The early morning air in Bucharest held a subtle, foreign sweetness that always gave him pause. Crisp and clean, the kind of air that could only be found in the quiet hours before the world fully woke. He savored it—the rare, tranquil moments he got to spend alone behind the wheel of his '62 Corvette, often before dawn even hinted at touching the sky.

It reminded him of those days when he'd find solace in the hush of early mornings, the purr of the Chevrolet an almost meditative sound. No distractions, no responsibilities. Just him and the open road.

Now, though, it was the market that stirred him from his thoughts. The weekly bustle of Bucharest brought a certain liveliness to the air, which jarred him out of his daydream. The sheer number of people buzzing about this early in the day still impressed him. Back home, it would be mostly older folks, maybe a couple of families if the kids had woken their parents early enough. Here, it seemed the whole city rose with the sun.

Perhaps it wasn't just about groceries, he mused. Maybe it was a chance for neighbors to check in on one another, swapping stories and news. He found himself longing for a little more of that back home—where community had become more of a memory than a reality.

Still, no matter how many people crowded the streets, he would always spot her. His eyes instinctively found her, as if drawn by some unshakable force. Sure, the blonde hair helped—made her stand out in a sea of dark-haired locals—but there was something more. She was his daughter. And she was with him.

He tried to focus on the market, on anything else, but his gaze inevitably returned to the pair of them. JJ wrapped her arm around the Winter Soldier's, her head nestled against his shoulder as they meandered through the vendors. It was a sight that never failed to unsettle him, no matter how often he saw it.

Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier—her Winter Soldier. Hardened, dangerous, the kind of man you'd expect to keep everyone at arm's length. But there he was, holding her hand with a tenderness that contradicted everything he knew about him. He watched as Bucky planted a kiss on her head, and she responded with one of her own on his cheek, their affection so casual and warm it felt out of place in his carefully constructed worldview.

She parted from him momentarily, heading to a vendor's stall, and Bucky lingered nearby, his eyes never leaving her. Even from his aerial perch atop a nearby hill, he could see the grin on Bucky's face—boyish, soft, unguarded. I hadn't expected that. And he wasn't sure what to make of it.

As he watched her excitement over some trinket at the stall, something tugged at his memory. A camera. An old Polaroid. The way her face lit up was so familiar. Audrey had loved photography too, always carrying her camera, ready to capture the world as she saw it. She'd never wanted to miss a picture-perfect moment, she used to say. Funny how Jaige picked that up from her.

His heart ached as he thought of Audrey. Their wedding, their life together, filled with snapshots of happiness, many of which had come from her own camera. He remembered how hard he'd fought to hire a photographer for the wedding, while Audrey insisted she'd just take the pictures herself. Don't you think you'd be a little preoccupied at your own wedding, Audie? They'd compromised in the end, and some of his favorite memories from that night were immortalized in her candid shots.

Tapping the side of his sunglasses, he activated the zoom feature, bringing the scene below into sharper focus. There she was—his daughter, enraptured with the Polaroid, sharing the moment with Barnes. They were lost in each other, and it hit him with a force he hadn't expected. They were in love. Anyone could see that.

A warmth spread through his chest, mixed with the familiar sting of sadness. She deserved this—happiness, love—but it hurt to watch from a distance.

Buzz, buzz. His sunglasses vibrated softly with an incoming call.

He tapped them again. "Where are you now?"

"Bucharest."

"Checking on her again?"

"I can't help it. But I don't do this often. I'm not losing sight of our missions."

"That's good to hear." There was a pause on her end, and he knew what was coming. "Phil—"

"If the Avengers believe I'm dead—she needs to believe it too."

"You're her father," the gentle but firm tone of Melinda May pressed. "Your children. Maybe it's time to—"

"I know," he interrupted, a heaviness settling in his chest. "Believe me, I think about it every minute of every day. But they've already been through so much trauma. Healing from my death is something they've had to do. And... selfishly, I want them to think I died a hero. Not some coward hiding in the shadows."

There was a long silence. Phillip Coulson pinched the bridge of his nose, leaning back in the driver's seat as if to physically distance himself from the weight of the conversation. "But more than that, my coming back could hurt them more than my death ever did."

May didn't respond immediately, but he knew she understood. She always did.

"I'll be back on the Zephyr in four hours. Gather the team. We have something to discuss when I return."

"Yes, sir," she said quietly, before the line clicked dead.

Phil tapped his glasses again, reverting them back to normal vision. The view of the bustling market returned, but his focus was elsewhere. With a sigh, he revved the Corvette to life, the familiar hum grounding him, if only for a moment.

Before he sped off, he caught one last glimpse of JJ and Bucky, now leaning against a stall, their heads close as they examined the camera. They were happy, and as much as it pained him, that was enough for now.

He shifted the Corvette into gear and, with the wheels lifting off the ground, Phil disappeared into the early morning sky, chasing the rising sun.