Guys, I cross posted this on AO3, If you want to check out some of my more angsty or taboo styles of writing. But anyway, I have been working on this for about 2 weeks and I am very proud of myself for actually finishing this.
I would really appreciate if you could leave a review.
IDONTOWNTHEAVENGERS
The cold was an assaulting presence, seeping into her bones and numbing her mind. Her eyes flickering beneath her eyelids and her lips parting slightly. Then all of a sudden the coldness disappeared and she was left with the harsh light of the outside world. Having not seen it for, should she make a guess, a very long time- years perhaps. Her eyes were unfocused and her mind was foggy but she could see two men, one blonde, and one brunette, and she felt their hands on her chilled skin and pulling her upwards and towards them in one fluid motion. They hauled her towards a vehicle that she didn't recognise more than the fact that it was an ambulance; it looked a lot different to what she could remember. Her memories were slow and disjointed but were there, in a rough way.
She lay in the ambulance- still, but breathing and trying to get used to the feeling of being able to breathe air again. She can't move her body, though. It's too frozen to move. Her lips are blue and chapped and her eyes are dried but she can't shut them, hazily taking in her surroundings as she's rushed into another building, her body followed by the two men, who was with her before.
She's in good hand- she knows she is, but her heart rate's too slow and she can feel as such. Her eyes finally droop shut and she sleeps.
She wakes up and panics; bolting upright, she doesn't know where she is- she doesn't even remember when the last time she was awake. But then she recognises where she is and that there is a presence beside her. It's the blonde from before, he looks quite put-out from the lack of his metal-armed friend. Then she actually recognises who he is; Captain Steve Grant Rogers, the American Correspondent- pseudonym Captain at all cost. She gives him a sharp salute, ignoring the sharp pain it sent through her muscle.
"Captain," she said to him, hand still to her forehead, her voice croaky from lack of use- she'll get better, she's had worse.
Captain Rogers seems shocked at the recognition, but surely he must know that he is well known.
"How do you know who I am?" He asks, neither softly nor sharply, whilst handing her a glass of water. She gulps it down gratefully and hands him back the now empty glass. She feels a sharp pang in her chest as her superior works for her, his subordinate.
"How could I not know who you are?" She questions him and he gives her an undecipherable look.
"Who are you, who do you work for?" He asks, again in that strange voice, almost growling this time. Her back straightens as her training kicks show respect to your superiors, the American Correspondent above all else. Her hand once again raises to her head in a salute.
"Name: Sarah Rogers, rank: Captain, alias: Lady London, also known as Captain Rogers. Employment: British intelligence. Dispatch unit: Over-Seas S.H.I.E.L.D unit. Dispatcher: Agent Peggy Carter, current state unknown. Allegiance to Britain and the American Correspondent, Steve Rogers. For King and Country." Her hand is still raised to her forehead as she finished. Captain Rogers looks baffled and she wonders what she had said to make him look at her like that. She had spoken quickly and purposefully, as she had been told to in the event of meeting Captain Rogers. He looks speechless.
"Captain Rogers?" She asks, unsure of herself and out of turn and the pain in her chest grows as she breaks yet another rule. Speak only when spoken to.
"You can call me Steve." He finally speaks, seemingly broken out of his stupor.
"But Captain-" her protests are cut short.
"You don't need to be formal, honestly. Call me Steve" but she doesn't relax.
"Seriously, stand down, Captain. Sarah, it's okay. I'm not all that" he speaks the words softly this time and finally I am snapped from my trance.
"S-Steve" I stumble over the word as I roll it around in my mouth.
"What's the year? Because it doesn't look like the bloody 1950's anymore." She asks, her British accent strong and thick, politeness and respect sort-of disappeared from her once she's broken out of whatever she was in.
"The year is 2016, Sarah. September 14th, 2016" she looked at him incredulously.
"You have got to be bloody kidding me" she simply replied, her mouth gaping, still clearly not believing him. She had always fallen back on swearing, she supposed; thinking about it, though, made her think of the times spent with her friends in a place long ago absorbing the warmth of the camaraderie, the thought made her heart aches for the simplicity and recognition of times she couldn't quite remember and a face she couldn't recall.
"We found you in a cryo-chamber underneath an abandoned Intelligence building. We were surprised you were even alive" Steve said with a serious face and a chuckle that didn't quite convey his meaning; it was a little too dark for the sound of it and it didn't sound right coming from the man who was her superior- but she supposed that he was an old man now, older than her by any extent , seen much more than her, and she guessed he could indulge in some sorrow now and again.
"Yes, well so am I" she replied dryly. They had her serve her time then packed her up in a box to keep her young forever. Stealing her sanity in the process. As if it was theirs to take in the first place, she thought to herself.
"Why were you in there in the first place?" A question she had hoped he wouldn't ask but she couldn't deny him what he asked of her; her trainingdisallowed such thoughts, so she started to talk.
"We wanted to win the war-" she started, looking over his shoulder and through the window, peering into the world that she didn't belong in anymore.
"We needed an upper-hand on Hitler and so the British intelligence sent a message to America- and to their surprise we got a response" she paused to take a breath then continued,
"A woman, a one Peggy Carter-" a sharp intake of breath "came with a serum, an experiment; implemented and successful in America and then perfected after a year of trying. This experiment created a perfect soldier- but I think you already know that. You were the trial, the real experiment. But experiment you may have been, you were successful none the less. They recreated it and brought it over- the serum, I mean. Both agent Carter and Mr. Stark, they found Erskine's notes and set it up and in I went. They told me I was chosen because I was suitable for it- I was a weak woman in a man's world, but they chose me nonetheless. They said my mind was strong, though, at least that's what I was told afterwards. After that I was the epitome of health and strength, they sent me out on the field straight away." She stopped there, despite the fact that she hadn't answered his question, disobeying yet another rule. Do not disobey your superiors. Steve didn't look like he was about to let up, though, so she continued.
"I was sent out on missions with my troops- I became quite an icon in Britain. I killed many men and hurt many more, it was not a glorious time in my opinion-"
"War never is" Steve finally talked, cutting in, but he looked down and then signalled for her to continue.
"They sent me out on many different missions, but most of all I was sent to watch the American Correspondent. I had to report back after every time. Then one day, upon my return I came bearing bad news. It was the day that you'd downed your ship," she shut her eyes but the memories didn't stop their tirade in her mind, her throat clogging with emotion.
"News on the American Correspondent" her superior asked. She found she couldn't talk fear coursing through every vein and so her superior backhanded her for her cooperation. She simply took it and then straightened back out, she knew she needed it. She had failed in her mission after all. She saluted harshly as she talked.
"Mission status: compromised." She said robotically. Her superiors brow furrowed.
"How?" He demanded harshly. Her hand was still raised in a salute.
"The American correspondent is deceased" her superior backhanded her again, she bit her lip in the process and she tasted blood in her mouth, but worse was yet to come. She didn't want to think about what happened that night, she didn't really remember it, only bits and pieces and the words from her sergeant in command.
"We heard the bloody screams for miles"
Back in the present, her hands were curled tightly in on themselves and her knuckles were turning white; her fingernails biting into the soft under-flesh of her hand and leaving small crescent welts in the palm.
"They got me to help win the war and then packed me away in a box as if I didn't matter." She choked out.
After a while of reliving the worst night of her life she came back to her surroundings. She noted ruefully that Steve had his hand held over her own fisted ones and a look of confusion and sorrow plastered on his face. She also absently noted that she was crying but she didn't mind, she didn't think that Steve was the man to hit a woman for crying and so she let herself.
"Are you okay?" Steve asked and she simply laughed a sorrowful laugh. She was never okay and she doubted she'd ever feel a slither of normalcy again.
"No" another pitiful laugh bubbled up her throat. She cried some more after that; Steve simply stays there rubbing his calloused thumb over the back of her balled up hands. She babbled incoherently, murmuring things from days long ago and he simply nodded along. She exhausted herself and fell asleep soon after with a name on her lips; 'Beckie'.
When she woke up she was much more composed this time. She didn't cry anymore- the tears no longer dried on her cheeks, and she hadn't panicked at the first sight- whether it was because she had gotten used to this place or because she was worried about the punishment for screaming, she didn't know and she'd rather not dwell on such things. She sat up, noting Steve sat to her side once again, his hand loosely holding her wrist as he talked distractedly to another person in the room. She sat up quickly, her head spinning, in a panic. She shut her eyes and focused on her breathing. In, hold, out, repeat. She gets her heart rate to slow and cautiously opened her eyes again.
Steve was looking at her worriedly again, having taken her hand once more and rubbing comforting circles on it again. She looked at the second presence and it took a moment- her Superior would be disappointed in her if they had known how long it took her to take in her surroundings this time- but she finally recognised who it was. Sergeant Bucky Buchanan Barnes, the Asset, also known as the Winter Soldier. She took in a sharp breath as another shattered memory attacked her thoughts. Memories of an order and a long wait, travelling for a long time and then a fight too evenly matched to be won. She retreated and had failed in her mission. They did bad things to her that night, her sergeant in command said the screaming didn't stop until daybreak. Sergeant Barnes, too, inhaled sharply and turned his face to the side.
"Sergeant Barnes." She acknowledged him. His head snaps back to her and makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat.
"You know each other?" Steve asks and She can't bring herself to speak and so simply nods tersely.
"How?" Steve asks his face drawn back up in confusion again, but his question is ignored and instead her gaze is fixed to a face she hadn't seen in nearly 70 years- a face she had vowed to never see again. When it became obvious that Barnes wasn't going to relax she reached her hand hesitantly; against her better judgement, and though he jumped slightly at the contact he didn't pull away a so she held his hand softly with her war stained hands and repeated the action Steve had taken up before, running the pads on her thumbs over the creases of his worn skin.
"Sergeant Barnes, I am truly sorry for what happened all those years ago," She apologised sincerely to him. She couldn't get his rage filled face; eyes filled with blood-lust and the snarl of a killer out of her minds eyes and unconsciously tightened her grip on his hand. He tightened his grip back.
"I understand," he says gruffly, his voice deep and gravely and she strains to hear it, buts it's there and it's a start. He offers her a slight smile.
"You can call me Bucky" he offers as well and she starts to protest but cuts herself off. She can do this.
"Okay. Bucky it is" she smiles back, it's tight but sincere. Her heart ached for the one that she couldn't have, though; she had died so many years ago now. In fact, the thought hit her, everyone she had known is probably dead or at least getting there. All of a sudden she's shaking again because the realness of everything comes crashing down on her. She's in a world that doesn't know her and she doesn't know anymore. She's not in London and she's definitely not in the 1950's anymore. She's out of place and out of time and it makes her want to cry but she doesn't, she can't do this again.
"They're all gone" she croaks out and her tremors increase, her face pale and her eyes glossy, her mind caught in the past. A moment later there are soothing hands on her own and on her back, rubbing circles and just giving her the pleasure of human contact when she is so very touch starved. She trusts these two. Well, actually she trusts Steve, it's well ingrained into her now, so is her wariness of Bucky- he was, of course, a failed mission after all; but she supposes so is she.
Her tremors subside eventually and she focuses on the present; she's left pale and tired but none worse for wear. She has a thought in her head, though- a stupid idea but she's determined to see it, though. If she can't have the people she had back in the 50's, well, she supposes, she'll just have to make do with things that cannot be broken down by time. She knows it's a wild chase, pointless really and a waste of everyone's precious time, but at this point she doesn't care. Sure, she's being materialistic but she'd do anything to feel some sense of normalcy in this time of the unknown.
"Take me to England." She demands, her voice leaving no room for argument. She knows it's wrong for her to demand from her leader but again she knows this is something she has to do. Steve looks taken aback at the sudden request but Bucky looks unfazed, but when does he not?
"But you just woke up. I mean, are you sure you want to go home?" Steve asks tentatively and carefully like one wrong said word could set her off again.
"Not to stay, just to receive some things, Steve." She says with a glint in her eye and a sadness weighing her down, it's harder to see, but still very much there if you looked closely enough. Not very many people did, though. She wasn't worth the effort- she was there for missions and missions alone.
"We could get some other agents to get what you want, there's no need-" Steve starts to explain but she just cuts him off with a determination, finally taking things into her own hands for the first time in a fit of strangely placed resolve.
"No, Captain. I need to go myself. I need to see proof." Proof of what, she doesn't know. But she does need to see if things are true as Steve says it is. Steve has an odd look in his eyes but stands nonetheless.
"I'll go see what I can do" Steve leaves the room, leaving Bucky behind by her bedside. She looks at his face again and thinks deeply, her hold on his hand never slackening. She still couldn't believe that it had been so long since she last walked the earth, over 60 years now. She also couldn't wrap her head around how many terrible things she had done during the war, during the short time she had spent here. Especially since she was faced with an aborted mission, right in front of her.
"Colonel" She spoke, her hand already raised in a salute.
"Report on the American Correspondent?" Her Superior asks.
"Alive; fighting. Currently stationed in Italy." She asks but her voice sounds uncertain. Her Superior slaps her.
"What are you keeping from me?" He asks angrily, She doesn't back down- doesn't even move, not even flinching.
"He is not taking the disappearance of his Sergeant so well." She reports back.
"Who was his Sergeant in Command?" He asks, less angrily as he always did when it came to matters with the Correspondent. She supposed she would never live up to the name that he held. She would never be good enough for her Superior.
"Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, sir" She speaks the name robotically.
"Keep a record on the American Correspondent. Report to base and we will discuss moving you to Italy." He says, nodding slightly. She finished her Salute with a chant of 'Sir, yes sir';
Her mind then proceeding to provide her with another memory, digging deep and dragging it out. She'd rather not remember this one but she does nonetheless, unable to quell the oncoming thoughts.
"Colonel," She says, as alway, her hand raised in salute. Her back rigid, her shoulders back. She's exhausted having just returned from her most recent mission, but her Superior ordered her to be brought here straight away upon her return. She may be exhausted but she can never ignore her Superiors orders, nor go against them, for that matter.
"News on the American Correspondent?" He asks, ignoring the fact that she is swaying and clearly injured; if the fact that she is favouring one of her legs more than the other is anything to go on.
"He is well, doing better mentally. He is currently stationed in north France, working his way towards the front lines there, helping any way he can, whilst he waits to attack a secondary Hydra base in an occupied city." She reports her superior only nods.
"I have a new mission for you. Terminate the Asset, he is a threat to the Correspondent" He slides the folder over to her and she takes it.
"Sir, yes sir" she chants.
"Report to base camp as soon as possible, we'll send you off. Report to medical first." She nods and salutes to the order, appreciating the acknowledgement of her injury. Normally it would go ignored until she arrived at her next base, she guessed she must have done well on her last mission. She flips the folder open to view her next target. Fingering the corner of the worn photograph. It's blurry and hard to make out, but she recognises the face. She reads a message intercepted from the soviets, detailing the information received through torture, pages detailing the torture he had received and the 'upgrade' and experiments they had trialed on him. She didn't want to do this to a man who had been through so much but she had to- she couldn't disobey orders, God help her if she did.
She took out the photograph and placed it in her breast pocket. She stood and walked over to the filing cabinet and upon opening it she flicked through the many folders they kept on the overseas troops. Taking out one- labelled 'James Buchanan Barnes'- she opened it, took out the photograph from her pocket and compared it to the one in the folder. She took a shaky breath in and then exhaled it. The photographs were a match, there was no mistaking it. She was being sent out to kill someone who she had declared deceased not 5 months ago. Placing the folder back into the cabinet she walked to medical and got her leg bandaged and upon being declared fit to fight she reported to the Base, ushered into a plane and subsequently flown into the USSR.
She saw her target and waited to attack. His metal arm glinting in the sunlight reflected from the white show surrounding them. She heard a noise and pounced. Carefully calculated punches and kick, predicted attacks and parries. The pair of them are equal and both are struggling to gain the upper hand. She shoots at him a dozen times, he dodged every bullet. She runs out of shots soon and throws her gun away from her in frustration. He lunges at her pulling back his hand to punch her but she takes it in her favour and in a second she has her hands wrapped around his neck. He scrambles to get her off of him but she holds fast- her grip past bruising point. He's resilient and she's focused, neither of them winning. He seems to go limp in her grip and she loosens it, dropping him to the floor, leaning down to look for a pulse. When she finds none she hums contentedly, turning away and walking back to the meeting point. His eyes snap open but aren't fogged up by the haze of a murderer that there was before. He walks up silently behind her, she notices him though and turns around quickly, but not quickly enough. He knocks her unconscious and the floor falls from beneath her.
She wakes up in the snow and her uniform is soaked through. She returns to England soon enough and she doesn't remember what happened after she informed her Superior of her failure. She's sure she doesn't want to remember.
She doesn't notice the tears streaming down her face as she remembers almost killing a man- Bucky- with just her hands, the very blood-stained hands that are holding Bucky's own at that moment.
"Are you okay?" Bucky asks concernedly, his thumb repeating Steve's actions from before again. She just gasps out a strained 'I'm so sorry' before she chokes on a sob and soon they are shaking her whole body. Bucky nods and moves his chair closer to her and places his arms around her, rubbing her back in the same manner as he had her hands before. She simply bleeds her sorrows into his shoulder, leaving a wet patch on his shirt. Bucky doesn't seem to mind, though, and surprisingly neither does she, despite this clear sign of weakness, she doesn't stop herself and lets herself run dry and soak up the comforting aura around the man she hardly knows, even though she knows everything about him. She smiled a bittersweet smile hidden in the folds of his shirt.
Moving her face from his shoulder, wiping the remnants of her little break-down away with the palm of her hand- it seemed like she was only remembering and crying since she woke up and looked up just as Steve walked through the door with a hesitant smile.
"I got the approval. Give me the address and I can get a plane and equipment. Some nurses will come by in a second with clothes, they'll get you ready to leave, disconnecting you from the machines and such. Bucky'll take you the commons where we can get ready" Bucky nodded at him and she gave him the address; Steve nodded in recognition, it was the place where they had found her after all, and she gave him a list of equipment that they'd need to bring with them- including the suit and shield. Steve left again to get ready.
Sure enough, some nurses did come with clothes, just some undergarments- which were certainly more revealing than she remembered- trousers, a shirt, and some comfortable looking shoes. She found the clothing choice a rather bit odd but said nothing about it, it must be the change of the century and this must be what most people wore now-a-day. She found herself missing her dresses and she supposed she would have to go shopping soon; she doubts her belongings are still in London. The nurses also disconnected her and tested her breathing and muscles, noting no muscle deterioration. They gave her the all clear to leave.
Walking was weird to her now but she doesn't complain; Work through anything- injury or discomfort- to achieve the mission, show no weaknesses. Her mind brought up the rule and winced at all the times that she had to work through broken bones and bullet wounds, cuts and bruises, concussions and the like, where she had wanted nothing more than to curl up where she was and simply die. She shook her head to dislodge the memories and followed Bucky, who had his hand firmly on her shoulder. He led her into a large room, filled with couches surrounding a table and then to once of said couches. She sat on it and a man who looked strangely like another man she had known some 70 years ago sat across from her. The man outstretched his hand and offered it to her.
"Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy, and philanthropist. Though I doubt you understand many of those titles." He smirked and it reminded her of a smirk almost exactly the same.
"-though I doubt you'd understand those most of those terms." The words echoed in her head, a cheesy smile reflecting in the man in front of her.
"Because I'm a woman?" She suggested, mirroring her words from so long ago.
"No because you're old" Stark concludes.
"No, because you're from London" she shook her head again, a smirk growing on her face.
"It's not nice to comment on a woman's age." She adds snarkily, looking at him with a sarcastic look on her face.
"No, no you look good for, what is it? 90 now?" Stark asks, this time, is his turn to be the sarcastic one and she smirks at him. Stark reminds her so much of his father and he doesn't even know it, Howard wasn't the same after Steve left. She sighs at fond memories.
"Hush now, Stark. Do you have something for me." She asks, more serious this time but Stark simply raises his eyebrows at her.
"Well, what have you got in mind, because I can certainly fix something up for a nice lady like yourself" She glares at him with a look that says You know what I mean and he stops.
"Geeze, what's it take to get a good audience nowadays. Anyway, carrying on, Cap told me about your little expedition to England and well I was working on something since you spilled your life story. Sounds like my good-old father really did a number on you, Hun." Stark explains whilst passing a box over to her. She opens it and pulls out the content, a bodysuit, and a couple guns. Admiring the suit she examines it, running her fingers over the familiar design, she lays it on the table.
"Tough material," She remarks whilst admiring the workmanship, but the material isn't the same.
"The toughest I could get. It's bullet-proof did you know?" Stark adds but she's not listening. She hums in acknowledgement. The patterns not the same either, though. She finds herself missing the old piece of fabric more and more and the tug in her chest is back, reminding her that it will never be the same because familiarity was left back in the 50's.
She looks at the guns next. Clearly Stark design, she can see it in the shape. She holds it out in front of her, testing the weight of it in her hands. They're obviously scaled down for her small, petite woman hands, she scoffs, but shows her gratitude to Stark nevertheless. He nods in agreement and Bucky shows her to a room where she can try on her new suit. She pulls it on and zips it up and she has to admit that she looks good. It hugs her in all the right places and makes her look feminine and dangerous at the same time like you caught her applying lipstick and smashing a man's skull at once and she looks lethal. She likes it.
"It suits you" A female voice speaks behind her and she turns to face it. Another woman stands there in a similar suit to her own and a head full of fiery red hair; she looks even more dangerous than herself. She smiles slightly but stays where she stands in the doorway.
"I'm Natasha, you must be Sarah. Welcome to the team" Natasha introduces herself and she smiles back.
"Technically you all joined my team. I was one of the first Avengers, did you know?" She turns back to the mirror and looks at herself again, holstering the guns this time and then walking over to Natasha.
"Barnes sent me to get you, the equipment been collected and your plane is ready to go. Good luck" She looks at Natasha as she walks off down the hallway and decides that she'll make a friend of her soon.
Walking back to the main room she sees Bucky waiting for her like Natasha said. He gestures for her to follow him and she does. He walks swiftly down the hallway in the opposite direction to where Natasha had headed beforehand. The hallway in short, though, and leads through to a lift, they get in and off on a different floor, and after walking down yet another hallway is lead into what could be called a basement. There are vehicles on every side of her and she's amazed by the sheer amount of technological advancement in one room. Bucky leads her, past all of the other pieces of technology, to a regular looking plane. Unassuming, she guessed, if they were being watched then they wouldn't know that they were about to break into an abandoned British Intelligence building, she chuckles at her own thought. She never thought she would commit espionage against her own team, she never pegged herself for the type.
Steve is waiting for them by the steps of the plane in his own suit, which is remarkably different to the one that he wore in the war she thinks, and extends a hand, pointing up to the plane's entrance. She nods and walks up, Bucky behind her and Steve following on at the back. Looking inside the planes it's spacious and comfortable looking, not she would have expected, to be frank, she had expected standard government issues planes to carry soldiers overseas, not this luxury aircraft but she supposed from what she had seen already that S.H.I.E.L.D must be fabulously wealthy to be able to afford the research and resources for all of the weapons and vehicles out in the basement so of course they would be able to afford a nice plane, especially since the flight would be a long one if she remembered correctly. She surmises that this flight will be significantly more comfortable than the last one she made over to America. She nods her head at the thought and sits in a chair, sinking into the plush fabric and Steve sitting opposite, Bucky in the seat beside and a table in between.
"This is nice then. Better than the warplanes at least." She remarks and chuckles, both men agree and laughs along.
"Nice suit you have there, Tony make it?" Steve asks, she looks down at herself in it and then realises that Steve hasn't seen it before.
"Yes, Stark did make it, not the original, though. Neither is yours for that fact, Steve. Did Stark make yours as well?" She asks, she still remembers vividly that old suit of his. They'd styled hers on his old one, they had looked like a pair, despite the fact that they'd never met before- true allies. She shook her head again at the old memories.
They talked amiably throughout the flight, discussing weaponry and the war. It wasn't hard for them all to find things in common considering they all lived through the same time and there were considerable similarities between all of their past experiences. Soon the flight was over, though. She swore it didn't take as long as usual but she wasn't going to complain.
They had the plane landed maybe 2 miles away from the Intelligence complex that was so familiar to her. They walked the rest of the way, staying stealthy but quick. She doubted there would be anybody around but she didn't want to take any risks, she wouldn't do that again. Carrying the weapons slowed their advance but they walked quickly there, arriving at the complex in around 20 minutes.
She looked around her taking in the recognisable sight of the place she had spent a substantial portion of her life in- she had only been 18 years old when she had joined. She knew how to get around this place like the back of her hand and so she lead them onwards. Soft footsteps on the gravelled ground and silent hand gestures. She leads them past the abandoned soldier camp and medic bay towards the large, rusted metal barn, memories of friends making her smile and then memories of death and blood- so much blood, and she had to shut her eyes before continuing on. Opening the large doors she motions them in and walks them past the advanced-for-the-time Stark Industry technology and stops them before an unassuming alcove. She presses an almost invisible button and a number pad appears, pressing in the code another door opens and they walk in. The difference is noticeable the walls in here are concrete and clean, whereas the walls out there had been metal and unkempt, abandoned in every aspect. This room, however, looked like it had been kept clean since the war ended. It may have been, she thinks, but she continues onwards, walking down a set of concrete stairs leading into and even more advanced Telecommunications Hub.
"Welcome to my Unit, boys," She says to both Steve and Bucky, her voice low and calculated. She has been in here enough times to know how her voice would carry in every room in this complex. Again, she remembers, she knows this place very intimately, knowing every room and every hallway like nothing else. The map of this building has been burnt into her eyelids and ingrained in her brain- there was no room for confusion or getting lost during the war- A soldier couldn't get lost.
She showed them the way through, checking each well-organised room for anything worthwhile; She knew that there wasn't. Like she knew the building personally she knew every item and non-personal belonging in here as well- she was just putting off what she had come here for. Perhaps, she thought, she was enjoying showing Steve and Bucky around, enjoying being in this familiar place again. This she knew, this she understood. But no, she had come here on a mission to receive something and God help her if she doesn't get it done. She continued onwards.
She brought them through a door leading into another room, more immaculate than the rest of the underground base and she felt bile rising at the back of her throat but pushed down the feeling and carried on, Steve and Bucky still trailing behind. Walking past table of equipment and test tubes, abandoned refrigerators filled with unknown substances, she headed towards the other end of the room. Her legs felt shaky and her fingers felt numb. All she could hear was the blood roaring in her ears. She hadn't noticed she had stopped until Steve placed his hand on her shoulder in a comforting and grounding manner. She focused and turned to him, nodding in thanks but not smiling. Taking a deep breath she input the key code into the locked door and pushed it open. She walked in cautiously, shutting her eyes against the rush of suppressed memories.
'Hold her down' The shout reverberated around the metal box with ease, attacking at her eardrums. Dozens of hands held down her thrashing limbs, her jaw struggling against the muzzle. Cold metal straps attaching her to an equally cold metal table, screws digging into the small of her bare back- she ground her teeth against the discomfort.
"Now, Captain," the word was spoken with distaste "You have failed in your last few missions. We must put a stop to that" He gave the order to the men and they brought forwards a machine and a table with a number of medical instruments on it; none of them meant for healing.
Memories of pain and screaming and begging for death by her team's hands, tearing her apart and then putting her back together all wrong, watching with cruel smiles and bated breath as her enhanced body stitched itself together. They needed the information, sure, she gave them that, they needed to know how her body worked, but they did it so cruelly. They never let her leave the world of gruelling pain; they had her in their grasp. They did it for punishment for her insolence and lack of cooperation as much as they did it for the medical and scientific knowledge.
She physically tore her gaze from the metal table- there were still blood stains on it, eternally burned into it, she felt sick. She motioned for them to follow her to the other end. Tapping at a wall and nodding when she heard the hollow sounds and ordered,
"This wall. It's behind this wall." Steve nodded, and without needing to think about it, she and Bucky drew back and Steve slammed the edge of his shield into the hollow wall full force, smashing it and then repeating it until there was a hole large enough to move through. She motioned for them to go in. The dust settled around them, covering the already dust covered items and floors in yet another layers.
She coughed to rid herself of the dry, scratchy feeling in her chest and walked in, moving out of the way so that bot Steve and Bucky could enter alongside her. The room wasn't big, maybe a couple meters long and wide. It was a squeeze to fit them all in here, bit luckily for them there wasn't much in there in the way of large objects. There was simply a rusted metal cabinet and a few crates with the S.H.I.E.L.D insignia printed on them. Steve and Bucky moved forwards to start looking in the crates but she held up her hand, signalling them to stop.
"Wait here. I need to do this myself." They nodded their understanding and allowed her to look alone. She took cautious steps forwards and wrenched open the time-worn cabinet, coughing again, much more harshly this time as the dust settled in her lungs, unable to stop- her lungs protesting as she fought to remove the foreign substance. Once she stopped coughing she wiped away the tears from the strain in her muscles she started to flick through the paper files. Noting the familiar names she pulled out a few and flicked through the pages, reading the details of her friends from so long ago. They were all dead, as it said so in all of the files. Deceased written boldly next to each and every name; she wiped away a stray tear and place the files back in their place. She shut the cabinet and moved onto the crates.
Prying off the wooden lids she rifled through the content of the first crate but found nothing of interest- it was simply blueprints of prototype weapons as well as some of the original versions of said weapons. She simply placed the lid haphazardly on top of it again and moved it onto the floor. Removing the lid of the second crate, however,prove much more worthwhile. Inside this crate, she was presented with the familiar sight of her old suit. Smiling widely she took the garment from its case and held it up, running her fingers over the much-worn fabric and recognisable pattern, she breathed in its scent and after fawning over it, she placed it on the floor and moved onto the next prominent object. She lifted the shield out of the crate and she placed it on the floor alongside her suit, her smile even wider at the complete set. She heard bucky snort behind her but paid it no mind.
Looking back inside the crate her smile began to ebb away. A small notebook lay at the bottom of the crate, hidden beneath various pages and scraps of fabric. It looked insignificant but yet held so much pain for her. Tenderly picking it up she opened it to the first page she started to read.
Date: 4th February 1942
Captain Rogers has been doing well in adjusting to her new found strength and will do well to keep track of the American correspondent. However, she had proven to be resistant to the training she has been undergoing. We will step it up to phase 2. After phase 2 has been completed she shall be fully reintegrated into the ranks and will lead her first mission.
Date: 6th February 1942
Captain Rogers has failed in her first mission. Soldier Richardson, unit 336, was killed under her watch. We shall place her into phase 3 as well as O.T and will run a repeat simulation. She will do better.
Date: 10th February 1942
Captain Rogers has been cleared for duty and has passed phase 3. Reporting back, three Nazi soldiers have been detained and are currently being held hostage. Captain Rogers is being detained and prepared for next mission send off. See more in case file #401.
She flicks through a few more pages, skipping through much more reports and mission status', noting that they are becoming more fleshed out as she goes through. Her heart hammering in her chest she stops near the end.
Date: 24th October 1943
Captain Rogers reports that Sargeant Rebecca. J Barnum is MIA. We have detained the Captain and currently prepare for extraction. See report file #534 for more information.
She shuts her eyes, takes in a steadying breath and opens her eyes again. She flicks through another few pages.
Date: 19th December 1944
Captain Rogers reports back from an excursion to America. The American Correspondent declared deceased. The captain in detained, we currently prepare for extraction as well as O.T. She will not make this mistake again. She will understand the stakes being held on her.
She shut the book with a snap. Her eyes shut against the torrent of memories she places the book onto the steadily growing pile. The book is signed Colonel R. Peters.
Reaching into the crate again, her head still reeling from the thoughts and feelings fighting against the memories in her head brought on by the notebook. She pulls out yet another paper files. It feels like nothing in her hands but the metaphorical weight feels too much for her. Printed typeface on the front of the folder spelling out the name: Elanor A Paige. Delicately opening the folder she is faced with a photograph of a petite woman, thin brittle arms, and sallow face. Hair pinned in victory rolls. Her lips painted in lipstick. She looks at the face of the woman and she can't help but feel recognition. She doesn't know the name nor the person so she places the photograph down. She starts to read the first page.
Name: Elanor Anne Paige.
Age: 18 years
DOB: 18th March 1924
Height: 5ft
Weight: 80lb
Ailments:
-Partial deafness,
-Asthma,
-Heart Arrhythmia,
-Poor immunity,
-Parkinson's disease,
-eczema,
-Scoliosis.
Report on status: Miss Paige has given her consent to proceed with Project: Correspondence (Previously known as Project rebirth Mk.2) and has performed well in the necessary physical exams. She seems understanding and is looking forwards to serving her king and country, she has said her goodbyes to her remaining family. Miss Paige has met with Mr. Stark and Ms. Carter and has been briefed on the procedure. She is being held in the chambers and prepared for the coming days.
-27th January 1942
She blanched. It continued on.
Report on Status: Project: Correspondence went smoothly. The memory wipe was successful and Miss. Paige has no memory of previous years. See report following on status on Miss S. Rogers (formerly Elanor Paige).
-3rd February 1942
She took in a breath and held it upon seeing her name. Her eyes watering at the new knowledge she flipped the page and was faced with her own image. With shaking hands she plucked the photograph from the file and picked up the image of Elanor and compared them. A tear rolling down her cheek as she saw the similarities. Her hands dropped to her lap and her face downcast.
"The bastards" She whispered and had Steve and Bucky not had genetically enhanced hearing it would have gone unheard.
"Huh?" Steve questions and she turns to face him, the photographs still held gingerly in her grasp.
"They took it. They took all of it." She growled out, her glare animalistic.
"They took what?" Bucky asked this time but his question went unheard.
"Elanor Paige." She simply said, rolling the name around in her mouth. "Elanor Anne Paige,"
"Who's she?" Steve asks confusion etched into his face. A fire burns in her eyes.
"My name was Elanor Paige and they took it from me." She mutters over and over again.
"They took all of my memories. I don't remember. I don't remember!" Her voice rising to a screech as she shoves the photographs of Elanor and herself- or should she say both the photographs of herself in their faces. Bucky takes them from her tight grip as Steve steps forwards and attempts to calm her down. Angry tears streaming down her face as her head twists and her heart wrenches. They had no right. She insists in her mind. But then again the reports say that she had given her permission. She knew she was missing bits and pieces but to take 18 years of her life away from her. Her cries clogged up her throat and she held onto Steve with a superhuman strength that would have crushed him, had he not been superhuman himself.
She calms herself down eventually ,though, wiping her tears away with the palm of her hand and then asking Steve, who now had a wet patch on his shirt, to grab her suit, shield, and notebook- she didn't tell him what was in the notebook- and asked Bucky to grab the remaining crate. She didn't know what was in it but she knew she couldn't stay in this place any longer. She was never happy whilst with her Superior- or rather his name was Colonel Peters, but she knew that they were better than the Nazi's and fighting for the greater good. But now she wasn't sure. She knows that the Allies will always be better than Hitler and his men with their foreign policies and the like, but can the British be any better if they are willing to dehumanise their own troops? She simply didn't know.
They walked out the way they came, thankful for the lack of other people and walked back to the plane carrying the goods they had set out to receive. If she walked a little closer to the men beside her they certainly didn't say anything or they didn't notice but either way, she was glad for it. They got onto the plane and they sat in silence, or at least she did. Steve and Bucky were having quite conversations that she wasn't paying attention to. For the entire trip back she spent the time pondering her predicament. Who was she anymore? She certainly wasn't Sarah Grace Rogers. Sarah Rogers never existed, she was just some carbon copy of Steve Grant Rogers, made in honor of the man himself. But was she Elanor Anne Paige anymore either? She didn't know.
She slept the rest of the journey, thinking about memories from a time that never happened in her mind.
She was woken up by a hand on her shoulder a few hours later signalling their descent back in America and at the headquarters. She nodded her thanks to Steve and left her thoughts as she left the plane carrying her old suit and shield. The notebook balanced on top, Bucky carrying the third crate behind her. She followed Steve into the common room where she placed her belongings on the table and the crate- along with her file- were placed alongside them. Perching in front of the table she pried off the lid of the last crate and started to look through the objects inside. In the crate were many, many photographs and a paper file like her own. She pulled them out, not stopping to look at them individually and placing them on the table with the pile of objects. Along with the photographs, she pulled out several intercepted German telegrams as well as reports translated into English. Beneath all of the paper, though, was a black mask- which could be mistaken for a muzzle; she heard a sharp intake from Bucky behind her- a green army cap and a sergeant's shoulder lapel, badges and all.
A barrage of sepia memories filled her head and she was surprised because for once they weren't sad memories or memories that hurt her. No, this time, they were filled with rouge lips and a dimpled smile. A witty comment or two and bright green eyes, which sparkled in the sunlight. And she remembered a proud salute and a fresh army uniform. Then her thoughts became melancholy. A vague recollection of an empty house and an empty bed. Being alone with worries of whether her green-eyed girl would survive out there in the big wide world. And then her thoughts changed again bursting with colours and loud noises. Her girl was shorter or maybe she was taller but the smile was the same and so were the bright gleam in her bright green eyes. She could hear gunshots and bombs and explosions and death on all sides. And then her green-eyed girl was falling, falling, falling and her hand didn't reach far enough over the edge of the cliff.
She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. Belatedly realising that she had a steady stream of tears running down her cheeks and her grasp on her green-eyed girl's cap had grown tight and her knuckles turned white. She laughed bitterly- it seemed that she would never run out of tears to shed.
"Are you okay?" Bucky asks concernedly from behind her, a comforting hand on her shoulder. She hastily wipes away the stray tears and smiles at him over her shoulder.
"Yeah, I'm okay," She puts the cap down and closes the crate, having completely emptied it of its contents and sets to work on scouring through the hundreds of photographs that were inside the crate previously. Many of the photographs of the same person. A man, or is it a woman? In a black coat and the mask –muzzle- from withing the box on their face. Looking through more of the photographs she starts to see a pattern. All of the photographs are of this person in the same outfit and they are always holding a gun, the muzzle always on their face. She absently notices that Bucky has picked up one of the photographs next to her but she doesn't pay attention to it until he takes in an uneasy breath and drops it like it burnt it. She picked up the photograph that he dropped and looks at it uncertainly. It's the same person but this time, they have been stripped of the jacket and muzzle and are left in just a tank top. Their face fully revealed and she inhales sharply through her nose as recognition hits her full on- it's her green-eyed girl. All of the photographs are. Every single one of them. But that's not what shocked Bucky, how could it, he doesn't know her. No, there glinting in the photographed sunlight is a metal arm. This time, however, it doesn't bare a red Russian star. No, this time, it's a swastika. She swears under her breath. Her green-eyed girl is a Nazi, or at least was turned into one. She swears again, louder this time and it's just her luck that Steve hears and walks over from where he had been pacing the other end of the room; Bucky is still as shocked as before.
"What's up, Sarah- Elanor?" He asks, his brow furrowed, she just smiles shakily at him.
"And what's up with Bucky?" He sits down next to Bucky and shakes his shoulder lightly, enough to break him from his trance and Bucky swears under his breath, slightly more colourfully than she had. She chuckled at his very American use of the expletive. Steve just sighs.
"Is anyone gonna' tell me why everybody's suddenly running their mouths?" Steve questions exasperatedly and she simply loosens the tight grip she had held on the photograph and drops it into Steve's hand. He takes a look at it and gasps as well, taking it better than either of they had, but, she supposes, he doesn't have quite the personal connection to the photograph as they both do.
She turns her gaze back to the table, brushing the excess photographs out of the way she picks up the paper file with shaky hands and reads the front page; Rebecca J Barnum. She tilted her head at the name that she had read previously. So this was her sergeant in command. She cautiously flipped open the front page and was gifted with the sight of her green-eyed girl, doe-eyed and smiling. Hair styled neatly and army uniform ironed- the creases are visible, and she can't help but smile along with her. She carefully extracts the photograph and places delicately among the rest of her keepsakes along with the cap and lapel. She looks back down at the file and starts to read.
Name: Rebecca Janet Barnum
Age: 20 years
DOB: 9th August 1922
Height: 5ft 3inches
Weight: -
It continued on much like hers had. She skips over the rest of the trivial information. Words fleeting under her gaze as it explains how she was chosen for a special Intelligence training and was trained to be a spy, how she was proud to serve her King and country. There wasn't even a king anymore – she stopped her train of thought. She flicked through another few pages. Another photo slips out and there plain as day is Rebecca once more, only, this time, she isn't smiling, her eyes are wide and brights and her army uniform is nowhere to be seen. Neither is her arm for that fact. Her face is littered with bruised and through the fuzzy Polaroid she could make out the rough imprints of harsh hands and even harder fingertips. Her eye is swollen shut and her open eye is glassy and unseeing, her hair a tangled mess on her head and it's been haphazardly cut and torn short. It makes her want to be sick, the fact that this happened to her green-eyed girl, her Rebecca- She shuts her eyes and calms her tremors. The rage boiling in her gut. If Hitler wasn't dead- she growled. She would make him wish he was. She flips through another few pages. There looking up at her in all her glory in Rebecca again, looking much better than in the other photo but nowhere near healthy. She has a metal arm, this time, the swastika glaring up at her and she grimaces at it. How dare they hurt her Rebecca; she clenches her hands into fists. Looking underneath the photograph is a telegraph intercepted from German and the German mashes together and she doesn't understand it. There's no translation on it either. She recognises a couple words, though, arm, drugs and Barnum. She's not sure she wants to know what it says but she has a guttural need to know what happened to her arm and so she tries to translate it. She is unsuccessful though and so she spends around 10 minutes simply glaring at the piece of paper as if it would translate itself.
"Uh, what're you doin'?" Bucky asks after having watched her sit there and stare at the paper.
"I don't understand German," Was all she replied, even though her response was gritted through clenched teeth.
"Well why didn't you say so," And Bucky plucked the paper from between her fingers; his eyes scanning over the paper. He grew paler and paler every second and she suddenly started to dread what it said. He finally sets the paper down on his lap after an agonising wait and he takes a moment to compose himself, taking a deep breath in he starts to talk but his voice cracks with unspoken emotions so he coughs and tries again. Speaking, successfully, this time, he reads out the translation:
Log 13th December 1943
-Having received a missive from the USSR bearing news of the experiments currently taken place we, the German science initiative, have decided to implement them into the trials for our new soldier design. Details on biometric designs as well as a scheme for complete control of a human mind, making it malleable to the truest nature of the Nazi regime have been gifted to us- we shall use them wisely.
Commander Petersen has agreed in the implementation and has offered a subject on which we can use. A one Barnum, prisoner num. 034556 has been offered up for use in the scientific advancement of this prestigious moment.
Considering the notation explains the use of a biometric arm we shall use said information to create the arm. However the test subject has both arms and so we removed it. We shall use the separated arm for experimentation later. Report to Herr Schmidt for further notation on the procedure. Heil Hitler-
Bucky stops there, his face is ashen and his eyes are glazed with unshed tears. Tears dribble down her own face freely and her eyes burn with righteous anger. Her hands are clenched in tight fists and her knuckles are white; they tremor with rage. She stands up, her back ramrod straight and her hands fisting at her sides. She feels like her insides have been set on fire and her sight is blurred. How DARE they do that to my green-eyed girl, my Beckie. She deflates slightly at the thought, Beckie cut up, Beckie bruised, her beautiful eyes swollen shut and dull- She doesn't even remember her all that well but the emotions swell up inside her. Her teeth grind together.
"Uh-" Steve starts to talk, "-The gym is that way. If you, uh, want to work some of that anger out." And, oh, she does; she needs to get this fire out of her before it burns her irreparably. Steve points down the hallway into a large grey room, punching bags adorning the walls as well as many articles of training equipment. She doesn't even know what most of the machinery is but she doesn't care and she sets to work quickly on the poor, abused punching bag. Her punches are strong and brutal, pure unadulterated rage fueling each and every hit. Soon enough the impact actually splits the rough material and she pauses for a moment and then moves onto the next, taking out her frustrations on them. She goes through at least four more punching bags before she is stopped.
"Wow, what's got you all riled up, missy?" Stark asks from the doorway. She turns to face him and he's leaning nonchalantly on the doors frame, absent-mindedly tossing a roll of bandages up and down in his hand. She pants hard, wiping the sweat from her brow as she stands there, the carnage of her fit behind her. Stark tosses the bandages at her and with lighting fast reflexes she catches it midair. She looks down at the bundle in her hand and wonders what they're for but then she notices her knuckles are bleeding and so she quickly wraps the wounds. She then realises she hasn't responded to Stark's question yet, so she opens her mouth to explain herself when she finds she can't find the words to explain herself with and so she settles with opening and closing her mouth several times; looking quite like a fish. She snaps her jaw shut with an audible click. Stark looks over her shoulder at the mess she had caused, her chest is still heaving and she has a murderous look in her eye.
"You know these things cost money, yeah? I didn't spend all that time creating these things to withstand good ol'Cap's punches to have you come along with your artificial whatzits and thingamabobs so lovingly gifted to you by my dear old daddy-" He was rambling, she knows that he was. Trying to get her mind off of destruction and on to being annoyed by the fact that Stark just won't shut up. But honestly, the mention of Dear old daddy Stark just set her off.
"Fuck you," She muttered under her breath; her face downturned. Stark moved comically, moving his hand to his ear as if to hear her better, she scowled at the movement.
"What was that baby boo? I didn't hear you" Stark said condescendingly and her scowl deepened. His face switching and warping into the exact visage of his father and Tony were no longer stood before her but there in all his bloody glory stood Howard.
"I said, fuck you and fuck your bloody father." She moved her face up, her eyes burning and her body racked with tremors which could only be caused by rage. Stark looked taken aback and she took some pride in the ashen complexion she had inspired in him. In fact, he looked scared. She looked at his fear quizzically when she understood, she had taken step forwards to get closer to him in her wrath and had her fists raised as it to hit him. She took a double back, her gaze alternating between her hands which were no longer clenched and Stark's face was no longer his fathers. She looked at the look of absolute terror on his face and the chill of deep-set guilt attacked her senses and her chest tightened.
"Tony, I'm sorry I-" She apologized, the look on her face crestfallen, her eyes glassy. His face, however, was not scared or twisted in terror. It held only the sharpest of hurts and betrayal.
"No, I understand." And with those words he turned in the doorway and started to walk away, she watched hopelessly and then despite her better judgement she reached out and grabbed his wrist.
"Your father helped torture me." She blurted out and watched the emotions flit across his face. Shock and hurt taking residence when it appeared that he was rendered speechless she started to explain.
"He brought the serum. Sure, that was good- great even! He also brought the necessary equipment to instigate the memory wipe. He gave my superi-" She cut herself off and corrected herself "-the Colonel the materials to drill in the Obedience Training permanently into my brain. He- he knew and did nothing about it. Whilst he spent all his time fussing over Steve he left me to the pain in a rusty backroom of a lab. He took everything from me and didn't even care. He- I, please. I'm sorry, I-" Her resolve dissolved and she started to shake less with anger this time and more with sorrow. Tony just watched her with wide eyes, listening to every word attentively and now it was his turn to look murderous.
"How dare he do that-" Tony was cut off before he could start, though, by a buzz from his pocket and then a series of sharp beeps she supposed were supposed to resemble music. They didn't. He whipped out a small metal device and looked at its glowing screen. It looked like a phone, she supposed, although it was very small and rather unrecognisable. Tony just glowered at the screen.
"Well, this can't be good." And he started to walk down the corridor still holding her wrist, the rest of her in tow.
"What was that about?" She asked him as she was dragged along. It was an odd sight to look at considering she was taller than him, if only by an inch or two, and a whole lot more muscular. She looked like a lost puppy.
"Well, it was a phone. We have those in the future." Tony quipped, smirking at her from over his shoulder, she glared at him.
"I know what it was, Tony," He seemed shocked at the use of his name, "I meant why are we leaving?" She explained and he seemed to understand, he nodded at her.
"We've been called to a meeting," And she nodded back.
"What for?" She questioned.
"That's what we're going to find out." And he leads her to a large glass door which leads into a much plusher looking meeting room that what she was used to during the war. A large lacquered wooden table which reflected the light from the large open windows was surrounded by several chairs. At the head of the table was a screen of some type. Around the table was something she found much more interesting. People were sat around the table, some of which she knew, some she didn't. On the left of her was Steve and Bucky, Steve looking eager for whatever was going on and Bucky looking apathetic. Next was Natasha and another man she hadn't met before, he looked trustworthy enough. After them, there were another couple of men, one looked normal enough- besides the stained lab coat, which brought on some memories she'd rather forget- and the other was a beast of a man, muscles and all, his blond hair falling down to his shoulders, armour, like the stuff she had seen in a book about medieval knights once, displayed proudly on his breast. She was sure should he stand up he would stand taller than her, which was a tough feat, all things considered.
"What's going on here? Mothers meeting?" Tony suggested and Steve gestured for her to take the empty seat beside him, Tony taking the one opposite me.
"First of all, we should all introduce ourselves to Sarah- Elanor?" She smiled tentatively, appreciating the use of her new name- her real name. She knew Steve and Bucky, of course, they didn't introduce themselves. She already knew most of what there was to know about Steve and plenty about Bucky from before the end of the war; She didn't need to know anymore.
"I'm Natasha, but you already know that," Natasha said, smiling lightly.
"I am Clint, I am obviously the leader of the group and the best," the man next to Natasha introduced himself, his thumb pointing to himself like a child would and a proud look on his face. Natasha elbowed him in the ribs, eliciting a snicker from Tony. Clint just rubs at the sore spot, muttering 'I am the best' to himself.
"Dr. Banner, But you can call me Bruce," The man in the lab coat explained simply, offering her a small smile which she returned gladly.
"My fairest maiden, my name is Thor Odinson of Asgard, I am at your service," She chuckled at the man's theatrics, making a mental note to ask about Asgard later. She also noted that when he stood up to bow towards her he did, in fact, measure taller than her.
"Well, I'm Elanor, Elanor Paige. It's nice to meet you all," She gave herself a name, smiling at the group and ignoring the throbbing in her hand and the tightness of her chest. Saying her name aloud made it all the more definite, there was no more Sarah Grace Rogers.
"So what's the meeting about?" She asked no one in particular and the atmosphere grew grave around her. Steve was the one to start.
"Someone has been hacking into the systems, searching through the files and then left us a message." He explained and I nodded in understanding. Steve then proceeded to grab a remote and switched on the screen at the front of the room. The screen then displayed a distorted message, blurred and almost unreadable but it could be deciphered after a few tries. Come and find me, meinen Sonnenschein. An address was then clearly displayed beneath it, some place in downtown Washington.
"Do we have any lead on who this could be?" Tony inquires, his brow furrowed in thought, tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth.
"No, not yet. The best we can do is to go to the address and wait for the threat to show itself." Steve suggests and there are murmurs of agreement. Tony stands and leads them back down into the basement where the airplane that they had taken to England resided. Now, however, they were not taking such a comfortable aircraft. This time, they were taking a stealth jet, named the Quinjet she was told by Tony who was walking beside her as they boarded the jet itself. The outside was matt black and easily hideable, the interior was harsh and militaria- something she knew all too well. However this plane was much nicer to sit in with cushioned seats and lights on the inside and she was glad for it. Taking a seat, Steve to one side of her, Clint to the other; she sagged into it, showing a weakness around people she didn't know all too well was a risk but too much had happened in the last 24 hours for her to not be exhausted, physically as well as mentally, and so it was a risk she would take. Briefly shutting her eyes she settled into the loud hum of the jet and it lulled her into much-needed sleep. The journey would take maybe three-quarters of an hour at most but sleep was important and despite having been trapped in a cryo-chamber for the last 60 or so years she needed as much as she could get, especially since she was going on a mission- She could not fail again.
The sounds of guns bombarded her from every side, shouts filling in the gaps. The presence behind her was shielded by her body and despite the protests, she would not move until she was dead. It was her before anybody else. The Nazis were moving in, they were surrounded on all sides forming a perfect circle except for the small gap behind them leading into a chasm- One wrong move and they would surely fall to their deaths. Taking a steadying breath she started to calculate a game plan, how many shots would have to be made, their positions- it was an unfair fight, 13 on 2, but they had no choice. They would win or die trying to. She turned her head slightly, not breaking concentration, and explained the plan down to the last detail, scared yet determined green eyes staring into her own blue and a nod so unrecognisable she questioned whether it really happened or not. She could do this, she was super-soldier, she would not fail this mission. Three, a deep breath in, two, hold it, one, motion to go.
Bullets rained down on them but they dodged them, using intricate steps almost like a dance. She was covering her sergeant's back, and her sergeant was doing likewise. They were a formidable team. A super-soldier and unwavering loyalty. The gunfire never died down until the last man lay dead at her feet. She had been shot a couple of times, sure, but she was none worse for wear; she had had worse. Looking behind her to check on her sergeant, however, revealed a problem- she was nowhere to be seen.
"Rebecca?" She shouted out, her hands raised to her mouth to amplify the carry. A muffled response came back,
"Sarah!" and her heart stopped in her chest. Rushing over to the edge of the cliff she saw her. In all her glory was her Rebecca. Her stomach leaped to her throat when she saw that she was hanging from a loose rock. Reaching her hand out to her, she pushed herself harder and harder- Just a little further!
"Rebecca, grab on!" She ordered, her muscles straining to extend, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. Rebecca understood and her eyes steeled. Cautiously removing a hand from her perch, her other arm struggling under her weight, she reached for her hand. Just a little further, damn it.
"Reach," And reach she did. Trying with all her might she pushed her hand out as far as it could go and then some and all too soon it happened. In slow motion she watched as the rock freed itself, wriggling loose with Rebecca, her Rebecca, still attached. She could feel her heart in her heart and vision was fuzzy as everything she loved plummeted into the depths below.
"Rebecca!" She screeched, sobs closing up her throat and clouding her eyes and she suddenly couldn't breathe. She sat, shaking with grief upon that snow-covered cliffside. She cried until her heart felt hollow and on her frozen lips, a whimper;
"Beckie,"
Her eyes snapped open, her heart hammering in her chest, her back straight as a ruler. Her eyes darted in ever direction- Where was the threat, the threat god damn it! Breathing heavily she finally recognised where she was. Her team-mates looking concernedly at her, she felt her cheeks heat up.
"Fair maiden, are you-" Thor started but was cut off by a man she hadn't met before. His clothes made of metal it seemed, his face covered by a helmet.
"Estimated arrival time is 5 minutes, get geared up, guys," The metal man announced and she looked to Steve for answers. She gave him a look stating Who was that and he seemed to understand because a moment later he whispered in her ear, 'It's Ironman', as if that meant anything to her and then another whisper- 'Tony'. That explained things much more.
She followed Tony's order and started to holster her weapons, her shield attaching to her arm, a lot like Steve's own shield and she was set to go. The minutes counted down until they finally touched down almost silently on the back streets of Washington. They filed out equally as silently and walking in the shadows, reached the destination efficiently. The two resident snipers, Clint, and Bucky climbed the nearest tall building and hid from view and Steve went full on Captain mode, explaining the plan in intricate hand gestures. I nodded at him, along with the rest of the on the land team. Bruce hadn't joined us, having opted to stay on the jet unless he was required- he was a doctor after all.
Steve pressed his finger to his ear, other hand halting them and spoke lowly, "Target sighted?", She was shocked to hear his voice in her ear and then even more shocked to hear Clint's voice reply, "Target in sight." Steve lowered his hand and gestured us forwards and into the bare road, the area having already been cleared prior to their arrival. The cracked pavement reflecting the high sun and distorting their shadows. They stood in formation, ready to attack, she was flanked by Steve and Natasha, who were respectively brandishing weaponry and a shield. Behind her was Thor and Tony; Thor was holding a hammer, which she found rather odd, and Tony was holding his hand out in front of him, but holding no weapon. She trusted him though so she just left him to it. He could look after himself- they all could in fact and she felt safe with her teammates surrounding her and watching her from all angles- from the air and from the ground, even though she was in the most vulnerable position. It just showed Steve's belief in her and if anything it was an advantage, she was hardwired to lay down her own life to save everyone else, especially Steve's. She was worthless compared to them all.
They waited and waited for the attack to come, it didn't. They waited until the sun started to set; Tony demanding in their ears whether they had gotten the right place and then, somehow, Bruce's voice came through assuring that they had indeed gotten the right address. She was fine with this waiting, though, she was built to be resilient, she could stand watch for days before she felt woozy and had to stop; this was nothing to her.
Then without warning in the twilight covered street, a lone figure walked out. They weren't carrying any weapons that she could see but she didn't let her guard down for even a second. The figure took long strides, stalking across the road with measured grace. They stopped for a second beneath a streetlight- which had all just started to turn on along the street, revealing the person as they leant down to place all weapons on their person on the floor beside them- it's a sign of peace, she knows it is. As they stood she got a better view of them, scraggly brown hair obscured their face but stopped just before the shoulders leading down into a black jacket. One sleeve was torn off; her eye twitches and suddenly she's not in the back streets of Washington but instead in the endless tundras of outland Russia. Her hand twitches at her side and she takes a step forwards, ignoring the protests of her teammates. The noise just rushes past her ears along with the sound of her blood as the target takes a step forwards as well and then they are off, running at full speed and surprisingly enough it's not the target that throws the first punch.
She gets a solid hit to the jaw and she can hear bones cracking under her fist. The target takes a step back, cradling their chin in their hand, but she still can't see their face. She takes another swing but this time, the target blocks her swiftly and counters it, holding her fist in their hands. Their face is straight in front of her but she doesn't register it, hazy green eyes turn blue and then back again. She doesn't recognise them and so takes the counter in her stride, twisting in their grasp and spinning round, pulling them over her shoulder and slamming them into the floor; leaving them gasping for breath, but they retaliate quickly, flipping themselves over and moving a few paces back, hands held up in surrender- she knows it's false, though, the Asset would never give up this fight and she must finish what she started last time. She must kill him this time; her thoughts are feverish and jumbled and her sight is blurry around the edges. She throws her shield at him, the edge dangerously sharp but he dodges at the last moment, stumbling slightly and taking a moment to right himself- she doesn't allow him to though and she takes her chance and kicks his feet from beneath him but he flips away with more agility than he had every shown and kicks her in the jaw with the heel of his shoe. Grabbing her jaw and popping it back into place from where it popped out, knowing that if she left it out it would heal wrong. Her training overriding and forcing images to the forefront of her mind. The Asset seems reluctant to hit her, but she knows it's all an act to get her vulnerable but she doesn't buy it. Charging forwards she takes his hesitation and uses it against him, taking the opening and wrapping her hands tightly around his neck, her fingertips digging in painfully. She doesn't care. He's a threat and she's just doing her job. Her Colonel leaving messages in her mind.
Kill him.
And she tries, oh, does she try. Her grip is unwavering and strong; she resists the clawing at her hand as she rips away his oxygen supply and she ignores the painful gasps as he tries to draw in air. She tightens her grip and his eyes start to roll back into his head and he starts to fall limp. She smirks at her work, her grip starting to loosen- There's a hard impact in her stomach and she staggers back, dropping the Asset in the process. She trips over a hole in the road and her head hits the ground behind her, her head going fuzzy for a moment. Then, unexpectedly, there's a weight pinning her down and she struggles against it. The assets purple face comes into view and she tries to push him off, whipping her head left and right, shouting incomprehensible words but the weight does not budge. Refusing to look the Asset in the face she turns it to the side to be met with- The Asset. She does a double take and there he is- James Buchanan Barnes- and several other people she can't put a name to; the American correspondent stands to the left of him, the rest are scattered. They all look concernedly at her. Her brow furrows. She turns her head to look at the person sat on her chest and pinning her hands to the floor, if it is not the Asset then who is it?
She looks them in the face. Green eyes look into hers and she gasps, her heart hammering against her ribcage and she remembers.
"Rebecca," She breathes out, and she –because it's she, not he- smiles at her. The grip on her wrist lessen. Her breaths come in short pants and she looks at the face of her whole world. Rebecca's face is swollen and her neck is covered in hand shaped bruises that make her wince, but her smile is blinding and she looks like her heart is finally complete. She feels like she's going to cry, tears already starting to make their own way down her cheeks flushed from exertion.
"Rebecca-," But before she can even begin to apologise for everything she did to her, she finds that Rebecca's mouth is pressed firmly against hers and she comes apart completely. She melts in her hold and she remembers. She remembers nights spent in her tent, and in their flat back in London and the stares across the room when men- civilians and soldiers alike- were flirting with them both and giggles hidden behind gloved hands. She remembers her Beckie, her Green-eyed girl and she can't help but cry; not tears of sadness but tears of pure joy.
"Woo, Let's give it up to the 40's lesbians!" She hears Tony shout from behind them and Beckie sits up and laughs, the sound vibrating from her throat and it's rich and whole and she can't get enough of it.
Beckie stands up and offers her hand to her and she takes it standing up as well and brushing herself off. Steve leads them back through the streets back to the Quinjet, pushing them onboard and if she holds Beckie's hand all the way there then no one says anything. They sit next to each other on the journey back to the tower, where, Tony informed her, she would be staying from now onwards, along with Beckie of course. They'd invited both of them to join in with the group- with the condition that she wasn't going to go awol on any more targets. She didn't make promises she couldn't keep but she smiled and accepted anyways.
With Beckie's arm around her shoulder and her head resting in the crook of her neck she feels content, a warm feeling spreading through her chest for the first time since she was taken out of cryo-stasis. She smiles into Beckie's neck, her grip tightening around her shoulder, Beckie's breath disturbing the hairs on the top her head and she feels happy, thinking of a time before all of this happened, back when it was just Elanor and Beckie in a shitty little room in London against the world. When she felt safe, despite she was a walking corpse and too small to see sense. Eyes shut against the world, a small smile playing on her lips and mind awake in dreams.
And for the first time she remembers.