The steady, rhythmic thump of his feet against the asphalt paired against the easy pulse in his chest, and the quiet ease with which he was breathing, even sprinting, as he was, through the length of a marathon. Steve pulled in a deep breath of the cool air of DC, "On your left." The runner he was passing didn't even have time to turn his head to see Steve coming, really, and Steve huffed a laugh at the small 'whoa' that was breathed out as he raced past. It wasn't long before he was making another circuit, passing the same lone runner, "On your left." The usually tourist-laden monuments were deserted this early in the morning, and though part of him relished the chance to do something as simple as go for this run in this town, Steve couldn't help wishing he were home.
"Don't say it! Don't you say it! C'mon!" The runner yelled, trying to put on a burst of speed like he could outrun Steve, and Steve did not even change pace, overtaking him easily.
"On your left!" When Steve caught up to him after that lap, he was collapsed against a tree, clutching his chest and dripping with sweat. "Need a medic?"
"Nah, a new set of lungs." The runner replied looking up at him with a grin. "Dude, you just ran like thirteen miles in thirty minutes."
"Guess I got a late start." Steve was grinning as he said it, sensing a smartass.
The runner took the bait, "Really? You should be ashamed of yourself. Go take another lap," he looked away for a second, panting slightly still, then looked back, "didja just take it? 'Cause I assume you just took it."
"What unit you with?" Steve asked, nodding to his sweatshirt and the insignia on his chest.
"58th pararescue, but now I'm working down at the VA." He reached up, and Steve immediately stooped to grab his hand and help haul him up, "Sam Wilson."
"Steve Rogers."
"Yeah, I kinda put that together." Sam replied, standing but still doubled over for a minute before he could fully straighten up. "Must've freaked you out, comin' home after the whole defrosting thing."
There was something about Sam. Something subtle but easy that told Steve that he was someone Steve could choose to talk to, or not to talk to, and Sam would understand. For as far as he'd come, and as much as he'd changed, Steve still didn't like talking about it, "Took some getting used to. It was good to meet you, Sam." He went to walk away, but Sam took a couple steps to shadow his, and when Steve turned back, the concern in Sam's brow was enough to give him pause.
"It's the bed." Sam told him, "You're not used to it; I know you live up at Stark Tower in the lap of luxury, but the bed here...it's too soft, isn't it? When I was over there, I'd sleep on the ground and use rocks for pillows like a cave man. And I'd be willing to bet Tony Stark knows a little something about the bed being too soft after you come home."
"It's like lying on a marshmallow, like I'm gonna sink right to the floor." Steve agreed, nodding. "How long?"
"Two tours." Sam shrugged, looking him up and down, "Bet you miss the good ol' days."
Steve knew this particular manoeuvre when it came to mental health professionals and councillors, and he decided he could take the bait at least a little, "Well, it's not all bad. Food's a lot better: we used to boil everything; no polio's good; and the internet, so helpful. I've been reading that, trying to catch up."
Sam was grinning at him, but he adjusted his stance, features pulling for a moment as he tried to remember, "Marvin Gaye, 1972, the Trouble Man soundtrack. Everything you missed, jammed into one album."
Steve grinned back, nodding, "I'll put it on the list." He murmured, knowing that the phone in his pocket that uplinked to JARVIS had probably already done it for him, but the damn thing vibrated as if it knew he was thinking of it, and Steve's brow furrowed as he pulled it out, checking the message from Natasha. "Alright, Sam; duty calls." He reached forward to shake the man's hand, nodding to him, "Thanks for the run...if that's what you wanna call running."
"Oh, that's how it is?" Sam laughed.
"That's how it is." Steve laughed back.
"Any time you wanna stop by the VA, make me look awesome in front of the girl at the front desk, just let me know." The roaring of the car he was pretty sure Natasha had stolen from Tony in order to make him suffer for not telling them about the hostile takeover was drawing near as Steve moseyed to the curb backwards.
"I'll keep that in mind." Steve nodded.
The car was sleek and black and something he would have immediately thought Natasha would scoff at, because it was too flashy by half, but she made it suit her, rolling down a window, "Hey, fellas. Either of you know the way to the Smithsonian? I'm here to pick up a fossil."
"That's hilarious." Steve muttered, getting in.
Sam was slightly crouched to look in the window of the car, nodding to Natasha, "How you doin'?"
She returned his gaze without a hint of inflection, "Hey."
Steve squinted back out, "Can't run everywhere."
"No, you cannot." Sam replied, Natasha's revving of the engine nearly drowning him out before she pulled out into traffic.
"Remember the time I showed you the video of Tony calling the senator trying to take the suit an assclown?" Natasha asked, driving smoothly and sedately instead of like she was in a warzone, thankfully.
"Yes..." Steve muttered, voice thick with suspicion.
"He and Ross are thick as thieves. Tony's been elbows-deep in his bank records, too, and it looks like Agent Sitwell has been meeting with Senator Assclown on the down-low, but it's sure as shit not for SHIELD."
Steve shot her a look, "Why do I feel like this is a symptom of a deeper issue?"
"Because you're smart." She told him, demur, and Steve felt a muscle in his jaw start to twitch. "You okay, though? You took off really early. Clint was whining." Steve shook his head, sighing slightly, and Natasha looked at him for a long moment as they were stopped at a red. "You can't sleep, can you?"
"No. I can't." Steve admitted, "But don't tell Tony. Not with everything else."
Natasha and Steve had been sent to DC to keep fingers on the pulse of SHIELD headquarters while Bruce, Tony, and Clint remained in New York; Thor and Coulson with Jane, Darcy, Betty, Pepper, and Happy Hogan safely in Asgard while they dug into just how AIM could have laid hands on the information necessary to come up with an idea of how to reverse the serum, Pepper could have been targeted, and Betty's work not only stolen, but the woman herself very nearly kidnapped by her own father, and Betty's plea for help just barely making it in time for them to stop it happening. The former General had declared war against the Avengers politically, his new position as the secretary of state giving him the chance to truly label them as a threat to society. Tony was the one the were targeting most, and his relationship with Steve was painting a target on Steve's back as well, but when Steve had cornered him in their bedroom, Tony had shocked him: asking if he wanted to fight it, or if he wanted them to fall in line. It hadn't been a question to Steve, but he'd gotten a sense that there was something nagging at Tony's mind; something he couldn't quite shake.
They'd sat, just the two of them, and talked about it. Talked about Tony's fatigue, and Steve sometimes feeling like they were never gaining any ground, and what ground they had was crumbling; talked about Tony wanting to be able to trust SHIELD, and their mutual inability to think that that was a good idea. Tony was tired of fighting tooth and nail to put himself and those he loved in danger by fighting, but he was far too stubborn to give it up, and they both knew that. He was tired of threats to SI, and tired of the nightmares there was nothing either of them could do to stop. Steve ached for knowing that Tony wanted so badly to believe in his government, in his people, that he'd be willing to bow to the rules they laid down. Not because it was a sign that Tony was in any way maturing, but because it was a sign that Tony, who had looked him dead in the eye on that Helicarrier and challenged him to dig deeper himself, who had told him freely that he was scared to put his faith in anyone but himself, was so worn down by this fight they'd undertaken that he didn't want to dig any deeper, and couldn't bring himself to push back on his own. Had he and Steve not been able to sit and talk like that; if they weren't close enough that Tony would sit and actually say the things that he needed to say to him-if he wasn't able to read Tony well enough to know how to read between the furrows outlining Tony's mouth and the tiny line worried between his brows, then Steve could only draw up imaginings of nightmares, because he was sure that there was no good way they could go through this alone.
Together, Steve knew that Tony would be able to fight until he won, because even if there was no way Tony Stark could or would fight for himself; Tony would fight to the death for anyone in his corner, and Tony was difficult to kill.
For as much as Steve loved that tenacity, he was beginning to worry about the toll it was taking. This crusade was weighing on them all; Clint working to keep an eye on Tony and Bruce-which translated, Clint admitted shortly after Natasha started commenting on things she honestly couldn't have known, to watching Steve's back to keep Tony from wearing himself even thinner to do it himself. They were all starting to run a little ragged: all of them split up for nearly a month, scattered like pieces over a chess board just waiting for the order to strike. Tony had done some interesting footwork to get himself in a position to stand against the cry for blood, and now they balanced like a rollercoaster trolley on the top of the highest drop, stalled out to draw out that teeth-clenching moment of anticipation; that tension that sent most people screaming. Steve ached to be home with Tony; hated following SHIELD's lead without his team at his back. He didn't trust them, despite Peggy's hand in its creation; he knew that she wouldn't want him to put that aside on her account anyway, so he didn't force it. The only one he trusted from SHIELD was Phil, who he believed in more than he could explain, simply because the man was so good and so steadfast.
"Steve, we need you thinking clear here." Natasha told him, voice soft and smooth, "You can't be running on empty. Tony needs you to be thinking clearly, too. He loves you and he needs you. You know this already. He's tired, we all are; if you weren't asking him to stand with you, I'm not sure he would anymore. This fight is harder than our others, Steve, because it's against the people who created us in the first place; and none of us can stand against it alone. Not and win."
"You almost sound like you're feeling the same thing he is."
Natasha's mouth turned down at the corners, "I liked it better when I thought I knew whose lies I was telling. SHIELD being in bed with senator assclown makes me worried that I've lost sight of who it was I'm working for."
"Phil Coulson." Steve answered, because when it came down to it, they would all swear allegiance to the man. He'd died to bring them together, and once Tony had figured out a way to bring him back, he'd stepped in when Fury had started in-roads to separate them into their component parts and told him in no uncertain terms that if he'd had to die to get them a team, they were damned well staying a team. "He won't be happy to hear about Sitwell and Assclown either, and if I were Fury, I'd fear him more than the giant green rage monster, tin man, super soldier, god, assassin, and marksman that will come knocking on his door."
Natasha's mouth twisted, her eyes narrowing as she entered into hostile negotiations with an idiot on a Ducati that was not letting her change lanes. "What if Fury doesn't actually know?"
"I'd ask if you were impugning his spy abilities, but you're not thinking that this has anything to do with the spy games, are you?"
"No. The best way for this to have happened would be if he'd come into the middle of it while it was already established; having it there before Fury got near it would be the only way to get it past him."
"How many directors of SHIELD have there been?"
"Three. But you're still thinking too grandly; for this to work, the director of SHIELD in all its iterations can't have known that there was something beneath the surface." Natasha cut her gaze over to him, her mouth pursing, "And if it's been corrupted, then it'll be an old one."
"HYDRA," Steve breathed, his fist clenching.
"You know as well as anyone, Steve; they may have been terrible men, but they were fabulous scientists." Steve did know; Tony had once asked him, while high off his ass off of Medical-prescribed painkillers that his words slurred, if it was wrong of him to be thankful for the advances when they came from such evil. Steve hadn't known how to answer him, so he hadn't, getting him back into bed, and tucking him in even though they hadn't started their love affair just yet. He'd looked through the advances made himself after that, and wrestled with himself over whether or not he could reconcile it, either. "If HYDRA scientists were in SHIELD from its inception, then it would have been poured into the foundations, and could safely grow, like a tree rotting from the inside out. There would be nothing we'd be able to see amiss, and they would've been smart enough to know who and how to recruit."
Steve felt his jaw ache and he realized he was clenching his teeth so hard that he was worried the joint would crack when he released the pressure, but his fingernails were very nearly scoring the half-moon crescents into his palms. "So you're saying that SHIELD has always been corrupt."
"It's not like I want to." Natasha finally said after a long moment, her mouth decidedly turned down, "I'd like to think that I haven't been selling lies for crazed Nazis."
"Even if you have been, it's not like it's your fault, Nat." Steve had more strength in his voice than he'd thought he would have, "Put yourself in my shoes: I've been working SHIELD for the last three years, so if it turns out to be HYDRA-operated..." Steve trailed off, and Natasha shook her head softly.
"You know, we may have another barrel of monkeys to deal with here, Steve." Natasha told him softly, "If SHIELD realizes that we're onto the connection with HYDRA, Bucky may not be safe in their Medical. Or we may not be safe from him."
As if on the wings of that thought, Steve's eyes widened in reaction to the scene unfolding before him; a vehicle looking a little too much like a troop transport slowed without any indication why, the Ducati cutting them off summarily, causing Natasha to swerve in order to miss hitting the man as the troop transport's back doors burst open, and Steve grabbed the wheel, jerking it in such a way that the rubber burned against the asphalt, sending it sliding into the line of oncoming traffic in a hundred-and-eighty degree spin which landed them in the right direction, Natasha pushing down on the gas as soon as she realized what move Steve was making. Natasha was in tight control from there, even as bullets winged off of the back of the car, but didn't seem to damage it. Being one of Tony's cars, Steve should have guessed he'd reinforced it to the point of being bullet proof; his encounter with Vanko was not something any of them ever wanted to see a repeat of.
"Seriously, you two can't even last this long without being shot at?" Tony snapped at them from the speaker system, and Natasha flinched as the car turned itself, "JARVIS, move their asses to safety; Nat, stop trying to drive and start trying to shoot."
Steve twisted in his seat to see, his heart in his throat, "Tony, tell me that Bucky's still in hospital."
There was a long pause; long enough that even Natasha twisted around again to look at the console, "He's not, Steve. He's trying to break into the tower as we speak." His voice was quiet; soft in a way that made Steve's every cell scream in his anxiety. "I love you, Steve. I'll be okay. I always am, remember?"
"Tony, don't you dare-" Natasha swore, but the line audibly went dead, and Natasha's voice snarled into a Russian litany of curses. "JARVIS, get me Clint."
"Nat, I do not have time to talk right now." Clint grit, voice more strained that Steve had ever heard him. There was the familiar draw and release of his bow, and Steve was suddenly utterly breathless. "Get word to Phil that Tony and I will be in the Raft. He's the only one who'll be able to get us out." The sound of gunfire cut through the background noise of the call, and Natasha's cursing became Greek, which Steve had been assured was one of the most satisfying languages to curse in. The line went dead as Natasha twisted in her seat, leaning her side into the space between the window and the steering wheel as she shot out of the window, JARVIS continuing to drive the car more smoothly than Steve would've thought possible.
"What's their play?" Steve asked, reaching into the back seat and finding his shield, sliding it up and over so that it blocked as much of the interior as they could manage without hampering Natasha's shot.
"If Clint's right, and they're taking them to the Raft, then it's going to seem like we're being brought up on war crimes." Natasha reasoned. "I am fucking sick of this, Steve. JARVIS, get us to the damn airfield, I'm getting us out of here, fuck it."
"I'm afraid I cannot, Agent Romanoff; Sir has found plans deep within SHIELD's archives for Helicarriers built with a weapons system that would target specific people-"
"SHIELD-made for people like Saddam Hussain," Natasha breathed, her eyes wide as she looked over at Steve, "HYDRA-corrupted to target people like us."
"Precisely." JARVIS replied darkly. "They are currently under SHIELD headquarters; once to the elevators, I will take over from there."
"What else have you found?" Steve asked, levering his head down as far as possible and pushing it back as much as it'd go, Natasha snarling as he pulled his shield between himself and the door, and Natasha into his lap and therefore out of the range at which she could keep shooting. "JARVIS, we'll meet you there."
Natasha's eyes widened, and she curled slightly, bracing her hands against the back of her head, Steve absorbing more of the impact as the troop transport rammed them from the side, sending the car rocking on two tires, the wheels just barely managing not to pop as they crashed back to the concrete. The car didn't deviate its speed, but Steve drew in a breath that felt slow, then opened his door just as the troop transport rammed them once more, launching the two of them from the car and onto the concrete as they started past the off-ramp to SHIELD headquarters, sparks kicked up from impact as they went skidding over the road, Natasha's head tucking down against his shoulder to protect his face. Steve had slightly miscalculated the angle, and reached out instinctively to swing them around a metal signpost, wincing as it bit into his hand and the pull on his arm made Natasha hiss in sympathy at the sound of pain that slipped out of his throat. The Ducati was the only one of the vehicles that could have followed them with how close all of them were following and how much of a turning radius was available to those modes of transportation. The car kept driving, and there was a very slim chance that at least some time could be bought in pursuit of that car. As soon as they ran out of momentum enough that they could, Steve flipped them up to their feet, Natasha managing like a cat, then flipped the shield up onto his arm neatly. Natasha looked from the road they had just detoured from to Steve, amusement bright in her green eyes, "That belongs in the comics, Steve."
"I really hope JARVIS tells Tony before I ever have to." He replied lightly, and she laughed like a tinkling of glass, the two of them turning and starting down the street, Natasha pulling them towards what looked like an electrical shed, jimmying the lock, and pulling them both in.
"Strip, rub that through your hair, and pick a pair of glasses." Natasha ordered, tossing a small tube of something that proclaimed to be brown hair colouring that he could simply rub through, then gestured to a wall that seemed to be devoted to eyeglasses, hats, and a careful selection of scarves. There was a wardrobe of clothes that Natasha directed herself to, and Steve decided to do the rub-through before stripping, since she'd yet to throw anything at him to wear yet. "Tony talked Clint and I into building several little bolt-holes like this. I don't want to know what gave him the idea, but it was a good one, I will say that."
"Just not to him?"
She threw a smirk and a snort over her shoulder, hair swinging as she stripped with her back to him, "Obviously."