Chapter 11


Steve was entering a dark place. Dangerous and deceptive, and there was no trust hidden beyond the veils of the world around him. This time he had become unprepared. He knew it was a mistake to pull those threads that Natasha had warned him about, but the soldier inside of him needed to know the truth about his friend's butchered past.

He knew Bucky's elusive and disciplined methods would be untraceable and off Stark's radar; the Winter Soldier programming kept his friend barred from the light. He would roam in vacant places of the city, condemned derelict apartment buildings, subway tunnels and abandoned warehouse. As an rational thought emerged from the cervices of his mind; he stood in front of the table, frozen and unbalanced to stood his ground against the elusive stranger. Dread was enveloping over him, pulling him closer and closer until he was completely ensnared by the shadows emitting from the obscured sea blue eyes staring at him.

Uncharacteristically, Steve repressed a shiver as he held his lips into a firm line as his light blue embers retracted to the unreadable expression on the hooded figure's chiseled features. He didn't move from his position, staring and barely restraining his anger. How did this man know his name? How?. He clenched his jaw and felt the tension building in the air. Frustration and ire betrayed him, and he blinked away the pressure forming in his intent eyes. The other man sat there, with a daring gleam welled in his unyielding gaze. Steve searched deep within, he found clarity once more.

His mind quickly gathered the detail, and lips broke apart as he ignored the lethal glower the stranger was regarding him. As he observed with more of analyzing gaze, he noticed an arrow head poking out the man's left tactical boot, he wondered with the man was an HYDRA operative or something else. Taking no chances and keeping his shields up; he leveled his piercing eyes at the stranger, and spoke with firm voice.

"How do you know my name?" When he got no response, he tried again, this time with more of edge in his baritone-the unrelenting voice of Captain America. " Are you willing to reveal yourself without harming the innocent lives in this place?"

"It all depends," the stranger coolly countered in return, undaunted by the super soldier. A coy smirk tugged on his lips as he tipped his hood down. He was positively playing in cool, just to infiltrate Steve's emotions. "Only so few are innocent, Captain Rogers."

"Don't play games with me," Steve warned thinking the stranger was a reckless punk, fists dropped to his sides. His face creased with anger. "I want answers. Who are you?" he reprimanded.

Sensing his defiance fading, the stranger lifted his up, and indignantly disregarded the threat laced in the super soldier's firm voice. He said nothing, offering no response and answering no questions, Sam directed his dark eyes onto him with intent stillness. In his defense he had become fully aware of the situation and it was obvious that America's greatest soldier was looking for the infamous and lethal Soviet assassin codename: Winter Soldier.

The resistance he saw masking over Steve's unyielding blue eyes gave him the impression that the captain was lost. But there was more to it than that. The hardened remorse and guilt. A invasive weakness that could construct poor sense of judgement on the mission. It was hard to conceal, and keep silent about the truth, he had to dare himself, and finally answer the question. "Someone who can help you find that assassin you and your friend," He pointed a gloved finger at Sam, before continuing."... are looking for in this city."

"...How do you know?"

Steve stood his ground; dread and uncertainty increasing within his body as those cold and darkened words reverberated. The quick and calculating nature of the man caused the defenses to be apparent as faced down the hooded intimidating figure across from him. Steve and Sam had not just come dressed in villain clothes in search for Bucky...but also had their uniforms and weapons stored in the truck outside the coffee house. He never engaged conflict without his shield close at hand.

This was becoming dangerous. "Look, I'm not going to fight you unless its necessary. I need to know why you have information about the Winter Soldier?" he lowly questioned, eyes never averted.

"If you can help...Then prove it." He breathed heavily, in denial.

Silence thickened between them.

Withholding back a breath, the man nodded in short. No false truth welled in his grayish eyes. He parted his lips, and then spoke in a monotone."The person you're looking-Sergeant James Barnes is from the "iron curtain" other known as Russia. He was a part of a secret project created by Department X. The ghost files I have obtained from certain and important people collected in a old prison back in Zhytomyr, it clearly states the details of the KBG's little science project of submission involving young children-orphan girls and wounded Soviet soldiers. It's called the Red Room."

You're my mission.

A brief flash of Bucky's metal fist seared him, and he saw the menacing face of the Winter Soldier smeared with blood and darkened with uncontrolled malice. "You're my mission," his teeth clenched as a wolfish snarl erupted out from his throat. His pale blue eyes deaden and burning with cold fury. He was entering a warpath of catatonic emotions. He was dead. Vacant, cold and gone. His eyes filled with smoldering liquid as he rammed his fist into Steve's jaw, jostling the bones with his brute and destructive force. His face contorted into something monstrous and his body trembled with quakes of anger. And then the images dissolved, bled away like graying watercolor seeping into the fragments of memory.

Bucky.

Steve shook his fists, feeling rage and hurt surged through him as his blue ember that held the strength of his shield. He didn't want to believe it at first, Armin Zola was a parasite and a brilliant scientist who subjected Bucky to a injections during his capture inside a weapon's compound a lifetime ago. The shock and despair that befell on him was once Steve only allowed to enter his past a few times in the past, the suddenness of the truth became ingrained in his mind as flashes of images of the file Natasha handed to him back Fury's grave site cluttered and twisted his thoughts. He couldn't think clearly as mantra coated his vision and despondence rippled inside his soul.. His heart began to twist in his chest, slowly and mercilessly his dread and pain increased once he settled a blank gaze on the arrow.

He swallowed thickly and looked around him at the blur of people sitting at tables or standing near the glass counters. To anyone watching he appeared to be displaced and unfocused. It was only the second time when he asked the same question, that he received an answer. His eyes shifted slightly, and lower lip protruded into a taunt grimace. "Who are you?" his voice sounded desperate and uncertain. His chiseled and broad features tensed as misdirection took hold of him. It was the only rational truth. Every muscle in his face twinged with discontent. "Do you work for HYDRA?"

"No, I don't work for those murderers and sadists." the man said, as if he exclaimed everything in short and clear words. He reassured the wary super soldier with all honesty intact. "I work alone on missions and it becomes my business to find out what goes on in the shadows." A dark smirk twitched against his lips, as he glanced up at Steve. Confidence gleamed in his eyes. It was unbreakable and unwavering. He stared beyond the virtuous heart of the blonde haired man towering over him, and found untamed dire whirling inside. "Right now, I'm the only one you can trust, Captain Rogers."

Trust. That word seemed distant to him. Steve stood at an impasse for a moment; a pensive look fleetingly crossed his sharp and boyishly handsome features. It was a stoic look that showed inner turmoil and raked endurance waging beneath his commanding and fierce exterior. An semblance that he used to lead heroes into battle but one that threatened to crumble in the face of his own personal battles and losses of friends and trust which he sought to find in new alliances.

This was different...

A frost crawled its way into his bones, and in its wake returned the feverish blood this time less smoldering, torrent that conveyed good control on his emotions. He could see that this man, whoever he was, while dangerous, wasn't the sort of person he and the Avengers often fought against.

This man carried a darkness-unrestrained and predicable. That compelled Steve to be more guarded as he should be.

"Look, I just want a name," He spoke sincerely, "If you want to help me search for my friend...I need to know that you are a person I can trust, it's the only way I will allow you to come into my circle." Steve took a glance over his shoulder, as Sam texting on a Starkphone, and scanned the area from potential threats hidden under civilian clothes. The smell of greasy doughnuts reached him, causing him to wrinkle his nose for moment while he suppressed his hunger urges. "I will ask one last time...Who are you?" he whispered throat seized, breath labored.

"I'm..." the man echoed. The mere thought of revealing his identity kept his voice locked. He couldn't allow himself to become compromised and stubbornly refused to surrender his hard core methods of illusion and stealth to the super soldier, but all he could think about in those moments was the people of his city, and code that he-himself branded on his scarred flesh. He wasn't a hero, but he was a defender for the cause of justice and freedom. This was a hard choice to make, however he had to gain Steve's trust if he wanted answers. His resistance had gone array.

He couldn't endanger lives...

Breathing out reluctance, he yanked off his hood, revealing the cut-stone and youthful features of Oliver Queen. His rakish brownish gold hair was ruffled and spiked as his thick jawline swathed with unshaven bristles. He wore the haggard appearance of a drifter and his disquiet sea blue eyes welled with a mixture of intensity and grief. He knew that Steve wouldn't unveil his secret to anyone, unless it was necessary to save lives. "My name is Oliver Queen," he spoke in a low baritone no hesitation tugging in the back of his throat. He tried to keep himself hidden from unwanted eyes. It was a bit disconcerting to believe that he was actually coming out of the shadows and telling Steve his true name. "Three weeks ago I received information regarding a certain group of assassins-called the League of Shadows. I strongly agree with my instincts that HYDRA is involved."

"Steve," Sam called out behind him. "Is everything alright?"

Ignoring Sam's voice, Steve furrowed his eyebrows at the young billionaire, unable to detect any hostility. "Why are you in Washington, Mr. Queen?" he asked the obvious.

"Someone close to me has gone off the radar." Oliver said, keeping his eyes locked on the captain. "I need to find her location before any harm comes to her. A ex- operative has been given orders to hunt her down. His name is Slade Wilson and he works with Ras al Gul. A dangerous and powerful leader with corrupted obsessed mind of blood lust and the dark arts. I know HYDRA is involved in this latest threat that will soon become city wide if I don't find a way to stop them from releasing a plague of death."

Steve nodded, "Good answer." he replied, narrowing his eyes back to the arrow head. "You carry a projectile with you?"

Oliver smirked coyly, and stared at the captain for the longest time, unable to speak as he sensed someone was observing them. His hell bent emotions solidified as he blocked out all the sounds, and listened carefully to the jumble of words coming from a mobile phone nearby that he caught onto with the transmitter lodged in his right ear. It wasn't Slade Wilson's voice. German. Harsh and demanding.

"Kill them..." the voice ordered, loud and abrasive.

He'd pushed back the chair away from the table, slipping the arrow out from his boot, and paced closer to the window. "Someone knows you're here," he whispered, not taking his eyes away from the window. "I need you to head to the 's a service door near the restroom area, take your friend and stay there until I know that it clear for you engage-"

"I never run from a fight." Steve interrupted with a growl, body rigid and blue eyes stern.

Oliver rolled his eyes. "This isn't something for your shield...A lot of people are in danger here. One move, and you will set the whole thing off. Do I make myself clear, Captain America?"

"Affirmative," Steve executed barring his teeth. He knew that Oliver was right. His presence would be compromised and the people inside would become victims. It wasn't a risk his noble heart wasn't willing to take. He turned around and signaled a hand to Sam, showing him which direction to take as a black SUV pulled in at the curb in front of the window. Being disarmed without his shield, gave him the advantage to move through the crowd without be noticed. He grabbed a Mew England Patriots baseball cap, his style of civilian attire from a vacant table, and quickly placed it over his blonde locks. Within seconds, he hauled himself away from the window view and was near the bathroom doors, with Sam behind him-he gave Oliver a short nod and disappeared into the back-way alley.

Once he knew they were out of the danger zone, Oliver crouched into a low stance, clutching his arrow and took a good look at the front plate of the vehicle-mentality reading the number, and waited to engage the counter attack on the HYDRA agents. He had to be quick, precise and brutal. His pulse elevated when he looked at one of the men, dressed in a leather jacket with a scarred face. His first target.

A encroaching dread criss-crossed in his veins, and he stood back to his full height. He needed to create a distraction. Putting on his suave billionaire charm, he looked at the cashier, and gave a performance. "Excuse me, do you have insurance on these windows?" he yelled out meeting her dumbfounded gaze, and then he rammed his elbow into the glass. Pieces shattered to the floor as he jumped up, rolling on the sidewalk, and quickly went into combat mood, jabbing the arrow into the man's leg before sweep- kicking the opponent against cement.

He was agile and downright brutal with his attack-he never broke into a sweat as blood smeared the arrow held firmly in his hand.

As he went for a cobra strike at one of the standing operatives, a streak of silver and red whizzed pass him and knocked the tallest of the two against the vehicle. Oliver looked up and watched the alloy shield land at the man's boots. He whirled around, and took a glance at Steve emerging from the window with his blue eyes molten as steel and slacken expression firm. Feeling a sense of trust forming, the billionaire picked up the shield and frisbeed it into the air for the captain to catch with one hand.

A minute later Steve was at his side, wrist slipped in the straps of his shield and fists pulsing with the urges to fight.

"No need to thank me, Mr. Queen. Just next time don't engage with someone watching your back." Steve let his lips curve into a weak smile at the shocked and bemused expression on Oliver's face. "Take out the last standing man and use him for interrogation...We need information, they're HYDRA agents or they work for the KBG and have a fixed location on Bucky," he exclaimed. "Anyway, use attack the weak points of the body-the collar bone as less muscle. Two hands down and strike hard."

Oliver nodded, he couldn't help but smile as he stood in front of the operative, and struck the collar bone with a fast swipe of his hands. The gunman went down hard, landing on his stomach.

Steve crouched down beside the operative, and checked his pulse with two fingers pressed against the jugular. "We're good," he said, looking up at Oliver. "Nice work. Did you have training in the field of combat military?"

Oliver shrugged, and narrowed his blue eyes at the dark green arrow, "Something like that..."


A/N: A big thank you to everyone who's read and followed this story. Don't worry Bucky and Felicity will be back in the next chapter. Thank you and enjoy.