Blood. So much blood. Blood, hot and slick and red, covering his hands, dripping from his hair, pooling by his feet. Hot and slick and red. Cold and hard and dead.
So much blood, but there was no pain. Where was it all coming from? He lifted his gaze, but everything was a blurry mess. A dark figure stood before him, a gun held in his hand, fingers wrapped tightly around the trigger. His other arm rested by his side, and it was only then that Steve realized it was made of metal. A mask covered his nose and mouth, hiding his most prominent features. The stranger's eyes were empty and unforgiving, unfeeling. Cold.
"Вы прожили страшную жизнь," the man spoke in perfect Russian. "но не волнуйтесь, это все о прийти к концу."
"Who are you?" The words came out softer than Steve had intended. He shuddered, despite the sheet of sweat that had gathered at the back of his neck.
The stranger ripped off his mask with his free hand and discarded it behind him. The curve of his nose, the thin line of his lips, curved downwards into a frown. He was so familiar, but he couldn't find a name. Who?
Who?
"Who- who are you?" A name. A name.
"An old friend." Steve looked up at the sudden spout of English.
"Wha-" But Steve didn't get to finish his question before the man's iron fist found it's way to Steve's jaw. He heard a sickening crack just before the pain shot up the side of his face.
"You will be silent, идиот." He raised his gun to Steve's forehead. "You are my mission. And I have to finish it." His knuckles whitened from gripping the gun. "до свидания."
Then the gun went off.
He awoke to the soft beeping of the heart monitor. His ragged breathing amplified by the oxygen tube in his nose. Machines around him pumped blood into his veins, air into his lungs, and morphine into his system. The hospital room was dark, except for the strips of light that escaped the blinds covering the windows.
"Well, it's about time." Nick Fury stood up from the his seat in the corner of the room. Steve tried to get up, but a throbbing ache in his head convinced him to stay put. "Take it easy, Captain. You took a hard hit to the head. Got a nasty cut in your leg, bullet in your shoulder, nothing else though. Super-soldier serum kicked in quick."
"What happened?" Steve looked at the director with hazy eyes.
Fury narrowed his good eye, his eyebrows furrowed slightly, the creases on his forehead showing hints of concern. Like he was hiding something. "You don't remember?"
"No, I don't." But there was something else. It wasn't just that he didn't remember, it was that he couldn't. Everything in his mind from two weeks ago was a blurred picture. All he could do was make out the little hazy details.
Blood. So much blood. Fear. Anguish. He didn't want this.
"Well, what do you remember?"
Steve closed his eyes in an effort to jog his memory. "There was blood. So much blood. And a man with a metal arm. Who was he?"
Fury went silent for a moment. His expression hardened. "The doctor said you should be alright within a couple weeks," he said, avoiding Steve's previous question. "Maybe your memory will return by then."
Nick walked out and closed the door behind him, leaving Steve in the dark. He heard a familiar voice, "Is he okay?"
"He's alright," Fury said through the clamoring in the hospital hallway. "But he doesn't remember."
"Wait…" It was Sam Wilson. "What do you mean he doesn't remember? Are you saying Captain America lost his memory?"
"Not everything, just what happened over the past two weeks."
"That can't be possible. He's Captain America. He has perfect memory."
"Well, maybe that hit was a bit too hard."
"Maybe. Or maybe he doesn't want to remember."
"You mean he's choosing not to remember?"
"Some pretty bad shit went down that day, sir. He couldn't forget it unless he wanted to."
"Well, talk to him. Maybe you can help jog his memory."
"With all due respect sir, but I'm just saying, he's human too. He's had more than enough traumatic experiences, and the last two weeks have been pretty harsh. I've dealt with these situations before. Often, the person didn't forget, they just choose not to remember."
"I know, Sam. But I can't afford to lose my best soldier." And with that, he left.
Sam heaved a sigh before entering the room. Steve squinted at the sudden ray of light that swept into the room.
"Sam," Steve greeted weakly.
"Hey, Cap." Sam pulled a chair over to the side of Steve's bed. "How're you feeling?" Steve would have liked to ask him the same. His friend's eyes were red and dark bags hung below them from lack of sleep. The confidence seemed to have drained from his body, from the stance in which he stood to the pace at which he walked. White bandages were rolled up over his right arm while dark purple bruises decorated his jaw.
"I'm alright. A little sore, that's all."
"You took quite the hit to the head. Doctors said you're gonna have a hell of a headache when you wake up. Guess they were wrong."
"What else did they say?"
"Nothing much." Sam's dodged the question.
"Sam," Steve warned.
Sam sighed. "How much do you remember?"
Steve shook his head, which brought up another bolt of pain. "Not much. We were on a mission. You were there. And there was a man with a metal arm. Who was he?"
Sam crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "How 'bout we start at the beginning?"
Steve nodded gently. "S.H.I.E.L.D. was gone. We were going to hunt someone down. I forgot who."
"Don't worry. We'll get there later. What happened next?"
Steve closed his eyes. His head ached, and rubbing at his temples didn't relieve much of the pain. But there was another pain, a pain he couldn't really describe. A haunting ache in his chest. An emptiness that had once been whole before. A terrible twist in his stomach told him not to remember, that the pain would come with it.
No. He has to know. He has to.
/ / /
"Not going along?"
They were under the shade of the tree that covered Nick Fury's grave. Two days ago, they believed would have believed the tombstone, but now they knew the truth. S.H.I.E.L.D. was gone, along with the parasite that thrived within it. Steve had managed to take down HYDRA with the help of Natasha and Sam and a few other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who had proved their loyalty in a time of distress. But there were other things to be done.
Natasha smiled, a slight raise of the corners of her lips. "No."
"Not staying here," Steve guessed.
She shook her head. "Nah." She handed him a thick beige folder with Russian writings on its cover. "That thing you asked for, I called in a few favors from Kiev. I'm guessing you're headed after him."
Steve nodded. "Yeah. So where exactly are you headed?" His eyes stayed on the folder in his hands.
"Where the Captain leads." That caught his attention.
"You're coming with me?"
The redhead looked at him with honest green eyes. "Who knows? Maybe you'll need an extra soldier."
"You're not a soldier."
"And you're not a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent."
He laughed lightly. "It'll be dangerous, you know."
"Please, danger is my middle name. You know that." She gave him her famous smirk and some part of his heart twinged.
"Maybe I do."
She nodded over to Sam. "You coming along, Wilson?"
Sam grinned, the first time that week. (It had been a tough week for all of them, with the fall of both S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra.) "You bet I am." He crossed his arms as he looked to Steve. "So when do we start?"
/ / /
"So far so good," Sam interrupted.
"Yeah, but who were we going after? And why?" Steve heaved a sigh. "It doesn't make any sense."
"It will. I'm sure you'll remember it."
Steve furrowed his eyebrows. "And where's Natasha?"
Sam gave his friend a sad smile. "Let's take this one step at a time. We can continue this tomorrow if you want. No need to remember it all now. Just don't be too harsh on yourself, Cap."
"No." There was sincerity in the Avenger's voice. "I have to know, Sam."
I have to.
/ / /
They arrived at a grand hotel. Fountains and strings of gold lights decorated the front. Statues of angels stood by the door behind bushes of red roses. Sam pulled over and gestured for them to get out of the car.
"Wow, Wilson. Little fancy, huh?" Natasha joked as she stepped out of the backseat.
Sam pulled off his sunglasses and tucked it into his jacket. "Let's just say I know a few people here who owe me a little."
"A little?" Steve muttered.
It was Sam's idea. One last night of pure fun and relaxation before heading off to face the chaos again. At first, Steve wanted to object, but Natasha and Sam had been battling the worst, a day off would be good for them. Steve didn't realize it at first, but he needed the rest too. He couldn't remember the last time he allowed himself to sit back for a bit. The tenseness in his shoulders seemed to diminish as he felt the stress fade away. He figured a day of relief wouldn't hurt. They deserved it.
The inside of the hotel was just as beautiful as the outside. A golden winding staircase led people from the elegant lobby to the second floor, where a restaurant overlooked the city.
Sam walked over to the receptionist, who seemed to recognize him right away, smiling and giving him a big embrace. After a few minutes of what seemed like an amusing conversation, Sam walked over to them with three room keys in his hand.
"Seventeenth floor," Sam dropped a key in Steve's hand before handing one to Natasha. "Enjoy."
/
Steve's room wasn't a room. It was a suite, complete with a mini kitchen, a bathroom, a king sized bed, and a balcony that overlooked the city New York. It had been a long time since he'd been this relaxed. He shed off his jacket and threw it onto the white leather couch. He was considering going to shower when a loud knock interrupted the silence.
"Nat," he greeted the redhead. "What are you doing here?"
She took out the bottle of wine she had been hiding behind her back. "Care for a drink?"
He glanced at the bottle, and before he could stop himself, he let her in.