A/N: Spoiler Alert! This was story was inspired by Captain America: Civil War.
Many thanks to CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur for the Beta, and Black' Victor Cachat for brainstorming.
Namaste,
Sunny
Captain America
Civil War
I Still Believe
By Sword and Fire
The hydra's seven heads were in constant motion, roaring, and snorting steam, while the tail lashed side to side, and the claws raked the air.
Bucky and Wanda held onto each other, momentarily paralyzed by fear. Wanda clutched at his sleeves. "It seems we both should have paid more attention to the myth of the hydra."
"The motto of HYDRA should've given us a clue: Cut off one head and two more shall take its place." They winced when the creature roared again, almost as if it were challenging them. Bucky closed his eyes, concentrating. To his relief, a field sprung up around it, preventing it from attacking. From experience, it wouldn't last long. They had to make this quick.
Wanda eased out of his arms, poised to grab on again. "If I remember correctly, slaying the hydra was the second labor of Hercules."
"He was sent by Eurystheus to slay the hydra which Hera had raised in order to kill Hercules. I'm guessing it was to keep him from completing the Twelve Labors. He drew the hydra out of his lair at the spring of Amymone using flaming arrows."
"Yes. The creature only emerged from the cave to terrorize neighboring villages."
Bucky rubbed the back of his head with one hand while the other fingered the sword now in its sheath. "One of the heads is supposedly immortal."
"Perhaps together, we can make your subconscious believe that it can be killed."
"How do we do that?" The field surrounding the hydra sputtered, and vanished.
Facing Bucky, Wanda rubbed her fingers together, generating a red mist. "I need you to concentrate. You must have absolute, unshakable faith that my abilities will be able to control the creature long enough for us to devise a strategy. There's something else, and this comes from logic."
He closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. "Because I'm programmed to respond to the trigger words, I have to be the one to kill it."
"Da. I can assist, but the killing blow must come from you." The mist emanating from her hands grew, spreading like a red oil slick in the air until it surrounded the hydra. The creature didn't like that at all. It roared, and clawed at the barrier, even slammed its heads against it.
"Sword and fire!" Bucky exclaimed. "The myth states that it was his nephew, Iolaus who came up with the idea to scorch the neck stumps after each decapitation to prevent the heads from growing back."
Nodding in agreement, Wanda adjusted her position to cover a portion of the barrier that had become thin, shoring it up. She wouldn't be able to continue for much longer, considering that her body was in a cryogenic state. If she were conscious, the story would be different. Here, she didn't have the physical energy reserves to draw on. Only the mental. "So, the plan is for you to cut off the head, and I will seal the stump with fire."
"And once that's done, the last head, the immortal one, has to be crushed under a giant rock."
Exhaling long and loud, Wanda nodded. "Too bad you can't just step on it."
"Right." Now that the thought was in his head, he wondered, Why not?
Bellona's Bistro
As the last note of the song faded, the audience applauded. Cameron glanced over at Clint, and nodded. There was a chorus of requests for another song, and Clint gave in without much convincing.
"This is another classic I'm sure you all know the words to, so go ahead and sing along. The lyrics encourage us to imagine a world at peace, without the barriers of borders, or the divisions of religion and nationality. It asks us to consider the possibility that the focus of humanity should be living a life unattached to material possessions, without politics, and to imagine that there's nothing in this world that divides us. It's called Imagine."
Imagine there's no heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people living for today
Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people living life in peace
You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one
Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people sharing all the world
Playing the final notes, Cameron once again glanced at Clint, who was taking a well-deserved bow. He could see Hill staring at him with the strangest look on her face. If she had anything to say, he'd hear about it later, whether or not they spent the night together.
The phone in his back pocket vibrated, startling him. He pulled it out, scrolling through the alert he'd set up.
~~O~~
No one seemed to notice that Cameron was staring at his phone or the strange look on his face. He motioned Clint over. The two men spoke urgently for several seconds. Clint took off the guitar, and handed it back to Hanif. The two men jumped off the stage, and left the restaurant without a word.
Hill tapped Natasha on the shoulder. "What's that about?"
One shoulder shrugged. "Whatever it is, Clint'll tell me eventually. And I'm sure Cameron will do the same for you." A buzz drew Natasha's attention to her phone lying on the table. She read the message, and leaned over to speak with Steve. He passed the message onto Scott. They all finished their drinks, and stood. Natasha and Scott were already on the way to the door.
Sam moved over to the seat next to Hill. To stop the inevitable questions, she held up her hand. "Don't know. But we're going to find out."
Hill signaled for the server, paid the check, and the two companions headed back to the compound, making for the cryolab. There they found their friends stationed outside the room where Bucky's cryotube had been moved. Through the window, they could see Wanda and Bucky still huddled together inside the tube. Though the alarms had been silenced, Hill could see that their vital signs were dangerously high.
"What's going on?" she asked no one in particular.
Steve crossed his arms without taking his eyes from the monitors. "Not sure. There was a sudden increase in their vital signs, and brain function. If I had to guess, I'd say they're fighting the last of the trigger words, and it's not going the way they hoped."
~~O~~
As a reminder that he had a stake in the outcome of Wanda's experiment, Scott moved in between Steve and Natasha, arms crossed, and chewing on one thumbnail. He had so many questions for the doctor, but didn't want to interrupt her concentration.
Kaya had gone into the room, and shut everyone out. Moving from the computer to the monitor, to the cryotube itself, she kept her features in that unreadable mask doctors effected to ease the fears of the patient's loved ones when they had no answers for their questions.
Unable to stand still, Scott paced while rubbing his hands together. Eventually, Hill, and Sam left the area. Clint and Cameron hadn't shown, and Scott was too worried about Wanda to care what they were up to.
Cameron's Room
Clint followed Cameron into his room. The tech tossed his jacket on the bed, sat down at the computer, and booted up the facial recognition program he'd been running. Clint grabbed a chair, turned it around, and straddled the seat, watching the tech's fingers fly over the keys. One last click and a line flashed on the right-hand side.
384 potential matches
Cameron tabbed to a specific field, narrating as he worked. "I'm further filtering the results to get them down to a manageable number. If I eliminate those who have biological family who are living, and concentrate on those who are adopted, that brings the number down to less than fifty."
"Remove those who are serving time." More tapping and the number came down to twenty-three. Clint made a grunt of annoyance. "There must be a way to shrink the list even more."
"That's pretty much it." He didn't want to say it out loud, but there was no other way, unless they wanted to sit here and look at each individual's stats. "Do any of them live in or near Vancouver, B.C.?" Cameron did his magic, and the list was down to three names. Clint pointed. "That one."
The one Clint indicated enlarged, the photo of a young man with curly brown hair taking up most of the right side, while the information sorted itself out on the left.
Name: Clancy, Taylor
DOB: 8 August 1995
Current Residence: 4321 Orange Blossom Rd, Vancouver, B.C. V6A5Z4
Phone number 604-555-1508
No criminal record
No driving history
No credit history
Current Employment: Virtuosity fulfillment clerk, late night shift
Has checking account with RBC Royal Bank of Canada, but no credit history
Adopted from Romania at the age of six by the Clancy family: Clancy, Adam (father), Clancy, Julia (mother), Clancy, Ryan (brother), Clancy, Quinn (sister). No other family.
"Now compare Taylor Clancy's photo with Pietro Maximoff's."
Cameron frowned, his forehead crinkling in confusion. "But he died on…"
Suddenly impatient with the tech, Clint interrupted. "I know when he died, Klein. Just do it."
Photos of the two men appeared side by side while the facial recognition program ran a comparison. Upon completion, the program gave the results, the words blinking in green.
88% positive match
Clint only had one word that fit the situation. "S***!" He pushed out of the chair, and returned it to the table. At the door, he looked over his shoulder at Cameron. "Not a word to anyone, Klein. Not even Hill, and especially not Romanoff. Got it?"
Not waiting for Cameron's agreement, Clint left the room, and made his way to the cryolab, taking his place near the back of the group. Natasha noticed his arrival, and moved to his side. "Where did you and Cam go?"
"Working on a special project."
"Can I get a hint?"
Kaya came to the window, and gave them a thumbs up. Clint turned around, and headed for the door. "Nope."
An Undisclosed Location
A group of men and women huddled in front of the monitor, listening raptly to the man pacing in front of a white board. It was low tech, but better for his use than a tablet or laptop.
"…the weapons have already been smuggled into Wakanda. Now that King T'Challa is allowing tourists into the country, we can move forward with our plans.
"In the folders you each hold in your hands, you will find a current passport, along with other documents to solidify your assumed identity. Credit cards, birth certificates, and so forth. For the first few days, you will play tourist. Sightsee, purchase souvenirs, take photos. When the time is right, you will receive instructions where to meet for the final briefing, and the mission will begin."
His hair was short and dark, brown eyes peered from under bushy eyebrows, and his muscles bulged in all the places they should, though his stomach bulged slightly, most likely from his love of beer. His beard covered the entire lower half of his face, having been allowed to grow unchecked with no attempt at taming or shaping the curly hairs. In America, the tank shirt was called a wife-beater, untucked over a pair of faded camouflage pants.
"If we are to execute the operation without mishaps, it must go exactly according to the plan laid out." He paused for dramatic effect. "Dismissed."
The monitor went black, and those present moved into their assigned groups. Their leader rapped on the table to get their attention. "Study the information on your assumed identities, and work together on your cover stories. There must be no mistakes, or the coup is doomed to failure before it begins. Over the next couple of weeks, each of you will be tested, and those found lacking will be removed."
The leader didn't have to elaborate. They all knew that removal from the mission equaled a death sentence.
United Nations
New York City
Moving through the UN General Assembly building, T'Challa smiled blandly at those who welcomed him and his personal bodyguards, Imani and Tafari. They weren't necessary, as he was quite capable of taking care of himself. However, as king, he was expected to have an entourage. He was also expected to begin producing heirs.
The Dora Milaje, in addition to functioning as his bodyguards, provided him with a pool from which to choose a potential mate. T'Challa, however, preferred the old-fashioned method of marrying for love. At one time or another, he'd spoken to each of the Dora Milaje, engaging them in casual conversation. In his opinion, none of them were wife and mother material. They were attractive enough, and quite skilled at their jobs, but there was no sense of a maternal bond, possibly due to being orphaned at young ages. He got no sense that these women would be nurturing.
Twisting his ring, the one that had been passed down from king to king for untold generations, T'Challa came to a stop in front of a door with the name Dr. Abdu Hawa engraved on the plaque to the right. He knocked, and was admitted by a dour-faced woman.
"Please come in, your highness. My name is Sylvia." She cast a wary glance at Imani and Tafari who'd stationed themselves in the hallway, went to an inner door, knocked once, and opened it without waiting for an invitation. "Dr. Hawa? He's here."
The man behind the desk came around to greet T'Challa with a huge smile, and a hug. "It is good to see you again, nephew."
"And you, uncle." The men seated themselves on the leather sofa near the bookshelves.
To his assistant, Abdu said, "Would you bring us some coffee please, Sylvia?" The woman, forty-ish, and plain, though stylishly dressed, nodded and closed the door behind her. "You're looking well. Being king agrees with you."
T'Challa unbuttoned his jacket, leaned back, and breathed a sigh of relief. "Though the crew did most of the work, the flight from Wakanda to New York was long, and tiring."
The door opened, and Sylvia returned with an elegant tray holding a thermal carafe, two cups with saucers, sugar, cream, and a plate of delicate pastries. She left again without saying a word.
Abdu poured coffee into the cups, passed one to T'Challa, and kept the other for himself. "Your aunt will be happy to see you. Though she speaks to Kaya several times a week, Jamila will no doubt ask many questions about our daughter. She does not believe that she is providing full disclosure of her personal activities."
T'Challa sipped the coffee, and set the cup back in the saucer. "Kaya is well. She is highly respected in her field, and has many friends. And she is dating a man to whom she is devoted."
"She's mentioned him on several occasions. I gather that this man Steven is not Wakandan, and has only been in the country a short time. Did he come for work? From where does he hail? Kaya has told us nothing except that she and Steven spend much of their free time together."
"That is a subject for another time and place, uncle." The monarch could see in his uncle's eyes that he understood that the walls could have ears, and what he had to say was only for the family to hear. He looked at his watch. "The conference is due to begin soon, and we have much to discuss before then."
The older man nodded, and reached for the carafe to refill both their cups. "Matters of the state take precedence over matters of the heart, eh?"
Vancouver, B.C.
The Clancy Home
Midnight
The light in the bathroom went out, and Julia opened the door, yawning as she returned to bed. One hand lifted the covers, and let them drop. Can't hurt to check on the kids one more time.
She went into Quinn's room, nearly tripping over a pair of shoes, and a pile of clothes. Shaking her head, Julia put the shoes in the closet, and carried the dirty clothes to the laundry chute.
Ryan left his door open about three inches every night. Said he wanted to get used to doing it in case they ever got a cat. The boy had been stating his case for having a pet since he turned four. Julia thought it had to do with having a new baby in the family because it started around the time Quinn was born. However, eight years later, he still wanted a cat. They'd discuss it at the next family meeting.
Outside Taylor's door, Julia hesitated. He was twenty-one, and had a full-time job. More than capable of living on his own. He didn't need a mother checking up on him, but to ease her own mind, she did it anyway.
Taylor was on his stomach, the covers kicked off, and snoring lightly. She crept into the room, gently pulled the blanket loose from where it had caught under his foot, and covered him. His features were serene in repose. Julia brushed at the hairs over his ears where the brown was already turning silver again, and touched his cheek. At the contact, he stirred in his sleep, and Julia quickly left the room so he wouldn't be embarrassed that she'd been watching him without his knowledge.
She covered a yawn with the back of her hand as she padded down the hall to the room she shared with Adam, closed the door, and got into bed. Her husband was such a sound sleeper, he never even moved.
~~O~~
The alarm rang, waking Julia from a dream she didn't remember. She sat up on the side of the bed, and reached over to shake Adam awake. "Time to get up, honey."
Her husband mumbled, and rolled over facing her. With a grin, he grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her back into bed with him, cuddling her close. "Five more minutes, babe."
"Taylor's making breakfast today. His infamous stuffed French toast and sausage."
"Worth getting out of bed early on a Saturday." Adam gave Julia a kiss, tossed back the covers, and sat up, sniffing the air. "I don't smell anything cooking."
By now, Julia could hear Ryan and Quinn arguing over the bathroom, and whose turn it was to go first. The door slammed, and that was it, for the moment. Puzzled, Julia pushed her feet into slippers, and jogged downstairs to see if Taylor needed a hand.
On the first floor, she stopped, turning her head to the side, thinking she'd heard something, dismissing it as her imagination. Julia rubbed a hand through her hair, and turned toward the kitchen.
As she passed the living room, her eyes flew open wide. She ran to Taylor, going down on her knees at his side. Once she'd rolled him onto his back so he could breathe properly, she looked around, spying a cell phone on the coffee table. She picked it up, and dialed 9-1-1. "My name is Dr. Julia Clancy. My address is 4321 Orange Blossom Rd, Vancouver. My son is unconscious. I think he's had a seizure." She tossed the phone on the floor, calling out, "Adam!"
He ran downstairs, followed by the kids. They rushed to Taylor, asking a multitude of questions while she did a cursory exam. Soon, sirens could be heard coming down their street, and stopping in front of the house.
"Ryan, go let them in." Julia's words were clipped, spoken in what Adam called her doctor voice. Meant to be obeyed without question.
The boy ran to the door, and came back just ahead of the paramedics wheeling a stretcher laden with equipment.
Adam drew Quinn out of the way, and Ryan joined them in the dining room doorway.
The woman quickly and cleanly inserted an IV while the man took Taylor's vital signs. "What's his name?"
"Taylor. He's twenty-one. No known allergies. The only meds he's taken are OTC for headaches. Over the last few weeks, he's been having mild seizures, but he's only lost consciousness once. I tried to get him to go to the doctor, but he was waiting for his medical insurance to kick in at work. Didn't want to be a burden on us. Not sure what he ate last. Dinner, maybe. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes with gravy, vegetables, chocolate cake. He doesn't drink alcohol, that I know of."
The man affixed the heart and EEG monitors. "Are the seizures a new phenomenon, or does he have a history of them?"
She glanced at Adam. Two people to whom you should never lie are your lawyer or your doctor, so she told a partial truth. "We don't know. He's adopted."
The woman nodded to the man, and together, they lifted Taylor onto the stretcher as Julia held the front door open. "Where are you taking him?"
"Mercy General."
"We'll meet you there."
The woman got in the back of the ambulance with Taylor, the man closed the doors, and went around to get behind the wheel. The ambulance pulled away from the curb with its lights flashing, but no siren. That was a good sign.
The family joined her on the front porch, watching until the ambulance had turned the corner. Adam sighed. "Let's get dressed, and get to the hospital. We'll stop for drive-thru on the way."
Quinn clutched at Julia, her little girl eyes wide with fear. "Tay's gonna be okay, isn't he, Mom? Please don't let him die!"
Julia hugged the girl, her eyes catching those of her husband. "We'll have to see what the doctors say."
"But you're a doctor! Don't you know?"
"Oh, honey. I'm a different kind of doctor, a psychologist. The ones at the hospital are the best to handle whatever's wrong with Taylor." She wiped Quinn's tears, and gave her a confident smile. "I'm sure he'll be fine. Now you and Ryan go get dressed so we can go to the hospital."
Once the kids were out of earshot, Adam gripped Julia's hand. "We might have to tell them the truth, Jules."
She nodded, and together, they went upstairs. Within a few minutes, the family had piled into Adam's SUV, and were on their way to the hospital.
Wakanda
The Cryolab
Holding the tablet in his left hand, Cameron stopped just inside the door to the cryolab. Most of his friends were sitting or standing around watching the monitor, and awaiting word on Wanda and Bucky. And while he too was worried for the pair, he had other things on his mind.
Clint was sitting on the floor with his knees up, rubbing his hands together. Cameron caught his eye, and tilted his head to indicate they needed to speak in private.
The archer caught up with him in the hallway. "What's up?"
"I did some more digging into the life of Taylor Clancy." Cameron scrolled to the pertinent information. "He was found unconscious in a park in Bucharest. No ID, and no memory of who he is, and none of the missing persons in the area matched his description.
"After the doctors determined he had no organic issues that would've caused the amnesia, he was sent to the Bucharest Mental Health Institute for observation and a psychological evaluation with a psychologist by the name of Julia Clancy. She determined that he had no underlying mental problems such as schizophrenia or bipolar disorder."
"What was she doing in Romania?"
They kept walking while Cameron scrolled to the next page. "The primary reason she and her family were in Romania was that her daughter was receiving experimental treatment for a form of cancer that affects children under the age of ten. The treatment worked, and she's in remission. And second, Dr. Clancy put her time in between her daughter's treatments to good use by accepting a temporary teaching position at the hospital where she just happened to be the doctor on call when Taylor was brought in.
"He was released within a week. However, because he had nowhere to go, Dr. Clancy offered him a place to stay. When the family returned to Vancouver, he went with them. Adam Clancy, the husband, holds a high-level position with a company that works exclusively for the Canadian government. Through his contacts, he was able to procure documents saying that they'd adopted Taylor from Romania at the age of six."
The tablet beeped. Cameron minimized the page to read the incoming message. He took too long, and Clint poked him on the arm.
"What now?"
"Taylor's been admitted to Mercy General Hospital in Vancouver." Clint's expression fell into his bland mask, the one he used to hide his emotions. He gestured for Cameron to continue. "His mother, uh, Dr. Clancy found him unconscious on the living room floor. The ER doctor's notes indicate that he's had a recent history of seizures, and has ordered a battery of tests to locate the cause."
Clint took the tablet, read the material, and passed it back. "Keep this between us for now."
"Sir, shouldn't we tell Agent Romanoff?"
"Tell me what?" The two men turned at the sound of Natasha's angry voice as she came up behind them. "Why're the two of you being so secretive? What don't you want me to know?"
TBC
Imagine is a song written and performed by the English musician John Lennon, released in October 1971.