face on the badge she carried was similar to her own, but it wasn't her.

His stance visibly loosened; which meant he was a normal civilian. Stats. Height: 5'9". Weight. Roughly below 200 pounds. Age. Between 30 and 32 years old.

"What brings you here, ma'am?" He asked curtly, voice with a spectacularly heavy accent. "I was told there was a sighting of a man here," she responded coolly, the words in Ukrainian rolling off her tongue. She knew a multitude of languages; German, Spanish, Russian, Portuguese, Mandarin, and many more.

The agent pulled out a picture of said person with nimble, slender fingers, held it up to the guard for him to observe. There was a tall, inconspicuously dressed man with brown eyes (contacts, of all things) and a sharply angled face. The Winter Soldier looked nothing like the Winter Soldier in the picture, but she knew better.

After a moment, the guard looked back up at her with a sharp nod. "Yes, 'e was 'ere. Just yesterday, very quiet man, Agent," he informed her, settling back into his dismissive yet defensive stance. The woman pursed her lips into a thin line, carefully placing the photograph in her breast pocket on her blazer. "Do you happen to know where he was flying to?" She inquired, tone quiet and reserved. The man, after a brief moment of uncertainty, exhaled through his nose. "Is this man wanted, Agent?" He asked, expression guarded. The female agent exhaled loudly through her nose; something agents with the average level of training normally did.

"You could say that," she stated finally, folding her arms to her chest.

The man nodded. ""E said someting about Romania," the man told her, sniffing in vague disinterest. A wide, most likely not genuine but very convincing smile split her face. At some point or another, she had been told she was pretty enough to use her face every once in a while. "Spasybi," she told him, turning on her heel and strutting down to the doors where her Chevy waited.

The Archangel had what she needed.

♢

Jelly sat atop a chair, lazily lapping up the bowl of water the Archangel had set out for her before she had left for the airport. The woman easily pulled off the dark blazer and discarded it to the floor of the small, cold cabin. This left her in a plain, clean white button-down blouse, and her loose fitting jeans that she had found in a thrift shop. "Hello, Jelly," she stated simply, settling on the couch and retrieving her laptop. Romania. She knew Romania, she had been there before. With someone. Perhaps a handler, or a new recruit. Her thoughts slipped and slided, fell through her fingers like loose sand. But there was a rock.

Constanta, Romania.

The Archangel exhaled noisily, tugging her slim fingers through her short cut, dark hair. She knew where the Winter Soldier was, but she didn't know how.

The woman shoved the supplies, maps, books, files, and the laptop, into her blood-red backpack, hoisting it over her shoulders and motioning with a sharp movement of her head to her doggish companion. Jelly hopped down from the stool easily, with such a grace to his landing that the Archangel patted his head gently before she proceeded to move out the door.

With a soft sigh, the Archangel (somehow) lifted up her partner. Screwing her eyes closed, a dirty, somewhat simple room appeared. She focused intently, even though she had no idea if that room was even in Romania. Somehow, she didn't care. The agent was skilled in everything there was to be skilled in, but, as she disappeared into the wind, she thought, Nothing can beat instinct.

A/N:
REALLY SHORT FILLER, BUT YES, NEXT CHAPTER WE'RE GONN A HAVE ALL THE ARCHWINTER/STUCKY FEELS

ALSO, I' M IN LOVE WITH JELLY. BYE.