May, 2014.

Canada.

All it took was a flash of my badge to a station employee to skip through customs at Gare Centrale. I even used SHIELD's dirty reputation as my reason for crossing international borders. I chitchatted my way through three different security guards until I got to my train. All of them had an opinion on the fall of SHIELD, and I tuned out all of them.

Montreal to Halifax was a 21-hour ride. The scenery was nice, admittedly, but I never liked sleeping on any sort of public transportation. I left my apartment in the middle of the night without any sleep and was arriving in Nova Scotia 36 hours later. That was two straight days, at least, of no sleep. Bucky Barnes would do well to offer me a nap when I got to him.

Finding him wasn't all that hard. Another flash of my badge got me into the Dartmouth bus station's security monitoring room. The exterior cameras caught a great thirty seconds of a hooded, muscular figure skillfully breaking into and hot-wiring a small car. There was a trail of stolen cars and stolen car sightings that tracked north to one of the smaller towns on the coast. Driving around to every little cabin and comparing license plates to the last stolen truck took the longest.

But I found it. An old and faded red thing, probably forty years younger than Bucky, parked at the first house in a row of spread out fishing cottages. I parked behind the truck and walked down the street with nothing but the gun on my hip. He wouldn't have left the truck in front of the house he planned to stay in, and there was only one other house without a single light on at eleven o'clock at night. Most people would have at least a lamp or a porch light.

I approached the door to the completely darkened house and debated whether or not to knock. Would Bucky rather risk sending me away and never being found or opening the door to someone who might not be me? I decided to knock. As I came closer, I was able to see a yellow eviction notice stapled to the wood.

Then I heard a twig break around the far corner.

I could've gotten my gun out in the time it took to look over my shoulder and see the Winter Soldier storming towards me, but I didn't want to risk firing a shot and having the cops called. I braced myself for an impact. He was six foot something of solid muscle and unknown metal. The impact didn't come. Instead, I was bear hugged from behind with one hand covering my mouth. My feet left the ground, and I squirmed enough to free one arm. Through opportunity and my own stupidity, I brought my elbow down onto any free inch of skin I could find. My elbow landed squarely on Bucky's left arm.

I had to bite my lip to avoid the profanity that was desperately trying to escape. The blow meant nothing to Bucky, but it was enough to surprise him. He began to lower me, and I tucked my feet. He knelt too far forward, but I brought my feet down and completely straightened my legs. We toppled over, and I landed on top of him.

His breath was knocked out of his lungs for a split second, which slackened his grip around me. I stood up and pulled my gun from its holster. I leveled the sights at his gut, unsure of how much his metal arm protected his chest.

"I don't want the damn Mounties showing up," I hissed at him quietly. He began sitting up slowly and held one of his hands up innocently. "I'm Gail, in case you forgot. Where's the back door?"

"What back door?" he asked.

"The back door you used to sneak around the house," I said, trying to remind him of what logic was.

"There's only the front door," he answered.

"Did you climb through a window? Were you going to haul me in through a window?" I demanded. Keeping my voice at a low volume was a challenge.

"Yes."

I lowered my gun and holstered it, putting my hands on my hips once they were both free. Bucky pushed himself off the ground and stood up.

"Well, show me this window if we aren't using the front door," I told him. He walked past me silently, obviously unsure of me. I didn't blame him. I was bossy, trigger-happy, and had just laid him on his back. And he was probably trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

I followed him to the back side of the house and to the far end where a double pane of windows were. One of them was barely cracked open. Bucky carefully opened it wider and then stepped through casually.

"Age before beauty then," I muttered to myself. I took a hold of each side of the window and pulled myself up and through. Thankfully, there was a small dining table to catch me as I came in. Bucky was already on the far side of the small living space when I landed.

"I was planning to leave in a couple hours," he told me. I looked around the room and took it all in. A small galley kitchen, the little table, an ugly plaid couch. Bucky stood in front of a door, probably leading to a bedroom.

"Takes about 36 hours to ride a train from Washington, D.C., to Halifax. I didn't want to risk flying," I explained. I took a seat at the table and pried my shoes off. Once my feet were free for the first time in two days, I propped them up on the table, exposing the gun on my hip. He watched me very carefully.

"Where's the information?" he asked.

"In my head," I answered steadily. "Fury destroyed the paper copies. I'm all that's left."

"In your head?"

I nodded. I dropped my feet from the tabletop. It seemed rude to be so cavalier about propriety when I didn't know the real owners of this house. Instead I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees so I could get a good, level look at Bucky.

"In my head. It's one of the reasons SHIELD liked me so much. I have an eidetic memory," I told him. "So if you want the information, I can give it to you, but there's no file to read or computer server to hack. There's just me."

"You're with SHIELD?" he asked, suddenly angry. His metal hand formed a fist, which I took care not to stare at.

"I was. They got on my bad side, though. So I left and took my mind with me," I explained.

"And what makes you think I'm not willing to get that information out of you? It turns out I'm a pretty bad guy," he threatened. His right hand was shaking now. No, Bucky was never the bad guy. The Winter Soldier certainly was, and I didn't want to deal with him.

"What makes you think you can?" I returned sharply. I made a great show of standing up from the table, putting my hands in my back pockets and sauntering closer to him. I squared off with him, having to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. "You really think Fury would let me out if he didn't think I could keep my mouth shut? But, hey. I'm kind of a masochist. I'd love to see you try."

We continued our staring contest, but he eventually gave up and simply pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Well, if that's all you've got for now then I'm going to get my stuff from my rental car. You stay here and do whatever," I told him.

"Rental car? Can you be tracked by that?" he checked.

"If I hadn't removed the LoJack system and stuck it on a taxi, then yeah. But I did that, so we're good," I confirmed. I turned around and began walking back to the open window. Before I climbed out again, I looked over my shoulder at him. "I am far more than a pretty face, Sergeant. Start acting like you know that, and we'll get along just fine."

*

Author's Note:

And the dynamic, possibly dysfunctional duo is back together again!