Frozen in Time
by: Shadow Chaser
Disclaimer:
All Marvel characters do not belong to me, they belong to Marvel Entertainment and Marvel Comics.
Story:
Chapter 14
The rifle felt unfamiliar against his shoulder, but it did an efficient job as he downed two more black-clad soldiers that had been swarming the target Rogers. A part of him was confused as to why he kept missing, but another part of him supposed that getting rid of the black-clad soldiers made it a lot easier to actually target Rogers when the time came. The snipers on the roof had been his first targets, after acquiring his current rifle. It's previous owner, the sniper and his spotter's bodies were sprawled a few feet away, necks cleanly broken.
There were two magazines near him that he had stripped from the spotter. Nine shots had already been spent and there was one more left before he had to load another mag in the gun. He had wasted two shots on one of the targets earlier, the soldier moving past the gut shot he had given him before finally being finished off with a shot to the throat. He steadied his breath, taking a facsimile of familiarity as he lined up his last shot and fired, just as the green blur roar of the monstrous Hulk burst forth from the remains of the courthouse. Another black-clad soldier fell down to the ground dead as he pulled back, setting himself to change the cartridge in an automatic fashion. The Hulk was sure to sow confusion amongst the black-clad soldiers and he knew it would provide him the time to clear more of them in order to finally get his clean shot at the target-at Rogers-
He stuttered a little as he pulled himself from the scope, away from seeing the target through cross-hairs, away from-
Away.
This was another test...was it?
Boarding had been called for the flight to London. He could have been away, could have been pursuing-
He blinked again, pinching the bridge of his nose at the sudden flare of pain, right behind his eyes, digging-
The cartridge. That was what he needed.
The cartridge. Sniper rifle...needed to clear the targets-
Rogers...targ-
He tightened the muscles in his flesh-and-blood hand as he felt the smallest of tremors, shaking him. Breathe. He needed-
To fight.
But why did he have to fight? Because the test was-
He had passed, had he not? He had-
He had not passed because he could not-
His eyes were blue and they were-
Breathe. I'm with you, 'till the end of the line...
He needed to-
-Survive!
Even with his eyes closed, he had always been able to sense an approach and reacted instinctively, swinging his emptied rifle in a wide arc. He heard and felt the crack of bone breaking as his eyes snapped open to see a soldier dressed in gear that he vaguely recognized fall to the side from the force of his blow. He moved before the soldier could recognize that he was dazed from the blow and snatched him up by the throat in time to see the life fading from his eyes – the thumping impact of several bullets piercing the soldier in the back. He tossed the body to the side and ran, swiftly kicking another in the face, vaulting over him with a quick leap and rammed his metal arm into the neck of another one, snapping it with a pop.
He turned, the soft whining sounding of his arm powering up as he grabbed a soldier and threw him off of the rooftop at the same time, twisting out of a hand trying to yank the hood of his hoodie back. He heard the cloth rip and smashed the ball of his palm into a nose, feeling the spurt of blood dampening the ripped cloth before another soldier fell to the ground dead. The faint movement at the corner of his eye, made him duck and smash the back of his metal hand into the face of another before he turned inward towards the blow and plucked out the soldier's combat knife from its holster.
Twirling it once in his flesh-and-blood hand, he gripped it and slammed it into the chest of another before kicking the hapless soldier to the ground. He flipped to the side, avoiding a blow and graze to the neck, slamming into another body before hands grabbed at him. He fought past the hold, elbowing the soldier in the midsection, hearing the crack of the man's sternum through the hard plates of kevlar and turned outward, sending an arcing kick to the man's face and sent him tumbling to the ground. In that second, he assessed his surroundings, noting many black-clad soldiers, but none whom looked like they were the ones Stark had been shouting about as Centipede back at bank vault with their glowing blood-red eyes.
"Whoa big guy...remember me? We've...worked together," a voice, whom he could once think was being congenial and friendly, but hiding the viper's strike behind them, spoke up from behind one of the soldiers and stepped out.
He narrowed his eyes at the balaclava and helmet on the man's head. Kohl grease paint surrounded his eyes, giving him the look of wearing a white, skull-like death's head on his face. The twin bandoleers strapped across his chest made him think of skulls and crossbones on the Jolly Roger flag.
"You...don't happen to have one of those, do you?" he swallowed; he had to be hallucinating. The crazy HYDRA-Nazi guy just ripped his face off and a blood-red skull stared back at them. It was still talking too...
He dared not squeeze his eyes shut against the sudden jarring memory, before blinking rapidly to clear his vision, to focus on the enemies that had paused in their attack, surrounding him. He shifted his grip on his stolen combat knife and assessed the hostiles around him.
"Yeah, I guess this kind of doesn't seem familiar to you," the man's voice was tight with forced joviality and it prickled something akin to annoyance in him as he watched the man gesture to his balaclava and helmet-clad face, "...anyways, soldier, we're here to take you in...quietly. You need help and we don't want to cause any problems, okay? We want to help you."
"We, the Avengers, want to help you, if you'll let us," Banner said...
"Yeah?" the skull-masked man's voice still sounded tight and strained as he took a small step forward. "We want to help you get better, soldier. Make the pain go away."
"I'm causing the pain, aren't I?"
He caused it, and it had clawed at him, shouted and screamed at him to do something about it, but he had silently shouted back that he should not, would not- Because if he did- The target-no, Rogers...
"I'm sorry," the voice was so forlorn...
The target's voice had been so forlorn, so apologetic. He...he did not want such an apology – It's me that should be apologizing! - because he had caused the pain that he, himself felt, because he could not-
They sat in silence for a few minutes before Tony gestured to his metal arm, "You should get that looked at."
Stark knew the dangers, knew the warnings, and had in utter disregard for everything, still worked on his arm, hesitating when he had not vocalized his absolute concent for an object to be placed in his arm because he was too used to people maintaining his arm without his own input. And still...had given him the object to place in his arm himself in the very end. Before...
Coward-
He took the coward's way out. Not the soldier's way out- He had...
Steve knew what he had seen and shook his head, "Bucky wanted to come."
"But-"
"He wanted to come," he insisted and saw Sam's face pinch a little before he gave a brief nod.
It could have been so easy, disabling the target's allies back then and there at the vault, but he had not. Something had held him back and he had begged, pleaded for the target to end his life, to end all of this at the vault because he could not, would not, end the target himself and because he was too cowardly-too much of a weapon, to goddamn messed up! - he-
"It's okay, it's okay. We're here to help, okay? We're here to help," the voice of the masked man was familiar. He had worked with him before as he vaguely noticed gestures, of black-clad clothing coming closer...
Why had he come back when he had been so close to leaving, so close to boarding the airplane?
"We, the Avengers, want to help you, if you'll let us," Banner said...
"...if you'll let us..."
They asked for his consent. They asked for permission.
"Help me..." his best friend whispered and all Steve could do was nod as Bucky's eyes rolled into the back of his head as he passed out.
"Always."
He gave them, permission because...
"We, the Avengers, want to help you, if you'll let us," Banner said...
He had asked for his, for the target's help because it had been a test, right? It was a test and his eyes were blue and they were concerned, because getting close to the target was the test because he needed to be close to the target in order to kill the target because the test would have failed, the test would have passed, because he did not kill the target- because-
Steve'n'Bucky...
Bucky'n'Steve...
"And I'll keep protecting you, even if you can't..."
Why had he run at top speed, using every single enhancement he vaguely remembered getting, pushing himself when he had seen the explosion rock the field hearing? Why had there been a panic, a desperation that settled in his heart? The test...
"I'm with you, 'till the end of the line..."
Fuck the test.
It felt different than the quiet snap that had seemingly broke through his mind days earlier, when he had burst from the lab room and onto the Avengers' Tower balcony, to stop himself from actively killing the target. It felt different because it felt like someone had thrown bright lights into his eyes, pain roiling around his head, making him choke, and nearly curl in on himself. He thought he saw the shadowy movement around him back away just slightly, as he grabbed his head and held on for dear life; riding the wave of agony that felt like someone stabbing knives into his eyes, into the back of his head and never relenting-
And suddenly he could see.
He gave them, gave him, permission because...
Because...
Because...he, Steven Rogers, trusted him, the forgotten man, the soldier, the assassin with no name...
And they had asked for his trust, his tacit approval in return, time and time again. They had asked if he wanted his arm repaired, even asking him again if he was sure. They had allowed him to come to the bank even though it was against every known judgment to bring someone like him there. They had even given him a way to hunt his target and had allowed him to do whatever he wished. He had trusted them and they had given him trust back; had allowed him to...be...free...
"That's right soldier...just calm down, we're here to help..."
He wanted, needed, to hear the words that followed – if you'll let us – but there was silence after those words, nothing to give him confirmation that he had a voice, a say in what was happening even after the first tacit approval. And he knew. He knew through the pain, the fading ache behind his eyes, that the people around him would not give him that and would sooner take it away even if he begged, he had begged – I knew him! - had demanded that he give a mission report, that the cold nights on rooftops, the never ending watch of the Avengers Tower for eleven months, the approach, all of it...they would sooner not care and it would not matter because-
"It's okay soldier-"
"...James..." he whispered and while he felt the disconnect and slight spiking of pain, it was oddly muted, as he looked up into the face of the masked man, standing arms length away from him, one hand held out in a wary, almost-comforting gesture as if to embrace him.
Or just as quickly strike him.
There was the barest of twitches from the formless balaclava, "Sure. Whatever you say, soldier, just-"
James knew that his close quarter combat skills were tight, efficient, and very deadly, preferring to let his metal arm do the heavy work and his flesh-and-blood arm the more precision work, especially with a knife in his hand. That said, as soon as he registered the tiniest of thrown objects, he immediately twisted, grabbing the object with his left metallic arm – saw the twitching of the jawline from the masked man, a smile of triumph-
And watched as rivets of electricity exploded from where his hand was clamped over the object, racing up his arm and grimacing as the slight sting of pain transferred in the shoulder socket and joint area of his arm while the rest of his hand felt oddly weird. But the electric shock passed harmlessly over his metal arm. He immediately crushed the object in his hand, feeling the slightly crunch of something plastic and metal before lashing out, grabbing the masked man and stabbed him in the chest with his knife hand. He withdrew the knife and tossed him to the side just as several strangled screams erupted from the back of the small contingent of soldiers.
A few turned, distracted by the noise and he took advantage of it by suddenly grabbing one of the soldier, turning his gun upside down just as he fired, directing the muzzle blasts towards his fellow soldiers. They fell down as he twisted, bringing the body close to him as several bullets impacted his human shield. He finished the dying soldier off with a twist of his neck and saw a flash of red hair followed by the buzz of electricity-
"Catch!"
The command was in Russian, but it rolled through his head easily and with barely a murmur of pain, as he reached out and plucked the gun thrown at him out of the air. Flicking the safety off he turned and fired, killing three soldiers with precision headshots through their goggles as the red-haired blur took down several others with lunges, slides, and kicking flips. He saw two soldiers approach beyond the feminine blur of red-hair and black leather jacket and without thinking, flicked the safety back on before tossing the gun at her-
"Two behind," he called out just as he lifted his right arm and stabbed a soldier in the chest with a backhand, embedding the knife deeply within his sternum.
He pulled it out just as quickly as she ducked and rolled to her feet, her hand almost casually outstretched with a long-forgotten familiar ease, as the gun landed in her palm and she fired, killing four more including the two that were behind her. He threw his knife at a fifth one who had tried to line up for a shot as she had turned to deal with the two behind her. The crooked smile that graced her lips sent a jolt of familiarity within him, but there was no accompanying pain like when it had involved Rogers. He found it odd, but pushed it from his mind as he sensed an attack from the side.
He turned and lifted his metal arm to block the hammering blow and was mildly shocked to find himself stumbling back from the force of the blow as much as hearing a hollow metal sound where his arm had barely protected him.
"Rumlow stand down!" the red-haired woman shouted in English from where she was, pointing her gun.
"Ain't gonna do you any good sweetheart, not with pure Extremis in my veins," the skull-masked man's eyes glowed, a bright fiery orange-red as he suddenly found himself defending from rapid, fast, furious blows. "And you, Winter Soldier, got a bit of an upgrade to your arm, didn'tcha?"
James did not bother with the dignity of a reply as he heard the whirl of his arm, block two body strikes, a kidney strike and kicked back with his own. He shuffled forward, a knife-like strike from above with a hand, twisting his arm in, then back, to block a shot to his chest, all the while trying to figure out how to beat his opponent. The fatal chest wound he had thought had given to the skull-masked man, Rumlow, showed only the tattered remains of kevlar and cloth. He could see glowing lines of red running underneath the wound, a sign of Extremis if all of the internet articles he read were true in the eleven months of staking out.
Which meant-
He let loose a hiss of pain as one of Rumlow's hands suddenly glowed and he blocked it with his right arm, mindful of where the strike was supposed to be headed. He could suddenly smell the stench of burnt melted cloth, skin, and flesh underneath and twisted out of the block, backing up a step. The man only laughed and he felt a twinge of annoyance run through him as he quickly reassessed his options. He heard the thunk of two bullets impact Rumlow's back and head, but the man only grinned and glanced behind him-
He moved, striking fast with his metal arm to wrap around in a choke hold, his flesh-and-blood one twisting one of Rumlow's hands behind his back as his other one tried to dislodge the grip on his neck and he kicked the man's legs, breaking his kneecap, forcing him to the ground.
"Do it!" he growled out to the woman in Russian as he pinned Rumlow to the ground with his metal hand, trying to squeeze on the throat and face turning red from the lack of oxygen, just as he saw the hand on his metal arm glow bright red, his metal arm starting to glow from the transference of heat- "Natochka! Do it now!" he did not know if that was even the woman's name, but it sounded right as he realized he would not be able to hold on to Rumlow if there was not an application right now of electric shocks-
White-hot pain screamed across his metal arm, a buzzing sensation of too much feedback sent forth paralyzing signals as he suddenly gasped, the heat of Extremis on his metal arm too much for his neuro-sensors to take- And suddenly found himself thrown across the rooftop, his hold broken by his weakening metal arm, the open air around him before he felt himself dropping and twisted to see forty-one stories of bleak concrete and grassy ground rushing up at him-
And just as suddenly his momentum downward was arrested by the jarring pull of his right arm. He grunted and automatically clenched his hand in the one that grabbed at his own. He dangled the few stories he had fallen, his body limply slamming into the side with some pain. By his estimates, it was about the thirty-sixth floor as glass tinkled and fell the full length. They crashed into the ground with a distant soft noise and he looked up to see the target- to see Rogers' strained grimacing smile staring back down at him, having caught him as he had fallen.
Blood was welling down his knuckles and fell onto his own hand, but Rogers dared not readjust his grip for the fear of making his own hand slick with it. "Gotcha, I gotcha..." Rogers grunted a little as he shifted his weight a little. Half of his body was hanging outside and this close, he could see the numerous wounds, burns, and blood that splattered his once pristine red-white-blue uniform. He blinked once, as Rogers laughed a little weakly, minutely readjusting his grip. "Geez Bucky, stop eating so much, you're gained weight..."
"Don't do anything stupid before I get back..." he spread his hands out, crooked smile on his face.
Steve rolled his eyes, an equally crooked grin on his face, "How could I? You're taking all of the stupid with you."
"It's all the stupid I took with me," the words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them, but they sounded so familiar, and the resulting pain that bloomed in the back of his head hurt so much that he knew it was the right thing to say.
And it was the right thing to say because the name James settled in his head like it fit and belonged in the first of very many scattered puzzle pieces. He looked up to see unshed tears in the target's- no, in Captain Ameri-, no, in Steve Rogers' eyes and the same wide, crooked smile that he knew was from his memories. And something in him warmed a little, like the same kind of warmth he felt while watching the news at the airport; a little like pride.
Nothing, not even the pain of stitches and gauze pads coming in contact with the burns, scrapes, and cuts he had received could keep the small smile off of Steve's face as Bruce finished patching him up. He knew there had been a breakthrough of sorts with Bucky, but also knew that there was still a long way to go, especially given the wary, hesitant look that he had received after pulling Bucky into the building. He could still see the Winter Soldier, the wariness, the eyes that still shouted at him to not let his guard down, but at the same time, he could see Bucky lurking underneath, as if he was starting to awaken from a very long deep slumber and could not quite get his bearings.
For the first time since he had found Bucky, his best friend had responded in kind. Not by rote or stilted words that seemed like it was from a foggy memory, but a clear-cut response that only Bucky would have answered. The drawl, faint accent, and world-weary wryness that was his best friend.
"Well, your uniform's shredded," Bruce handed him a loose fitting cotton tee-shirt and he gingerly put it on, mindful of the stitches and pads of gauze all over him.
"Gave it up for a good cause," he absently replied as he tucked the edges of the tee-shirt into the the slightly looser jeans he had worn to account for the injuries on the lower half of his body. He nodded his thanks as Bruce handed over his familiar and favorite leather jacket and put it on, wincing a little at the stretch of his bruised ribs. Thankfully, they were only bruised and Bruce said that he would be able to breathe properly in a few short hours. His other wounds would take longer, especially the burns he had received from barely avoiding the worst of the Extremis blast. "Hill wants us upstairs?"
"Yeah," Bruce crumpled up the gloves he had been using as he sutured the wounds and tossed it into a trashcan before absently grabbing a protein bar and unwrapped it, finishing it off in two quick bites. He himself had changed into different clothes after they had all returned to the Tower by way of quinjet, leaving most of the cleanup to NYPD, FNY, and the National Guard. While Steve had been trying to reach Bucky, the Hulk and Maria had successfully distracted the Centipede soldiers enough for the National Guard reinforcements to force the remaining ones to surrender. Surprisingly, seeing that everything was under control, the Hulk had sat down on the concrete steps and reverted back to Bruce without any major fuss – the first time anyone had seen the Hulk willingly give control back to Bruce Banner.
Steve had managed to pull Bucky in after adjusting his grip and after Bucky managed to get his arm to work again by grappling the side of the building and giving him enough leverage to pull himself upwards. The two of them had stared at each other, wary, cautious, acutely aware that something was different, but also aware that Steve was still considered a target and could not let his guard down.
Natasha had broken the moment by running down to them, speaking in rapid Russian which somehow calmed Bucky down enough for him to take a few steps back before turning to Steve and had said that Rumlow was finally disabled after an application of Widow's Bite and several doses of I-CER in the Widow's Bite. Steve had not known that the former commander of STRIKE Team Delta had been alive – but had been a little more surprised to see Natasha after all this time. They had not had a chance to talk much as SWAT made their presence known and Natasha had directed them to secure Rumlow and whatever was left of his team with strict instructions on keeping Rumlow down.
A quinjet had then picked them up, sent by Sharon who reported to all of them that Coulson called, saying they had lost contact with Tony and Sam about the same time the Extremis guard had blown up the field hearing. There had also been an attack on the hidden bunker in London, but Thor and Coulson's team had beaten them back and they had captured a couple of Centipede agents and were going to question them.
"Got a couple of those?" he asked as Bruce rounded the table to leave the lab with him and the scientist nodded, reaching over to an unassuming looking container and pulled out a few silver-wrapped unmarked bars and handed it to him.
"They're a special blend of proteins, carbs, and other good stuff to refuel after the Other Guy lets me get back to normal. I've managed to make it not taste like the cardboard stuff you get in the stores, but it's good for recovering super soldiers," Bruce grinned, unrolling his sleeves as they walked out and headed to the elevator that promptly took them up to the main living room of penthouse floor.
They exited, Steve absently nibbling on the edges of the protein bar and finding it to his liking – Bruce was right, there was enough chocolate flavoring in it to not taste like cardboard – as the elevator next to them dinged the arrival of Maria and Sharon as they walked out. He looked towards the living room to see that Bucky was still seated in the corner couch he had taken as soon as they had landed, but a slightly bloodied damp cloth was resting on one of the arm rests and he looked a little less dirt and blood covered. Natasha was nowhere in sight until she rounded the kitchenette, holding a hot mug of what smelled like peppermint tea.
"Good, you're all here," Maria said without preamble as Sharon stood behind her, hands clasped behind her and very remincent of a second-in-command position judging by her posture. Steve supposed that it could be construed as a way, that Sharon, still under the CIA's watch was regulated to effectively being Maria's second-in-command. "Coulson's sending out two teams to search for Tony and Sam's last reported location, so we will know in a couple of hours if they find anything."
"Any ransom demands?" Steve asked. The first thing they had all learned after the Avengers had formed was that Tony tended to get a lot of threats and demands, most of them harmless, some of them not...case in point, AIM and Aldrich Killian.
"None, which leads me to my second point," Maria shook her head, "we thought it was HYDRA who was after you, Sergeant Barnes, a ruse to keep us off kilter and draw you back here, but not only was it that, HYDRA seems to be after all of the Avengers."
"Attacking London and Tony and Sam," Bruce murmured, "where the hell did they get that much resources?"
"Distribution of threat assessments," Natasha answered from where she was perched on the armrest of a couch, sipping her tea, "the bulk of the attack was focused on Steve and also New York because of the Hulk. But they sent Rumlow to deal with the Winter Soldier because they had upgraded him with some Extremis variant that's linked to Project Tahiti."
"Tahiti?" Maria looked surprised before narrowing her eyes at Natasha, "and why...?"
"I was on my way back to tell you in person before heading to London to ask Phil about it," Natasha shrugged as if it was not that relevant, but Steve thought he was missing an important piece of some puzzle he did not exactly want to know, but at the same time wanted to know. "Deep cover."
Suddenly Steve understood where she had gone for the past year since SHIELD had fallen. She had said that she needed to craft a new identity, but at the same time she had also taken a very deep cover mission somewhere and had to break it to relay the information in person which meant transmitting it was too much of a risk. He looked at her for a moment and wanted to tell her that she did not need to take risks anymore, but realized he could not say those words – not with what he knew about her, even the very little that she had revealed to him for the past three years. He had no right.
"Understood," Maria only nodded once before gesturing for her to continue her assessment.
"London was also attacked, but at the moment I think it was probably just an assessment of defenses and also to try to provoke Phil into doing something rash. The best chance of getting an Avenger was to attack Stark and Wilson when they were the most vulnerable, thirty-thousand feet in the air."
"How do you know all of this?" Sharon spoke up, confused.
"Because they had been planning it since the Winter Soldier walked right into the Washington D.C. vault," Natasha threw a sidelong glance at Bucky who was sitting silently, staring at all of them with unreadable eyes. "It's Red Room protocol 101. They want him, but they'll settle for grabbing any Avenger to force a domino effect." The corner of her lips twitched into a grimacing smile, "You tried to disrupt that effect as soon as you scanned yourself into the vault. You knew that there was a time limit and you could have succeeded if you just got onto that plane, but-"
Bucky's voice rasped as he spoke something in Russian and Natasha nodded, the grimacing smile on her face.
"That's right, human error," she shook her head, "gets to all of us in the end..."
Steve shook his head, "The fact that whether or not you got onto that plane Bucky doesn't exclude the fact that HYDRA might have taken Tony or Sam. It's not your fault or anything to do with the Red Room. We've angered HYDRA enough that we were all targets."
"Cap's right," Sharon suddenly spoke up, her voice small and everyone looked at her, "I...when my handlers debriefed me about what happened in D.C., I told them about the Avengers arriving, but they kept asking if the Hulk was there or when he showed up if he wasn't there in the beginning. I think...maybe they started to piece together that you were living here, Dr. Banner, after my debrief, and that probably alerted HYDRA to do what they did... I'm sorry..."
"Or circumstantial evidence," Bruce replied lightly, "I'm more inclined to think that Ross took the shot he wanted and scored. HYDRA was probably just riding his coattails since he's always been a bit careless."
Steve nodded in agreement. The blame for what happened was too circumstantial, and they could not wallow in it, not with Tony and Sam missing. He knew that Tony had the Iron Man suit, but Sam was in a more vulnerable position that high up in the air. There was literally no air to breathe in and Sam only had the EXO-Falcon flight harness. If HYDRA did attack then Tony would have had a very hard time making sure Sam did not die of hypoxia and also to defend himself. "The main point is that Tony and Sam are missing and Strucker is still out there," he glanced at Bucky, but his best friend did not move an inch or give any indication to the name.
"Strucker?" Natasha asked, setting her mug down. "Baron Wolfgang von Strucker?"
"Red Room?" Maria interjected and Natasha grimaced a little.
"Black Widow Project subdivision of the Red Room," she replied before turning her head to look at Bucky who had a more visible reaction as he pinched the bridge of his nose with his metal hand. Natasha quickly said something in Russian and there was a very halting reply before Bucky looked up and stared at her. There was something different in his eyes, almost soft.
"Natalia?" Steve knew some very basic Russian to know that Natasha's name was a diminutive form and that her name spoken by the computerized Armin Zola was Natalia Alianova Romanova. But to hear Bucky say it...
There was the ghost of a smile on Natasha's face as she nodded once. "Yasha," she said quietly before turning to the rest of them, "where's Strucker?"
"London," Maria's expression was professionally blank, but Steve could not help but wonder if Maria was thinking about the early days of Natasha's involvement with SHIELD, of trying very hard to not assassinate Fury. "Stark and Wilson were headed there to bring the media firestorm on Strucker and force him to cough up his secrets."
"London it is then," there was something dangerous in Natasha's expression, one that promised a slow drawn out torturous death and surprisingly Steve found himself agreeing with her sentiments. With the confirmation of Strucker being involved in the Red Room and by proxy, involved somehow with Bucky – even if his friend's adverse reaction to Strucker's sketch a day earlier – Steve knew that they had to head to London. If not for Bucky's sake, but definitely for Tony and Sam's sake. He would never leave his friends in HYDRA's hands.
Author's Notes:
[continues to cackle like a loon]