A/N
**A/N:** I know I said I won't be able to update soon, however my exams finish on the 18th of June which is a while away, so I just thought I'd put out this short filler chapter. I've sort of rushed it a bit but its progressive I guess. Any constructive criticism is welcome since it was not a thorough job, admittedly. I'll put out a really good chapter by the 19th, thanks.
I know these aren't innocent men. Mercenaries. Outlaws. Killers for hire. But I keep hurting them after I know they're not going to tell me anything. Because they deserve it. And because I'm angry. And helpless.
- Winter Soldier, Vol 2: Broken Arrow
2330 hours
Saturday
The thought of vanishing...of putting the pedal to the floor and simply gunning it to nowhere had crossed his mind. He decided against the idea, however, upon looking at the GPS system connected to his wrist. His red triangle would show up—the last man left out alone from the ambush from this afternoon—and he couldn't risk it. Not yet.
If he ran now...Pierce would send the battalion out for him. Whilst he was skilled in combat, he was also just a one man army. That was the reality. His chances would be higher if he meticulously planned his escape within the next few days. That way, he would gain the remainder of his past as well as be able to stock up on weapons and resources.
He also knew about Captain Steven Rogers now. The whole truth and nothing but. There was only the mystery left in regards to the red-haired woman—a subject he'd be able to suss out as soon as he got back to the base. The thought of being able to finally piece together his past gave him some form of satisfaction. This was however, quickly replaced by anxiety as he contemplated on the explanation he would have to relay to Rumlow and Pierce.
It was almost midnight by the time the Winter Soldier made it back to HQ. He'd had to stall at a few points, to avoid the intense spotlight of the chopper that had been hovering dangerously over the immediate vicinity. They, the cops, still hadn't given up, scouring the area for any possible suspicious activity following the ambush. This was D.C.—the capital; most of the cartels operated down south towards the Mexican-American border, prompting law enforcement to re-consider their strategy.
If only they knew what the shootout was really about.
The soldier had been apprehended about a mile before entering Hydra's parameters—the security cameras they had set up along the pathway giving his position away.
After a mission report to Rumlow overseen by Pierce, they had told him to go to his quarters to get some rest. Pierce was surprisingly apathetic towards the loss of an agent's life, yet the soldier guessed that the old man's only intention was the safe recovery of the contents of the package. He looked exhausted after all and they could not have one of their best assets withdrawn from the field any time soon.
The story he had relayed to Rumlow had been meticulously planned by the soldier, his mind going over every significant event prior, to convey the best possible version—devoid of any lose ends.
He told Rumlow that his comrade, Syd, had been shot by a security guard whilst they made their escape from the retirement home. The man had bled out, suffering severe internal haemorrhaging as a result of the untreated injury. He had succumbed to his wounds not long after, embracing death in the passenger seat of the Sedan.
Of course, what really happened could not have been farther from the truth.
The Winter Soldier distinctively remembered his pull on the trigger, the gun releasing two shots at close range. He had shifted his positioning at the last minute, from the man's forehead to his gut...then to his knees. Lethal and painful—a tough way to die. The shot to the man's abdomen itself was enough to induce a state of shock, and he'd watched as death took over his fallen comrade's form...the man's eyes—wide in disbelief that this was the end of the line.
After doing away with his comrade, the soldier had reached towards the man's waist and nicked a rectangular shaped card; the man's security pass. Throughout the time spent under refuge in the retirement village, he had observed his companion from a distance...become aware of the man's ticks, his moods...and the security pass carelessly hanging from his waist. It had that distinctive green bar across from it, the soldier had noticed; one that allowed complete access to every facet of the Hydra base. It was then that he'd made up his mind to retrieve it...somehow.
Access to the pass would give him access to every prior hidden aspect of Hydra's activities. There was a room filled with armaments, he knew, as well as one dedicated to Intelligence & Security—areas that may prove helpful in his eventual break from the organization, altogether.
Right now, the soldier made his way to his room, unescorted this time. After making sure he was truly alone, he stripped off his armour followed by his now haggard attire. Reaching into the inner breast pocket of his leather jacket, he retrieved the newspaper clipping that was concealed. He examined it briefly for a second time, paying special attention to the expression covering his face and that of Captain Rogers. He was happy then, noted.
Removing the undershirt of his attire, he made his way towards the shower.
Briefing Room
1600 hours
Sunday
Alexander Pierce occupied the chair at the forefront of the table, facing the two men before him. He was the only one seated, where the other two stood at attention—their gaze resting strictly on his form. It was the day after the ambush and Pierce had wanted to congratulate the soldier on the successful extraction of the package despite the loss of one of the men.
"Your work has been a gift to mankind, soldier," the old man begun, smiling that same deceptively misleading smile, "You have shaped the century. The contents of the package from Pasadena's vault will certainly aid us tremendously in the fulfilment of our plan—one which you will obviously have a hand in executing".
He took a sip of his beverage—a late afternoon iced vodka—and continued.
"How was training this morning, James?" he questioned, much to the soldier's chagrin. The man insisted on referring to him by that name, despite the soldier's obvious distaste of it. He chose not to confront the matter, simply answering instead.
"Good," the soldier simply replied, "Something I hadn't done in a long time. It felt natural".
Pierce was referring to his previous orders of having the soldier train a few of the new applicants, earlier in the morning. The session had gone smoothly, for the most part. It had involved a group of about 6 young candidates—all bright eyed and idealistic in their demeanour—completely unaware of Hydra's true endgame.
They had obviously not been properly briefed in regards to their probable roles as Hydra agents. Just as well; Pierce had wanted to suss them out prior; separate the wheat from the chaff, single out the diamonds from the stones. Many were called, only few were chosen. The Winter Soldier had no idea what would happen to those who were let go. It did not concern him.
The candidates had potential, the soldier had noted, yet most of them lacked that killer instinct...that ruthless disposition that was required to finish the job without so much as an ounce of remorse. As such, their strikes and kicks were fallible and useless. They hesitated to cause sufficient harm...to effect pain. They were useless, the soldier noted, after swiftly tackling three candidates at once, disarming them and disabling their bodies with efficient strikes to their biological weak spots.
It wasn't however, the highly unqualified candidates that were the main issue of the training. About 40 minutes into the session, the soldier had sparred with one of the hopefuls—a young woman, about half a head below his height and with shoulder-length black hair, pulled in a bun. He had used this to his advantage, grabbing onto the knot and yanking it harshly. What happened next...well, he couldn't remember.
All the Winter Soldier felt at that time, was an aching sense of nostalgia. He had ordered for a 15 minute break, making his way to the exterior of the dojo. He later realised that, the sparring session with the woman had been very reminiscent to some of the ones he'd experienced in his earlier days, as an instructor in The Red Room. He also remembered some muted details of one student in particular—possibly a younger version of the running woman he'd come across on the bridge, that fateful day. He still couldn't place her face. Only the red of her hair caught his eyes. He had to find out who she was.
Soon enough, a voice had echoed through his mind then.
"I understand there was an incident then?" Pierce abruptly questioned, eying the soldier curiously and pulling him out of his temporary trance.
"No," he replied defiantly, "It was...nothing; just my mind trying to make sense of things is all" he nodded then continued.
"I'll need the reports on past missions you offered. Every unit I was based in, every agent I worked alongside"
There it was again, Pierce noted; more like an order rather than a request.
"Certainly James," Pierce taunted prompting a clenched jaw and flared nostrils from the man before him, "You'll get it by this evening"
The Winter Soldier nodded in kind and turned around to leave, but was stopped by Pierce's voice.
"I'll need you to be ready by 8 PM this evening, by the way, James" Pierce called out, stopping the soldier in his tracks.
"Another mission?"
"Not exactly," the old man replied, taking another sip of his drink, "I just need you to oversee a deal going down tonight at The Box. Rumlow's going to be handling it mainly. You'll be there for extra support, that's all"
Rumlow nodded at the mention of the location by Pierce. He had recognized the name—a dungeon for the underhand dealings of corrupt politicians and wayward gangsters where crime was currency and indulgence was encouraged. He remembered...having taken his team, his men down there a few times in the past to treat them with the pleasures of overflowing drink and uninhibited women.
He smirked slightly at the thought and stepped up from behind, turning towards the soldier.
"You'll get a duffel at around 6 pm, Barnes. In it, is a change of clothes; civilian. Further information will be provided via your escorts. Like Mr. Pierce said, this ain't a normal mission; just stand there and look threatening. But be ready to draw your gun if the circumstances call for such".
The soldier nodded at both Rumlow and Pierce, then made this way towards his quarters.
Elsewhere...
Nick Fury stood in the house that had served as a makeshift base following the helicarrier incident. Although the Hydra threat was still front and centre, Hill had not thought twice regarding opening her home as a temporary refuge for Shield's continued survival. They had gone underground now, working meticulously in the shadows, trying to piece together a plan that would put a permanent stop to Hydra's endgame.
Fury reached into his phone and dialled a number, pressing the end to his ear.
"Are we set?" he relayed to the person on the other line.
"We're...almost there. We should be able to lock in a connection to Hydra's HQ by tomorrow night at the very least. It's happening, Sir".
"Good. Keep me updated and pass the info on the Rogers too," replied Fury ending a call with a smirk on his face.
By tomorrow night, they would establish a line with Roj, their mole. Things were slowly becoming full circle again.
Hydra
The Winter Soldier sat on the edge of the bed in his room, the remote to the small television set in his hand. He flicked mindlessly through the channels, trying to waste away time until Pierce returned with his request. The guards—his escorts—had left a duffel bag outside of his quarters and upon opening it, he had discovered its contents to be different from what he was normally used to.
Clothes, mundane civilian attire, had replaced the traditional black undershirt and Kevlar vest that he usually donned on during missions. Then again, Pierce had specifically stated that his job for the night was atypical in nature.
His head shifted behind towards the duffel bag and the contents, now laid bare on the bed. A dark brown leather jacket and plain black pants were topped off with a pair of white sneakers. Also included were some personal grooming products—two razors, shaving gel, a small comb and a sample sized bottle of moisturizer. The soldier laughed silently at the contents. After years of personal neglect during his time in cryogenic stasis, they expected him to use moisturizing cream now?
Incredulous, he continued flipping the channels noticing a pattern. They were all pre-programmed to air particular films and tv shows. Saving me from the outside world, he wondered bitterly, settling on a black and white film.
He watched for a while as certain scenes bore hazy resemblances to his time before Hydra. His time, in the 40s where things seemed...simpler. Well, if you didn't account for the dregs of the second world war.
A distinct knocking brought him to the present and he went towards to door where he stood face to face with one of the guards.
"Sir," the man began, holding up a brown folder, "The file you asked for, as issued by Mr. Pierce. If you have any further queries, please press the green button at the side of your bed"
The soldier took the file and nodded in gratitude at the men, then made his way towards the bed.
Opening the file, he was initially hesitant at its contents. There was a fair chance that Pierce had lied to him yet again by manipulating the information within. Yet, it was his best bet at the present and he shuffled through the series of reports therein, laying any relevant ones neatly before him.
His eyes wondered briefly over the pages, sussing out mission locations, names of his comrades...carefully studying every photo attached to each name, as his mind tried to recollect any memory related to the information in front of him. He sussed over his time in Prague '76, the JFK mission, the Cuban crisis—important events that had shaped the century. Just as Pierce had said.
Over the years, he had been embedded within various units, a man of many faces. He expected his curiosity to be replaced by deep remorse by the things he had done, yet, the excitement of coming across the running woman served to diminish any of that underlying remorse.
He continued to scour the pages before him hoping to find out about the running woman. And he did...eventually. It was a brief paragraph, a simple summary outlining her role within the same unit he was posted in, as well as some rather succinct background information regarding her particular skill set. His eyed widened as he came to the realization that he was finally becoming aware of the woman of his dreams...literally.
Her name was Natalia Romanova; a Russian spy who had since defected from the KGB and reverted to the United States under the name, Natasha Romanoff. Westernized to fit the bill, the soldier noted. She had been under his command for a few of his missions—as a paired accomplice, and as part of a team.
The information detailed a few successful missions they had been on, including one in Siberia. He continued reading and found out that she had been his student once upon a time, in a training facility known as The Red Room.
He realized then, that it was his time with her that had caused him some grief at the training session earlier in the day. The candidate he sparred with had borne somewhat of a resemblance to his engagement with this Romanoff woman. But why her, specifically? Why Romanoff? Surely he'd had other partners?
There was nothing more stated and he was left disappointed. He looked at the small profile photo of her tacked to the upper right corner of her page.
It was a simple, bust-sized photograph—its bottom-left edge already dog-eared. Agent Romanova had worn a plain black suit and her hair was short and neatly styled. Despite the faded colour, the red of her hair jumped out at him once more; her eyes were straight and hypnotic—almost tauntingly so and he thought he detected a hint of mischievous allure behind them. They were deep green, he noted, emphasized only by the stark red that framed her delicate looking face. And her lips...
She was beautiful—something his primal instincts could not deny. He was unsurprised then, that she had been a spy. If she was as deadly as she was beautiful...
He knew then, that her presence in his life was of particular significance. He only had to find out how exactly. But...why did she engage with him on that bridge, especially if they had worked together in the past? He wondered about the event, as his chest tightened slightly. She was trying to kill him, there was no question about that.
What had changed?
Suddenly his gaze moved towards the rest of the items in the folder—details on his missions, his kills. The remorse...that torturous guilt was starting to take shape now and he began to breathe slowly, in and out, in and out, in order to calm his nerves down.
Don't go back; just move forward
His examination of her looks...her experiences with him as detailed within the file, did not induce anything...no long lost memory, no distant recollection. He grew frustrated with the apparent 'pick and choose' mentality his mind seemed to employ in regards to his flashbacks. No worries though; he would get more information. He had the security pass now, something he was keen to use.
He carefully folded the paper with her information, making sure to not bend the photograph of Romanoff. Lifting his pillow, he placed it over the newspaper clipping of 'James Barnes' and the man known as Steven Rogers. He also retrieved the picture of the red-haired woman—the other one...splayed on the car—scrunching it up and chucking it into a bin nearby.
Her image was burned onto his brain anyway, should he ever feel the need to make a fantasy out of her, he thought, smirking slightly. The soldier placed the pillow on top. He failed to notice the 'X' marked in red on the back of Agent Romanoff's picture.
Pierce sat on the chair in his office, still contemplating upon the current path of the Winter Soldier. The cryo-stasis machine was currently in repair and they had no ascertainable time-frame as to its usage back in the field once again. Still, the day was coming when the Winter Soldier would soon be re-inserted into hibernation. They just had to keep him submissive for the time being.
Pierce had relayed orders to Rumlow to keep the deal smooth; they were exchanging some information for currency, that's all. The soldier would play bodyguard—not his traditional role—but he carried menace and conjured fear; he was alright. Besides, Pierce smirked, the soldier may find himself inquisitive of a place like The Box; a place that was rife with pleasures of the flesh. He thought about how the soldier would react in such a foreign environment, chuckling slightly at his imagination. He was caught off-guard by the sudden voice behind him.
"Sir," it was Rumlow, "We have full stats of the deal going down tonight. It should go well, but we're arranging for backup, just in case"
Pierce nodded in acknowledgement and said, "Good, Rumlow. Is the package fully secured?"
Rumlow elicited a firm nod, prompting a smile from Pierce.
"Good," the old man simply said, "The game will soon change, Rumlow. Hydra will be on top, once more".
In his quarters, the soldier slowly put on the hoodie distributed by Pierce and made his way to the door. He opened it slightly, peering out to suss out his surroundings. There were no guards present and the floor seemed to be completely vacant. Carefully stepping out from the room, he locked the door and made his way to the elevator, boarding it.
He took the elevator up to the mess hall, where he made his way to the displayed food and filled up a plate. He then made his way to an empty table nearby, whilst pretending to be engrossed in the food before him. The hall was pretty empty, he noticed; a few people, possibly scientists or admin workers were scattered around the place, but there did not seem to be any agents or guards as such.
Carefully, he reached into his pocket and retrieved the security pass he had stolen from the agent—Syd—the night before. That distinct green strip down the middle was reflective and it shone briefly across his satisfied eyes. He tucked the card back into his pocket and made fast work of his meal, rising up from the table soon after.
The soldier looked around once more and saw that the few occupants in the hall did not turn up to look at him; they were caught up in their own world. As such, he made his way towards the south-left corner of the area, where he came across an outline of the building—a fire escape plan that had briefly detailed the floors and what each level housed.
His eyes narrowed as they danced over the map, stopping at two distinct points—level 8 and level 7. Level 7 was marked as 'Communications and Information'; level 8 contained the offices of a few Hydra higher-ups, Pierce included. He noted this and made his way to the elevator.
Stepping into the elevator, the soldier breathed out heavily at the position he was currently in. He came face to face with his reflection once more, and whilst his face still looked slightly tired, his eyes were noticeably...what was the word, he wondered. Gleaming? They were not submissive anymore. The bright blue hue was stunning, now overpowering the once muted grey. He smiled slightly in his mind, pressing the button to level 7.
When the elevator stopped at the 7th floor, the soldier made his way out onto the level. he caught side of a few Hydra workers—again, admins not guards—and ducked around the corner of the side wall to avoid them as he watched them go by, unassuming and busy with themselves.
Carefully, he peered around the area and made his way out from behind the wall, continuing to explore. The whole level was divided into sections, encased in solid glass and containing various pieces of technology. A few sections solely housed three to four lines of computers, laid out and in sleep mode. Another section contained 4 large metal drawers, presumably contained hard copies of agent and admin files, the soldier guessed. There were a few other rooms down the hallway that were dimly lit and he could not make out their contents. He decided to check out the computer room first.
The soldier made his way to the first room and removed the security pass. Hesitantly, he swiped the card across the port, waiting in anticipation for any possible success. Nothing happened. He breathed out in frustration and swiped it again but to no avail.
Shit.
What if he was wrong about this, he wondered.
The soldier turned around to make sure he was alone. Then, holding the card against the cloth of his hoodie, he gave it a quick wipe.
Tentatively placing it against the head of the port, he swiped the card once more.
His eyes concentrated hard on the port and his brows furrowed. This had to be it, he willed.
Nothing happened...
...for a while anyway; then, a click was heard followed by a soft beep.
Stunned, the soldier breathed in as he turned to look around once more. The lights inside had automatically illuminated and he reached his arm to click off the switch before heading into the room, the dark engulfing his form.