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anika-ann · 4 years ago

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No Strings Attached - Pt.3

Y/N vs. Really Bad Bond Movie

Type: Modern-college-professor AU x CHUCK, part of Attached series More info here and on the Attached masterlist

Pairing: professor!Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 5200

Summary: Waking up to an empty unfamiliar room after what you’ve been through is not the most pleasant experience. But just maybe, things will get better... or worse.

Warnings: swearing, mention of gun violence, science a la Chuck, grumpy spies, brief threat of violence, brief panic attack

A/N: Enjoy and thank you if you’re giving this crossover a chance. You don’t need any knowledge of Chuck, not really. But if want to know a bit, check out this post.

A/N 2: This is a loooong chapter. Talky-talk too. But, thing miht actually start making sense ;)

Attached & No Strings Attached masterlist

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You woke up with a startle, the image of a gun aimed to your face dispersing, quickly replaced by an unfamiliar dimly-lit room.

Jerking into a sitting position, feeling a comforter slide off your torso, you swiftly scanned your surroundings, heart pounding in your chest as memories flooded your mind. The gym. The shooter. The blond woman and her companion. Your phone – and then darkness. Well, and then this.

The room was scarily plain; no decorations on the grey walls except for a huge 10 to 5 feet mirror that certainly wasn’t for aesthetics. Metallic table with three uncomfortably-looking chairs. The bed – more like a cot – you were lying in. At least you got a comforter and a pillow.

Not that it made you feel all that better, considering you had no fucking idea where you were, how had you got here or how long have you been asleep. Involuntarily asleep.

Your mind was racing despite just having woken up, crazy theories popping up in your head. Except they weren’t all that crazy – you were kidnapped. Admittedly, by someone who saved your life, but that was no excuse. Especially--- especially since they drugged you… shot you with something that knocked you out.

‘We’re the good guys, I promise,’ the woman, Walker, said. ‘Which is why I’m sorry about this.”

The good guys. What the fuck did that even mean? Who were the bad guys then? And why---

The horrible noise, a blend of screams and gunshots echoed in your mind, instantly flooding your eyes with tears, filling your lungs with what felt like cotton, making it hard to breathe. You curled into yourself, closing your eyes as you leaned your back onto the cold wall; you were still in your gym clothes, minus the coat and the thin elastic fabric didn’t do much to keep you warm. Not that it mattered at the moment – it just made you feel even more worse.

Your breathing picked up as the scene flashed in front of your eyes again, blending with an image of Steve’s soft gaze, causing you to choke on air. God, god, let him be okay. He had been inside the gym, surely he was okay--- except maybe he ran outside when he heard the shots being fired, because you had been outside and-

A buzz sounded few feet from you, snapping you from the scene that kept replaying behind your closed eyelids. Quickly opening your eyes, a new terror replacing the previous one; someone was coming. Possibly to even hurt you and-

“Chuck?!” you cried out, air caught in your throat as the man in question slowly entered the room, thin-lipped smile that seemed more like a grimace on his face.

Chuck, the guy who had run you down in the hallway and had been all cute about it, was here.

Of course he was. He had been with the blond woman earlier. And yet, despite the connection that was entirely logical, you felt your heart stutter in shock. Because… Chuck. The cute dork. Connected to the woman carrying a gun on her. Something just wasn’t adding up.

“Hey,” he greeted you, so eloquently awkward, and you just managed to gasp, bewildered and--- honestly freaked out.

Because you couldn’t imagine this guy hurting you and you didn’t think the blond wanted to hurt you either, but she had absolutely mercilessly murdered your phone. ‘To avoid being tracked’ she said, what the FUCK--- but she was also the reason you had been unconscious.

Though she apologized for both.

Christ, you really had to stop justifying people’s action where they were clearly twisted.

You felt few tears rolling down your cheeks as you saw Chuck approach the chairs cautiously, hands raised.

“I know you’re freaking out right now, but I promise you – you’re safe here. No one is going to hurt you,” he said slowly on pleasantly low volume, a compassionate lilt to his voice.

You realized your hands were shaking and so were you. You backed further into the wall, terrified despite his words. Because, well, he was saying all that, but you woke up in a probably locked and undeniably creepy room after being drugged. He had to excuse if you weren’t fucking on board.

He had to excuse if you didn’t quite trust him.

In your poor experience, people from Ministry of Foreign Affairs didn’t go around shooting people. You had no idea if anything at all from what you learned about ‘Chuck’ and ‘Walker’ was true.

The man’s hands curled into fists and he halted in his steps, sighing.

Once you convinced yourself to lift your gaze from the potential threat of his fists, you found his face twisted in what could only be described as an ouch grimace, brown eyes watching you with concern and something that looked a little bit like helplessness.

‘Chuck’, if that was his real name, was incredibly expressive, something you had noticed upon running into him the first time. Whatever emotions he felt he had written all over his face.

Somehow, when you actually breathed in and out, you could tell his concern was honest; you would even swear that the aura of gentleness you remembered about him was reappearing.

You didn’t think this guy could lie to you – but maybe you were wrong. Maybe he was a bit crooked, but he definitely wasn’t an evil man; maybe he could at least help you somehow. Maybe he could understand that you were terrified and confused and--- and that you really wanted to go home.

“Please, please let me out of here,” you whispered, so lowly and with your voice breaking that for a moment you weren’t sure if he would hear you.

The corners of his lips turned even further downwards.

“I can’t do that, I’m sorry. But I can do something to make you feel a bit better,” he offered, his shoulders seemingly relaxing slightly as he decided to cross the distance between you in long strides.

Pulling a chair to your bed, still keeping some space between you, he seated himself and took a deep breath. And then he looked you straight in the eye, extended his right hand in invitation as if he… as if he wanted shake hands?

You watched him warily, your pulse throbbing in your temples at the confusing scene.

“What-“

“My name is Chuck Bartowski and I know a little bit about what you’re going through right now,” he started, causing your breath to hitch, your jaw going slack.

Chuck Bartowski?

So he had introduced himself with a fake name! But judging by the loud bangs from the other side of the mirror – a one-way glass, you realized – he was… telling you his real name now and someone wasn’t happy about it.

“And I’m gonna tell you what’s going on. Well, as much as I know anyway. But how about something to drink, some food and a change of clothes first?”

As if on command, your stomach grumbled, reminding you that you had in fact barely eaten today.

One corner of Chuck’s mouth rose at the sound, but he didn’t laugh. And just for that – and his honesty –, you felt yourself relax, willing the corners of your lips to rise a bit as well and accepted his hand, this time introducing fully too.

Though considering everything, he probably already knew your name.

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Considering everything – mainly Chuck’s position of power in the situation – he could have treated you a whole lot worse. In fact, he truly turned out to be a kind and considerable guy.

First of all, he asked about your size for the clothes. He didn’t guess, smartly avoiding more awkwardness than was strictly necessary.

Second, when he came back with a bag of snacks – including fruit and a damn packaged sandwich of so-so your choice –, a bottle of water and the clothes, he handed it to you and without as much as a hint from you, he just walked and grabbed the comforter from the bed.

Reason? As you examined the t-shirt, hoodie and sweats he gave you, freshly washed, he gently beckoned towards one corner of the room. Nearing it and turning around, he spread his relatively long arms wide, holding the comforter stretched behind his back. Chuck created an improvised changing room just for you to feel at least a bit less violated in a room which now felt like an aquarium in the worst possible way.

You adored him at the moment for allowing you to have some resemblance of privacy and dignity. You realized soon enough that you should be thanking your lucky stars that he was the one dealing with you; you weren’t confident anyone else would have been so respectful.

And he seemed to have a natural talent for recognizing when to talk and when to stay quiet; the friendly aura, charmingly warm, hovered around him and called out to you. It almost made you feel as if you could forget that you were both being watched.

And forget what lead to this room in the first place.

Chuck let you thoughtfully chew on your sandwich, watching you; yet, you didn’t feel scrutinized. He attempted some small talk, which was a true challenge in your predicament, but even though it was mostly him talking about what he liked about New York and the university, it helped to put your mind at ease… until it started slipping.

“Alright… thank you so much for everything you’ve done so far, Chuck,” you sighed, wiping your mouth and taking a generous gulp of water, taking a metal note to ask about a bathroom. “But please tell me what the hell is going on.”

With the atmosphere shifting instantly, Chuck straightened in his chair, inhaling deeply, fidgeting with his fingers as he rested his hands on the table.

“I’m sorry to start with a bombshell like this, but it’s… kinda essential for you to understand why you’re here,” he started, sounding apologetic. You had no idea why he sounded like that, so you simply nodded in agreement, expectant.

“Yeah, that--- that’d be nice.”

“The guy you, uhm… met.” Did he mean the shooter in front of the gym? Because if he did then ‘met’ was quite an euphemism. “He wasn’t there by accident. He was there for you.”

“For me?!” you blurted out before your brain could even register what he said, your mouth quicker than your mind. Your heart started pounding in your chest once again, faster and harder than ever.

You?! Did--- did Chuck just say that the man with a gun had been there because of you? That--- that didn’t make any sense!

“Why would--- why?! Why would anyone want---- I didn’t do anything!”

Chuck scrunched his nose, grimacing, hand in a very loose fist rising as if trying to catch the right words to say from thin air.

“…yet.”

That didn’t make even a smidge of more sense than his previous words!

“…yet?” you parroted after him, instinctively mimicking the way he said it precisely, pause included. “What’s that supposed to mean?!”

Your throat was dry, panic rising along with your pulse.

How?! Why? What the fuck was Chuck even talking about? You weren’t about to do anything serious in the future! You planned to finish your studies, find a dream job or at least an alright job that paid the bills, write a book if luck struck, marry Steve and maybe have a few cute babies with him, not necessarily in that order and---

Why would someone want to shoot you specifically?! You were literally nobody! And you were perfectly fine with that to be honest!

“You see… the analyst position we said we were recruiting for… it’s not exactly for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs,” Chuck explained slowly, clearly reluctant and very uncomfortable.

You stared at him silently, the strange grimace on his face advising you not to ask, a voice in the back of your mind whispering the same. An insanely distressing hunch crept up your spine, causing you to shiver despite the room suddenly feeling too hot. You prayed you were wrong.

One corner of Chuck’s lips lifted in an awkward smile.

“It’s for a… government organization---s,” he added after a short hesitation and causing you to gulp against a sudden lump in your throat.

“Organizations like what?” you finally asked, unable to bear the suspense.

This was going in the direction of something you didn’t want to hear, because something like that didn’t happen in real life. Shit like that happened in action movies, in very much fictional movies-

“CIA, NSA, FBI, that kind of thing.”

“WHAT?!”

It was a stupid reaction. But the single word still found its way out of your mouth, loud and exasperated and incredulous and--- justified.

Your crazy hunch was confirmed, but it was not comforting at all. What was Chuck even saying?!

“Yeeeah, sorry for the secrecy, we can’t really advertise that…“ he hummed apologetically and you just scoffed, too busy trying to wrap your frantic mind around what he was telling you to come up with an actual response.

Yeah, no shit, that was why these were called intelligence agencies, but--- oh god, he was serious. They really were with some… FBI or something. How was this happening?!

It only raised millions of other questions. Also, your head started spinning.

“Whoa, wait, hold on a second. Let’s say that you’re not joking.” Please, let him be joking. “What… what does that have to do with me?”

You were still a nobody. Why on Earth was someone – someone bad, obviously – interested in you? In what you hadn’t done… yet, but were possibly about to do…?

Chuck shifted in the chair, leaning onto his elbows on the table, meeting your eye, gravity written all over his face.

“There was an unfortunate leak…” he replied, not answering a single question in the process. Huh? “Of the results of the test, I mean, on people’s scores. We think this guy was responsible for it, got his hands on it, somehow… we’re still working on that. The point is, you took the test and you did really, really well.”

Oh. That was…. surprising. And surprisingly distracting you from the fact you had been shot at.

It wasn’t like you were deflecting. No, it--- yeah, you were totally deflecting, but who cared?

“I did? Because no offence, but the test was really… weird.”

“Yeah, it kinda was,” Chuck agreed with a low chuckle, his shoulders slumping a fraction. Clearly, he welcomed the change of topic as well. “Uhm, the thing is that the images you saw… they were composed of hundreds of other images. And without you realizing it, your subconsciousness saw them all.” What. “The test was designed to find out how much your subconsciousness actually remembered and how much you’d be able to recall when given the right trigger.”

You found yourself blinking, your jaw going slack, mouth uselessly open as your mind buzzed with even more questions than before.

What… what?

What Chuck was saying sounded absolutely insane. He was basically saying that… what? That by seeing those few pictures, you sort of… learned more than met the eye? Like, much more than you thought? And that you could… recall it even without being aware of knowing you knew it?

That was the definition of impossible if you ever saw one. It was downright insane.

But when you tried to remember how taking the test, filling out the answers felt, images you weren’t sure where they came from flickering in front of your eyes…

“There were… there were pictures,” you stuttered, gulping as it slowly dawned to you that he was somehow right.

But if what he was saying was possible, then this was getting was more real than you liked. You realized that until this moment, you were really just trying to convince yourself it was some weird-ass dream. It wasn’t.

The pictures… “They were so vivid in my mind. They made no sense, but when I saw the word, it was just--- it was just there. How?”

“Oh, believe me, I don’t understand the biological background behind it at all,” Chuck admitted hastily. “But I’m not surprised by what you’re describing. You got 96% of the answers right.”

“Oh. That’s… that’s a lot. I guess?”

It sounded like a lot, right?

Chuck just smiled at you, a bit patronizing at your remark.

“The second-best result at the university so far has been 80%. The average is about 60%.”

Your brain stopped working along with your heart. Just-- total freeze. Standby. What the--- what?

“Oh,” you let out intelligently, vainly trying to process what he was saying. What did that mean for you?

Chuck graced you with a lop-sided smile. “I suspected that maybe you did really well when you were barely half-way through.”

“How?” you asked before you could think better of it.

“Your headache.”

Oh. He noticed it too. You were really crap at trying to hide it. But what did headache have to do with it? Was it like a… known side-effect? But others didn’t seem to be hurting? Was that a symptom of something?

God, please no, all this new information was making you miserable enough. It was almost giving you a headache. As if palpitation and the way your palms were sweating wasn’t enough.

“I… I don’t understand.”

“I told you – I know a little about what you’re going through,” he repeated, a drop of bitter in his voice now. “The only better result we ever got on a similar kind of test was 98%. And that test was mine. So I know that the headache is… something else.”

“So… you- the images, what-“ you stuttered out, your mouth once again faster than your brain, unable to formulate an actual sentence.

“I have images in my head too and I’m able to recall information when triggered correctly,” Chuck confirmed. “The difference is that I have a lot of them and…” he wavered, not so subtly eyeing the one-way glass behind his right shoulder and gulping. “They got there by accident. I was never supposed to see them. They were... well, classified.”

Your breath hitched, brain kicked into an overdrive.

That was it.

That was why Chuck seemed so outside of what you pictured was the intelligence agency he was talking about, why there appeared to be such an immense gap between this gentle dork and the two people who half-shoved you into a car while avoiding bullets and shooting back.

Chuck wasn’t part of FBI or CIA or whatever. Or at least he wasn’t supposed to be.

But he accidently, eh, sort of absorbed some government secrets.

That was some fucked-up science fiction.

However, there was no way you wouldn’t believe him. He was being honest now, you were sure of it, which was a wild thing to be sure of considering you weren’t sure about anything anymore after today.

But if he was telling you the truth then… another important question arose.

The things he knew were classified, he said. He had some super-secret information in his head.

Why wasn’t he the one the bad people were after then?!

Not that you wanted any harm to come to Chuck. He was being really nice to you and all, but he was clearly a much more interesting target than you--- unless.

Unless what he just told was an extremely well-kept secret too.

It figured then why whoever watched you interact with Chuck protested against him giving you his real name. Because you really shouldn’t know about any of this.

“…you shouldn’t be telling me this, should you?” you asked quietly, meeting his gaze as you reluctantly looked up from the table.

He gave you a tight-lipped smile in return and a gentle shake of his head. “No, I shouldn’t. But you’re not fulcrum or anything, right?”

“Fulcrum? As in a code or a clue or…?”

“Right answer.”

Oh. So ‘fulcrum’ was supposed to be ringing a bell if you were a bad guy. Good to know. You should instantly forget the word. Like, right now. Any moment now.

Naturally, it already wormed its way through your brain and it would probably stay there forever.

“You’re telling me all this… you told me your actual name--- I think,” you added, more to see his reaction to such remark than anything else. He didn’t disappoint; he had a shocked ‘wait, you’re doubting me again’ written all over his face. So you asked the real question, even if you already guessed the answer. “Why?”

“Because you’re obviously in danger and you don’t deserve to be kept in the dark. And I need you to trust me and my friends that we’re gonna do everything we can to keep you safe,” he tried to assure you sincerely, causing you to avert his gaze, taking a deep breath.

Well.

“Your friends… the uhm, the blond woman who shot me and put a knife through my phone and the guy who drove us?”

Chuck’s eyebrows practically flew into his hairline like in a damn cartoon. That was how taken aback he looked.

“Sarah shot you?” he squealed, his voice pitched a notch higher than before, causing you to nearly jump out of your skin in fright. “Uhm, sorry. And sorry about that shooting thing, they, ugh, you couldn’t know the location of this… base of operation. Also, sorry about the phone, that was a precaution, just in case--- it could have been traced. But yes. Sarah and Casey. They are… they belong to the government organizations I mentioned. They’re kinda… my team.”

A brief buzz announcing the door to the room opening caused you to snap your head up towards it on instinct.

Startled, you found yourself jump back a bit, hoping to merge with your seat.

Chuck lifted his hand as if to stop you and tell you it was okay despite Casey, you supposed, strutting into the cell menacingly, soon followed by Sarah.

“You wish, Bartowski,” the broad-shouldered man huffed and then looked directly at you, gesturing to Chuck. “We’re there to keep Mr. Blabbermouth from running his mouth. Well, some of the time. Mostly we just babysit him.”

“We’re with Chuck to protect him,” the blond woman corrected, giving you a strong impression of someone who wanted to roll her eyes at boys being boys. She was clearly babysitting them both. “He’s very important to us.”

Her tone was very matter of fact – but there was no mistaking the fond undernotes in her voice. Ah. Got it. Important. Casey must have noticed your realization, because he felt the need to comment further.

“Important to the government.”

“I love you too, Casey,” Chuck crossed his arms on his chest, leaning back into his chair and eyeing the walking rock with a grin.

He received a grunt in response.

“He’s a very warm-hearted guy,” Chuck uttered with a semi-awkward smile sent your direction. And despite the horrific situation you found yourself in, you couldn’t but smile at the interaction.

Speaking of your fucked-up situation…

“So, uhm… what happens now?”

“We catch the man who’s after you, find out if he was working on his own-“

“Unlikely,” Casey interrupted Sarah, muttering under his breath, causing your heart to skip a startled beat, dread filling your stomach.

Sarah ignored her colleague and continued.

“-or with someone else and we’ll deal with the security threat in a way we will see the most fit.”

A shiver run up your spine at her words and what they implied. Maybe you watched too many crime shows, but you got the impression that they were going to kill the man.

It sounded so… surreal, like something that truly happened only in movies and TV series, something people wrote about when their mind wandered. And you didn’t think you were entirely naïve, in the back of your mind you knew people killed each other for less, but… having such a close insight into that world was--- well, surreal. And awful.

But if you were being honest, you’d rather have that guy dead than you. You were pretty sure that did not make you a bad person. He clearly was a scum of a human being.

Then, an intrusive thought nudged at the very forefront of your mind – a thought Chuck had been rather good at keeping at rest. Yeah, you’d rather had the shooter dead than being in such serious danger; you or Steve.

Knowing the gunman was after you was a terrible revelation, but in a way, it eased your mind a bit – it was thus unlikely that Steve had been shot at too. But it was still very much a possibility, not to mention that the man could already find out things about you. Things more interesting than just some stupid score.

He could have found your address somehow and Steve and--- and you fucking hated not knowing if Steve was alright. God, you prayed he was – but you also knew that even if he was physically alright… mentally might be another story for obvious reasons.

“That… sounds like a lot of work and a lot of time,” you said slowly, gaze flickering between the unlikely trio of friends, mind racing. ”Can I— Can I borrow a phone? I really-“

“I’m sorry, but it’s not safe,” Sarah protested before you could even finish the sentence and you felt your heart speed up in your chest, the panic you had been keeping on low rising again, making your ears ring.

Oh god, what if the shooter found out where you lived? The Casey guy had said it was unlikely he was working alone, so there were more people and they could split-

You closed your eyes for a moment, your ribcage suddenly feeling tight, too tight to breathe in, the world spinning even with your eyes closed.

“I--- I need to know-“ you choked out with difficulty, forcing yourself to open your eyes, zeroing on Chuck’s crumpled compassionate face. Your heart clenched painfully.

A movement caught your eye, Casey crossing his arms on his chest, his shoulders seemingly growing in size as he looked you up and down. It was impossible to look away from his menacingly bulging biceps – and when you did, your throat turned dry, because his glare was hard as steel, jaw locked.

“What you need is to stay alive and we’re trying keep you that way, so you really don’t get to be picky.”

“Casey!” Chuck hissed, reprimanding him for the intimidating act when he saw you instinctively back further into your chair.

And that was what it was – an intimidation, a way to control you.

Something in your snapped at the realization and before you could think twice, you were on your feet, chair screeching against the floor with the sudden movement.

“Yes, I do get to be picky! I got shot at today, thanks for the save and all, but my fiancé was nearby, he could have got hurt and even if he didn’t, I just went out to get some fresh air and never came back and he can’t reach me, because you fucking killed my phone!” you spat impatiently, feeling tears of frustration gather in your eyes. “Not to mention that Steve must have heard the shooting or found out there was a shooting while I was outside, so he’s probably sick with worry and there is some insane guy with a fucking gun who’s after me and so maybe he’s after people I know and love, so yes, I want to make a fucking phone call!”

Your chest was heaving with effort, still tight but at least a bit lighter as you got the words out, finally voicing your fears. The man you were pretty much shouting at was watching you with eyebrows raised – you peripherally noticed Sarah watching you with jaw slightly slack, while Chuck stared at you, eyes wide with shock.

It made you pause – but then you noticed Chuck’s expression shifting into a tiny smirk and you took a deep breath, staring the gorilla down again.

“So, Agent Casey, or whatever it is you are, I am not speaking another word with you until I know that my fiancé is okay!” His other eyebrow rose too, head tilting to side as he took a step closer to you, causing your stomach to clench in fright. But you were on a roll. And you hoped they would stop him. “A-and same go-goes for my best friend who I think might--- might be a target too… sir.”

He glared at you, taking another deliberate step, nostrils flaring, the lock of his arms easing as if he wanted to have his hands free to do…. something.

And then he smirked, which was fucking terrifying.

“You realize we could just torture you to make you talk, right?”

You recoiled in fright at the glee in his eye, instinctively taking a step back, knees bumping into the bed. You quickly shot Chuck a look, the good nice Chuck who was nothing but sweet to you, and Sarah Walker, who was… maybe a little less scary than the man towering over you--- surely he wasn’t serious, that wasn’t-

“CASEY!” both Chuck and Sarah scolded him swiftly, glaring at him with outrage and you allowed yourself to breathe in and relax when the huge man stopped, rolling his eyes.

You sat heavily on the bed, causing the mattress squeak under the impact.

“Can’t we send someone from the uni unit to check up on them at least?” Chuck suggested lightly, causing you to instantly perk up again, his words like a shot of life into your veins.

Your head snapped to him, your mouth falling open in shock as the world swayed of its usual orbit. Again.

“Uni unit?! There are spies at the university?!”

It was Casey’s turn to be exasperated.

“Great job, moron. You just blew several covers,” he grunted, watching the sitting man with a terrifying smirk.

“Oh please, she was gonna find out either way,” Sarah snarked, clearly done with Casey’s bedside manner. “Don’t you think they can spare one agent for an hour? To check on them at least? Maybe it’s not such a crazy idea to think they might take interest in them. Not very likely, but we should keep an eye out.”

You honestly weren’t sure whether you should be happy it seemed you were getting your way or terrified because Sarah just confirmed your fears. She might have said the probability of Steve and Penny being in danger was low, but still real. And that was just the people very close to you here. You hoped no one would even think about going as far as flying across a few states to hurt your parents; you weren’t that important.

Right?

“You’re a real pain in my ass, Bartowski,” Casey snarled, but then sighed in resignation. “All three of you are, in fact.”

You felt tears gather in your eyes for whole new reason as you glanced at Chuck’s satisfied expression, his smile all teeth and so wide you actually worried it might tear his mouth.

“What are their names? Date of birth? Address?” Sarah asked gently and you weren’t able to hold the waterfalls anymore.

“Thank you... It’s, uhm, Steve Rogers, Steven Grant Rogers, and Penny--- I mean Penelope Marie Cooper....”

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Part 4

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Next time, we’ll check up on our dear professor Rogers… through Bucky’s eyes.

Let there be chaos.

Thank you for reading :-*

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