A/N: Thanks for reviewing!

A Warning Shot from the Rhythm Demons

Steve wasn't expecting a message. The day had started out much the same as every day before it had. Their base was small and well hidden in the woods, but he could go for a run in the mornings before everyone else woke up. Then he joined Clint and Sam in the briefing room, and they looked for work. They also, of course, checked to make sure their headquarters was continuing to be unmonitored.

Clint hadn't said how he knew about this place, but Steve could guess – Fury. The man himself had not resurfaced lately, not since being presumed dead. But there was little likelihood of anyone else setting up this small HQ in such a perfect way for what Steve and his people wanted to do. It was the five of them – Steve, Sam, Clint, Wanda, Scott. He'd broken them out after entrusting Bucky to King T'Challa. The only one he'd told anything about that to was Sam, and the rest hadn't asked. Clint had said he knew of somewhere they could go, something Steve had mostly been counting on, and they'd been here ever since.

Everyone had their own room, which was important. He wasn't sure he could ask them to stay for long if that wasn't the case. Not that any of them did stay for very long – there was always something they could do instead of waiting around here. They all had a hope that, if they did enough good without causing any casualties, it would help their cases in the long run. Maybe even enough to make up for their crimes.

But who knew? Some days Steve thought about turning himself in, maybe getting his friends a reduced sentence by insisting it was all his idea. Which was true. But there hadn't been any talk about length of sentence for them before, and he wasn't so naïve as to assume that the unjust nature of their imprisonment would forgive their escape. Things would have to change on a larger scale before the group of fugitives could show their faces again.

So, they stayed in the shadows. Clint adapted to that the easiest, despite being away from his family, but the rest made do. It was better than being in prison by a long shot, and working together made it seem, sometimes, like nothing had changed at all. Steve tried not to dwell on that, but things had changed so quickly he had a hard time remembering it sometimes. Especially when he'd just woken up.

Running helped clear his head, and Steve liked being able to start his days that way. Then he'd shower and meet Clint, who would relay any messages they may have gotten recently. Clint had ways of communicating that wouldn't endanger any of them, so he was in charge of these things. Everyone had a job, which was important to boost morale.

"Morning," Steve said as he walked through the door of the briefing room. Sam wasn't there yet and Clint was staring intently at the screen.

"Hey, Cap," he answered belatedly. "I think you'd better take a look at this."

His good mood disappeared quickly at the seriousness of Clint's tone, and he moved to look over Clint's shoulder.

During the war, getting messages across great distances was very important. The technology used to send the message wasn't particularly effective at keeping it from slipping into the wrong hands, unlike today. So codes were heavily employed. Steve had learned quite a few different ciphers by the end as well as several languages. When he looked at the screen, he was startled to find a cipher he hadn't seen in many years.

"I tried cracking it, but nothing seems to be working," Clint explained.

Steve chuckled. "I'm sure you would have figured it out eventually. If you'd known it was in French," he added.

"French?"

"Yeah. It's from Sharon." Clint didn't seem to think that explained matters sufficiently, but Steve was too busy reading to notice. The message wasn't very long, and certainly much more to the point than he might have liked for the first communication between them in a few months. Pretty much since the first one, when Clint had helped him set up a way for her to contact them.

Repeated contact was dangerous for both of them, so it was obviously not an intelligent thing to do. And he'd almost convinced himself not to miss someone he'd hardly gotten to know before their forced separation. He was glad to hear from her, even in serious circumstances.

"She says I need to call her securely. Are we set up for that?" he asked, realizing Clint had been watching him.

"Sure, Cap. When?"

"As soon as possible."

Clint nodded, and got to work.

It was stupid to be nervous. Well, it was stupid to be nervous for the reasons he was feeling nervous. She could very well be going to tell him something that would justify his nervousness. But he couldn't push the thought away so he looked through their other messages and briefings to see if there was anything that needed to be done. Sam came in while he was in the midst of this, and he explained quickly what was happening. Always efficient, Sam joined him and they took care of a few issues before Clint finished.

"It's ready," he announced. "I'll be outside if you need anything."

"I'll see if breakfast is ready," Sam said, saying in his own way that he was available to help.

"Thanks," Steve replied as nonchalantly as he could. Maybe he was successful, maybe not. But soon they were gone and the phone was ringing. Well, something was ringing, anyway. Sharon's face appeared on the screen and he smiled. "Hey."

"Hey. You got my message?" she asked.

"Yeah. Wasn't much to it."

Her smile was lovely. "Well, it's been a long time since Aunt Peggy taught me those codes, so I wasn't sure I could pull off a longer letter."

"It was perfect," he assured her.

"Thank you."

The troubled look that appeared on her face made him skip further pleasantries. "Where are you? What's going on?"

She paused, glancing away for a moment. "DC. At my old apartment. Listen, Steve… There have been some cases lately that are… concerning."

"You're still with the CIA? What kind of cases?"

"Yeah. I did desk duty for a while but I'm back in the field."

He waited but she didn't continue, looking somewhere else again. It seemed like someone was talking to her, but he couldn't hear anything. "Sharon?"

"Look, it seems like someone is digging up old jobs your friend did and recreating them."

"What? Why?" he asked, incredulous.

Her expression was sympathetic as she met his eye. "I don't know. I was hoping I might be able to ask him."

"Bucky's not here," he said flatly.

"I know. He's somewhere safe. But people are getting killed and I don't have any leads. Except the Winter Soldier being tied to it somehow. I don't think that's an accident, Steve."

"So, what, they're trying to flush him out again like in Berlin?" he wanted to know.

She shrugged. "Or trying to pin more on him, make him, and you, look bad. Maybe it's just a coincidence, but it doesn't feel like it."

"What were the cases?"

Obligingly, she disappeared for a moment and returned with a case file. She told him about the American senator in his pool, the former KGB official on the beach, the old French ambassador in Algiers. He'd read everything he could find about the Winter Soldier after he'd found out he was Bucky. And those cases were at least a little familiar. Still…

"Are you sure it's him? None of those were proven. Not in the HYDRA files, or the Russian ones we found. Could be nothing," he suggested.

She pursed her lips. "That's what I thought."

"Until?"

She was looking away again, raising an eyebrow. Then she handed whatever device the camera was on to someone else. Steve blinked in surprise as Natasha Romanoff's face came into view. Her expression very briefly showed her distaste at being revealed, or perhaps at what she was about to say, but then she returned to her usual confident smirk.

"Hi, Steve."

"Nat," he replied levelly, hiding his incredulity. What was she doing with Sharon?

"Remember when I told you about the first time I met your best friend?"

"Outside Odessa." He said it gently but he thought she might have winced at the memory.

She nodded. "I was on a job there recently and you'll never guess what happened."

"Someone shot out your tires."

Her smile was bitter but approving. "Well, they tried. Not quite as good a marksman as the original, but they got pretty damn close to repeating the experience for me. It wasn't in the file. At least, not in mine."

"What do you want me to do, Nat?"

"I want you to let Sharon question Barnes."