человек прежде чем
The Man Before
Alexander Pierce was not the kind of man you wanted to deliver bad news to. Depending on his mood, your reward for being the messenger might range anywhere from a quick clap on the back to a bullet planted firmly in your brain. So when the task of informing their director that the Asset was acting out was given to Agent Brock Rumlow, the rest of the men in the room suppressed a collective sigh of relief.
Rumlow directed Pierce through two sets of double-doors before returning his arms to his side and following silently behind. The director nodded his silent thanks to the agent, linking his hands together behind his back as he moved to stand in front of the Asset in question.
"Mission report."
The Asset failed to respond, his eyes remaining glued to a patch of wall beyond the men surrounding him with their fingers itching towards their triggers.
"Mission report, now."
When he was once again ignored, Pierce moved to crouch in front of the man on the chair, waving off those that tried to stop him from getting any closer. After slipping his glasses into the shallow pocket on the front of his suit jacket, he used the back of the same hand to knock the Asset's head to the right with a harsh smack.
He blinked out of his reverie then, his eyebrows twitching ever so slightly closer as he turned his face back to the man he knew to be his superior. It was not his place to ask questions – he knew that – but they were burning so brightly in his mind that he simply couldn't find it in himself to care. "The man on the bridge… Who was he?"
Pierce pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, smart enough to know that he was treading on dangerous territory. "You met him earlier this week on another assignment."
"I knew him."
Pierce waved his hand and a rolling stool was pushed closer until it reached his side. Positioning it in front of the Asset, he let out a quiet sigh as he took a seat. This would have to be handled carefully. The Asset had been out of cryofreeze longer than ever before, and it was clear that it was affecting his memory.
He hadn't come to discuss Steve Rogers, however. No, there had been much more troubling reports brought to his attention.
"Your work has been a gift to mankind. You've shaped the century… A lot of that has been thanks to the fact that you and I are honest with each other." Pierce paused when the Asset knit his brows further, glancing up at him with confusion written on his face. "I don't think you've been very honest. You've been keeping something from me."
The Asset watched with baited breath as Pierce snapped his fingers and Rumlow stretched his arm out, handing over a grainy black-and-white photograph. It wasn't until the director finished observing the picture and flipped it so that he could see that he understood what was happening.
"Do you know this woman?"
He wanted to deny it – all of it. Deny that he had ever met her before their encounter on the bridge. Deny that he still had those flickers of memories from so long ago of the girl she once was as opposed to the woman she had grown to be. Deny that he had failed to kill her on multiple occasions, and simply refused to on others.
He wanted to deny to Pierce and to himself that he had developed a dangerous attachment to the woman in the photo. He never wanted to admit that the reason he had allowed her to slip through his fingers more than once was because she was the one aspect of his life that hadn't been tainted by Hydra. Her life had always been in his hands, and his hands alone. Not Pierce's, or Hydra's, or SHIELD's. His. He didn't want to let that go.
But when he saw the traffic camera photo of his gloved hands wrapped around her wrists, shoving her against the side of a car and leaning in close enough to whisper words of warning to her, he knew that there was no denying anything anymore.
Breaking into the Smithsonian after hours proved to be much easier than Veronika had initially assumed. The security guards on duty during the early hours of nightfall were just a few old men wandering the halls – nobody she couldn't easily slip past in the shadowed parts of the hallways before carrying on her merry way.
She had heard that they were opening a Captain America exhibit a few months back, but had never had an invested interest in coming until the moment she realized he had known the Winter Soldier's true identity.
After leaving her temporary teammates to be detained by Hydra, Veronika had returned to her hotel room where she had hidden her stolen folder on the Asset. While she had been searching for the man's next target, she had skipped right over the first few pages that detailed who he was and the rigorous experimentation he had endured. Now, however, they seemed much more interesting.
Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes was stamped at the top of the second page.
"Bucky?"
But he hadn't been called that name since he had joined Hydra in 1944. Seeing as there were no records of him before then, she would have to do the second best thing and delve into the past of the man who knew James Barnes rather than the Winter Soldier.
This was how Veronika found herself standing in front of the mural that stretched across an entire wall, a row of mannequins wearing uniforms that matched those in the painting her only company.
She hadn't even bothered to glance at the other men on the wall once she had seen his face displayed proudly beside Captain America. Her only other look at the man had been a tiny, faded photograph that could never compare to how she saw him now.
It was almost unbelievable how stark the difference between the two versions of this man were – Barnes and the Soldier. That difference did nothing but grow even more prominent as she turned from the painting, focusing her attention on the glass tribute that stood apart from the rest labeled A Fallen Comrade.
Her interest increased tenfold as she read the epitaph detailing his childhood as Steve's best and only real friend, how he had joined the Army after the attack on Pearl Harbor, and his time with the group named the Howling Commandos. When she pressed a small button below a blackened screen, a montage of videos showing Steve and Barnes throughout the war together began to play. Steve dipped his head in embarrassment as Barnes threw his head back in laughter – an expression Veronika couldn't even begin to imagine on the Winter Soldier.
There were three words in particular that caught her eye more than anything else, however. Three words that didn't fit into the image of the man she had created in her head after fighting him for so long. Three words that made her turn her back on the tribute and continue on her way through the exhibit.
Captured by Hydra.
It seemed impossible, and at the same time so obvious. She had only ever seen evidence that he worked for them willingly, but that meant nothing in their world. Regardless of how he came to be a part of Hydra, he was still the Winter Soldier now.
Yet, if she chose to believe that, how could she think any differently of herself? In her youth she had willingly worked for the Red Room, and she had certainly not agreed to anything they had done to her as a child. She thought herself a stronger, better person now that would never associate herself with the likes of them. Something told her he had never been given that choice.
In her wandering, Veronika found herself standing before a much larger screen than the others scattered throughout the exhibit with a set of risers acting as seats propped against the wall across from it. A door to the left of the risers labeled Media became her new destination then. When she found it to be unlocked, she scoffed as the thought that the Smithsonian should really ramp up their security passed through her mind.
Inside the room was little else besides an open laptop on a desk, a video already pulled up with a sideways triangle covering the face of the man displayed on the screen. Veronika surveyed the room to double-check that nobody else was around before sitting in the plastic chair and clicking play.
"The SSR continued to operate after the fall of its shining star. We have taken the time to piece together several saved records in the hopes that – "
Veronika skipped past the narrator, and several interviews after that. She wasn't very interested at all in learning about anything other than the man she had come for.
"We, uh… We were the only ones who spoke any French, so I had to act as a translator a lot. And to think, I had only learned the language because – "
"I mean, they were absolutely ruthless. But we weren't gonna give up so easily – not us Commandos. If you could count on us for anything – "
"He saved over a thousand men. Including the man who would eventually become my husband, as it turned out. Even after he died, Steve was still changing my life."
Veronika ran her hands over her mouth, tapping thoughtfully at her lips as the clip faded to black. If she couldn't squeeze any more information out of Hydra, then she was just going to have to go further back – to the people who knew the man before the monster. It should be simple enough to trace a living lead that wasn't putting any active effort into hiding themselves.
Looking once more to the woman on the screen – Agent Peggy Carter, SSR – Veronika pushed to her feet to exit the museum.
According to their website, The Washington Nursing Home and Hospice's visiting hours ended at 10 PM. Meaning Veronika had a mere 32 minutes to speak with the woman before she was kicked out and would be on her own to find information once more. She hadn't had the time for a well-rounded fake identity, so she could only hope that her refined acting skills would get her into the room she was looking for.
Veronika drew her brows together before slipping a wary frown onto her lips, appearing nervous and apologetic as she approached the front desk. "Hello," she greeted the very clearly tired nurse in a voice with just the right amount of trembling to make it sound like she hadn't wanted it to. "I'm here to see Margaret Carter. It's not too late, is it?"
The nurse – Lillian, according to her nametag – glanced at the clock before shaking her head. "Not quite yet. We are only open for another few minutes, however. If you came back tomorrow morning – "
"My flight leaves tomorrow at eight," Veronika interrupted, "and I won't be back in D.C. for another six months. I know it was irresponsible of me to wait so long, but I was just so nervous about seeing her again. You know, what with the memory loss and all, I wasn't sure she would remember me."
Lillian's expression softened into a more sympathetic one at the story Veronika invented on the spot, nodding understandingly. "Of course. You're not the first person to be afraid of what you'll see… Come on, I'll show you to her room… What did you say your name was?"
"Veronika. I have my driver's license right…" Veronika patted the pockets of her jeans before dropping her shoulders with a nearly silent sigh. "I think I left it in the car. I was in such a rush to get here, you know," she chuckled nervously. "I'll just run and grab it really quick."
"It's no bother," Lillian dismissed with a wave of her hand and a naïve smile. "You seem trustworthy enough. Any friend of Miss Peggy's is a friend of ours."
Veronika settled on offering the woman a tired yet appreciative grin before following her down the corridor, rather than laugh outright at the thought that anyone might call her trustworthy or a friend. The pair crept past closed doors that concealed sleeping men and women in silence, stopping in front of a white door marked by three silver numbers – 182.
"Luckily for you, Miss Peggy is a bit of a night owl," Lillian assured in a quiet voice, pushing the door open and walking in ahead of Veronika. "Miss Peggy? You have a visitor."
Veronika found herself somewhat impressed with the arrangement of the room as she entered, taking a moment to observe her surroundings – as was usual for the cautious woman – before settling her gaze on the frail woman in the hospital bed. It was obvious that she had lived here for some time, judging by the amount of personal effects scattered along side tables and postured upon the walls. For a woman who supposedly remembered little to nothing about her life, it seemed she had led quite a full one.
Veronika was sure to thank Lillian once more after the nurse excused herself from the room, nodding with a gentle smile as she closed the door behind herself with a barely audible click. Turning then to the woman whose eyes predictably showed no recognition, Veronika allowed her own small smile to ease onto her lips as she approached a padded living chair to the left of the bed.
"Hello, Peggy," she began after seating herself, threading her fingers together and leaning back comfortably. She had internally debated the best way to gain this woman's trust in such a short amount of time the entire drive over, and had finally settled on a story she thought to be decently believable. "Do you remember me?"
She watched as a tinge of sadness flickered in Peggy's eyes, an apologetic grin tugging at the corners of her mouth that only made the surrounding wrinkles more pronounced. "You'll have to forgive me, dear. I have trouble remembering quite a bit these days, it would seem."
"Through no fault of your own, of course. I'll just start from the beginning, shall I?" Peggy's silent sigh was all the encouragement Veronika needed to nod her head, the lies slipping more easily through her lips than any truth she might have told.
She spun the invented tale of a woman named Veronika Walker, who had spent her life in search of answers. Her mother, Caroline Walker, was an uninteresting woman who could never be bothered with learning about anything outside of the tedious job that kept her locked in an office eight hours a day, five days a week. Her grandmother, however, was an adventurous woman. Even in her climbing age, Rebecca Proctor encouraged her granddaughter to grasp at whatever minor opportunities to better herself the world might present.
"I stayed with my grandmother a lot when I was younger," Veronika lied. "I always loved listening to her stories about her own childhood. Tales of running through the streets with her siblings, unafraid of the world and all the possible adventures it held for them… That's why she encouraged me to come meet you, actually."
Peggy's thin eyebrows drew together in confusion. Veronika had noticed throughout her story telling that the woman in front of her was quick to show her emotions on her face – not something she had expected from an army woman, but something she found to be useful now. "I knew your grandmother? This… Rebecca, you called her?"
"No. You knew her brother."
Veronika waited patiently as Peggy's lips pursed in thought, the gears almost visible behind her eyes as they turned in her head. "I don't remember any men with the last name Proctor… Though these days, I suppose that doesn't mean much."
A smile that said she knew more than she was letting on settled onto Veronika's features as she shook her head lightly. "His name wasn't Proctor. It was Barnes."
It took a moment, but Peggy's expression brightened considerably when the recognition finally filtered through the holes in her memory. "Barnes… Yes, I knew a Barnes. He was a good friend, a long time ago. You say he was your grandmother's brother?"
"My great uncle," Veronika confirmed with a nod. An odd feeling surged in her chest at calling The Winter Soldier family – one that almost made her frown in disgust at the thought of being related to him. She refused to let it slip onto her carefully constructed mask, however. Smile firmly in place, she leaned her elbows forward onto the bed. "Yet I never had the pleasure of meeting him. When I asked about him, my grandmother told me all about him as a child. She couldn't tell me much about his adult years, though. That was when she suggested I meet you."
Veronika wasn't sure whether it was the fact that Peggy didn't have many visitors – a fact Lillian had relayed with a sorrowful frown marring her lips – or simple joy at being able to relay the account of her dauntless past, but the woman seemed quite excited to open up to Veronika.
If it weren't for the phone vibrating in her pocket, Veronika might have been able to get the full story she was looking for right then and there. A spark of irritation at being interrupted so close to her goal flickered in the back of her mind, but she simply excused herself politely to the back of the room as she checked the caller ID on her phone – Unknown.
There was only one person who had this number that Veronika hadn't had the pleasure of receiving the same courtesy from. Someone who had only acquired the number quite recently, and someone she had promised to help should they need it. Glancing at a very impatient looking Peggy, Veronika sighed to herself for being so sentimental before answering.
Wow, who could that be on the phone? The answer… might surprise you. Might not. I suppose we'll find out in the next chapter!
Which, coincidentally, I hope to see you in very soon.
Chapter 11 Preview
"That does seem like something I would enjoy," Veronika conceded with a quiet sigh, tapping her fingers thoughtfully against her cheek. "Death, destruction, all focused on the bad guys… You really should have called me sooner."