Time passed quickly while Bucky was gone. I spent the days taking Mira out around the city, parks, bookstores, quiet neighborhood walks. I also bought a laptop. Figured it was time I learned how to use one. The guy at the store probably conned me; the thing cost more than an assault rifle.
Still, I knew I'd need it going forward. I contacted Echo, and she sent me to one of her trusted associates who went by Tran, to get the thing set up and make sure it stayed off the radar. I'm not going to pretend I even understood what she meant, but apparently, if someone tried to track it after he was done, it would look like I was bouncing between different countries.
She gave me an address that led to a corner store, told me to ask for seven jackpot tickets and two bottles of rum at the counter. Weird code, but the man understood right away. He led me to a locked storage closet. The place reeked of chemicals, the kind that made you lightheaded if you stayed too long. The wall paint peeled back to reveal cracked concrete beneath, visible even under the dim light.
Mira clung to my leg, burying her face between my thighs. I hated bringing her with me, exposing her to all this, but leaving her alone in Bucky's apartment wasn't an option. With new super soldiers running around, Hydra was bound to get attention again, and that could put her in danger. Just because I haven't found files with her information, or mine, doesn't mean they don't exist somewhere.
I lifted her into my arms, letting her bury her face into my jacket to shield her from the stench. The man guiding us twisted a pipe connected to an old, rusted sink. A latch released, opening a nearby hidden door and revealing a staircase.
We descended into a small basement filled with three computer stations, each with multiple monitors and a man glued to the screens. Down here, the smell was less chemicals, more sweat and leftover takeout.
"Who's Tran?" I asked.
A skinny, tan kid on the right raised his hand. Beneath his desk, I spotted stacks of ramen cups and chips. If this was what Echo's contacts looked like, meeting her in person was going to be interesting. Tran looked like he wouldn't last five minutes under interrogation, but maybe that's why he stayed underground. Echo told me he was only helping because their usual runner had been arrested.
Apparently, they weren't even supposed to be taking jobs right now because of it, but Tran owed Echo a favor. I tossed the boxed laptop to him, and he went straight to work. We barely spoke, just him asking me to choose a password before telling me it was ready.
The kid was terrified the whole time. Honestly, all of them were. The other two didn't look directly at me, but I caught their side glances, the nervous shifting in their seats if I walked too close, the pounding of their hearts. They were terrified of me.
Wonder what Echo told them.
I paced the room, rocking Mira until she fell asleep in my arms. An hour later, Tran finished. I wasted no time leaving. On the way out, I considered killing them, they'd seen Mira's face, and I couldn't risk that, but something told me I might need them again. So, I left them breathing.
Still, I called Echo afterward and made sure she knew to keep them quiet. And if she thought they wouldn't? I could always go back and clean house.
On the way back to Bucky's apartment, I stuck to the side streets as usual. Nearing the subway station, I caught footsteps behind me. Untrained. Loud. Sloppy. But tailing me all the same. With Mira in tow, I didn't have the time or desire for a fight.
I quickened my pace, only to round a corner and find another man blocking the way. The one behind closed in. The one ahead had a knife, the one behind a gun. The knife was dull and rusted, the gun an old model with the serial number scratched off.
"Hand over the bag, now!" the one with the gun barked.
I'd just spent an hour getting this laptop programmed. I wasn't about to hand it over. And I really wasn't fond of being given orders.
They were just junkies, teeth rotting, hands jittering, eyes darting. Mira stirred awake in my arms. I set my backpack down between two trash bins and sat her on top of it, a cleaner perch than the alley floor. I swung my jacket over her head to shield her eyes.
"Hey! Slide the bag over here, bitch!" the gunman yelled. His hand shook. He wouldn't have been able to aim straight if he tried.
I had hidden Mira's vibranium bracelets long ago to ensure Bucky didn't see them, I would have no way of explaining how we got them. But I regretted it now. No matter. I'd make quick work of these two.
Before he could yell again, I lunged for the gunman. He pulled the trigger as I grabbed his arm, yanking it upward. The shot went harmlessly into the air. His scream followed as bone cracked under my grip. I squeezed harder, snapping it clean.
The other man charged. I kicked back without looking, my heel smashing into his crotch with brutal precision. He dropped the knife, collapsing into a pale, writhing mess. From the sound of his choking groans, I'd crushed him where it hurt most. He wasn't getting back up.
The gunman still writhed in my grip, uselessly smacking at my arm. "My four-year-old hits harder than you," I muttered, amused.
With my free hand, I clamped his throat and crushed his windpipe. He crumpled to the ground.
The knife-wielder, still twitched on the ground. Leaving him alive wasn't an option. He'd seen both our faces. Police attention was the last thing I needed. I crouched beside him, slipped the other man's gun into his hand, and pressed it into his mouth. Wrapping my fingers around his, I pulled the trigger.
Two thugs. One neat story for the cops.
When I turned back, Mira was standing there. My jacket removed from her head. She was staring at me.
How long had she been watching? Did she see it all?
Her expression was calm. No fear. No racing heart. Completely unphased.
I scooped her and the backpack up and strode back toward the apartment, rage boiling in me. How could I let her see that?
But when we got home, she didn't mention it. She read her books. Ate her lunch and later dinner. Took her bath before bed like nothing happened.
I didn't ask, either. Maybe because I was too scared of her answer. Or maybe because I had no idea what I'd even say.
But the thought of it weighed heavier on me than anything I had ever done.