This chapter title comes from Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë.

Chapter Sixteen - To commit a hasty action (return good for evil)

When Danielle woke up, she was floating again. She vaguely remembered the explosion, vaguely remembered her body stitching itself back together, vaguely remembered the pain, the escape, the exhaustion. She didn't remember ever finding shelter.

Which she supposed would explain why there hadn't been a ceiling to stop her.

If she'd had air, she would have screamed. Danielle flailed, reaching for the absolute nothing that was available to her. She spun uselessly. And then she was looking up. Was it . . . up? She wasn't sure. But she was sure that she'd never seen the stars like this. The sky—well, it wasn't exactly sky anymore so much as it was just everything—was wide and dark and gaping and the stars were like pinpricks in black paper allowing the cold light behind it to sneak through. It was just her, alone and bare and lonely, beneath a million stars.

And Danielle felt small.

The building was gone.

The ceilings and walls just weren't there anymore. In their place, there was scattered and charred rubble of what once must have been a secure base. The cement floor was shattered apart, an ashen black that crumbled when touched. In places, there were mangled bodies, twisted remnants of what once might have been human.

Tony swallowed and refused to think of what might have happened to Danielle until he had more information. "JARVIS. Uh, can you tell what the epicenter of the explosion was?"

JARVIS took a moment. And then he put up the indicator on the screen, pinpointing one area of the destroyed building. "This seems to be central. Everything originated from here in an outward blast."

"Got it." To the rest of the team, he spoke as he lowered down towards that spot. "Found the center of the blast. Anyone alive yet?"

"Not that we've found," Steve said through the coms. "We'll let you know."

"Sounds good." Tony flipped up his faceplate so he could survey the damage at the epicenter. The concrete floor at the very center was the only area that wasn't utterly destroyed, and atop it sat disfigured metal that might have once been . . . some sort of table?

And it was all soaked red.

Tony forced a breath. "JARVIS. Cause of the blast, again?"

"Evidence points towards the blast being of Tesseract-origin, indicating that Danielle was both the center and the cause."

Tony couldn't remember the suit opening, but the next thing he knew he was on his hands and knees as he emptied out the entire contents of his stomach onto the ground. He dragged the sleeve of his shirt across his mouth and slumped, just too tired to properly hold himself up.

A hand barely touched his shoulder, so gentle that he expected to see Natasha when he looked up. Instead, he found Bucky and realized that the touch wasn't gentle at all, just hesitant. "What do you want, Barnes?" he rasped.

Bucky pulled his hand back—it had been his metal one—and glanced away, casting his gaze across the destruction. "She's alive. I— You just need to know that. I, I can't promise that she's okay, but I can promise that she's alive."

"You can't— You can't know that. Look at this. Look— How would you even know that? How—" Tony's hands shook. "How would you even know that she's alive?"

"Because . . . she doesn't have a choice." Bucky shrugged and his hand went to his sheathed knife. His thumb rubbed repeatedly against the hilt. He finally met Tony's gaze again. "You can't destroy the Tesseract. And Nell is the Tesseract."

Tony shifted—still not standing, still leaning heavily into the ground for support—but just enough that he could see Bucky better. Just enough that Bucky could see his fear better. "I don't understand."

"You do. You're smart."

Tony closed his eyes. "She's alive?" he whispered.

"She's alive."

"Tony. Barnes. I've found something."

Natasha's voice broke the conversation and both of them turned towards where the redhead was to the east, past a couple destroyed walls. She was crouching down, studying something next to another mangled body. "Someone survived. And they've left."

By the time she was done, the truck station bathroom was soaked in red. Her hands were stained and slick and it made it hard to grip the metal. The blood running into her eyes made it hard to see. Danielle wiped futilely at her eyes again and then gently touched another energy-formed screwdriver to the chip again, securing it closed. Then she lifted the device up to her head, skin and bone alike partially removed. It was too hard to see, so she went by feel as she sank the wires back into her brain.

Her hands shook and her throat was raw from forcing down her sounds, but the device was secure. Trembling, she picked up the part of her skull she'd removed and pressed it back into place, letting Tesseract energy lace it back together. Her vision was blurry now, and this time it wasn't because of the blood in her eyes.

Danielle clutched at the long jacket protecting her body, pulling it closed to try to keep herself warm as she gave in and slumped to the ground. As the black spots spread in her vision, she whispered, "ARNO?"

"Hey, Boss. It's good to be back."

"Rumlow."

Steve looked up, leaning back from the table to reach for the file Natasha was holding out. "You sure?"

"I'm sure. We tested the blood from whoever it was that escaped." She crossed her arms. "Rumlow."

Bucky poorly stifled a low growl and leaned across the table, snatching the file from Steve's hands. He opened it, metal hand gripping the paper dangerously. Clint didn't even try to stop himself as he swore. "Rumlow? Out of all people, why the hell—" He cut himself off, gritting his teeth. "Where is he?"

"Last known? Looks like he was in a hospital in Caimito as of last night. Under a false name, but," —Bucky scowled at the security footage stills— "it's definitely him."

"So what are we waiting for?" Tony rasped, dragging a hand through his hair and settling his heavy gaze on Bucky. "Are we going?"

Bucky glanced over the information in the file one more time and then nodded, setting the papers down. "Of course."

"¿Cuánto tiempo te quedarás con nosotros?" [How long will you be staying with us?] The receptionist looked up briefly from the computer to give her an expectant stare when she didn't answer. "¿Señora?"

"Oh." Danielle forcibly pulled herself back to the present and offered a tired smile. She twisted the bow on her blouse around her fingers. "No estoy seguro. ¿Comencemos con tres días?" [I'm not sure. Let's start with three days?]

The receptionist nodded and finished up his work. He slid her keycard across the desk to her. "Disfrute su estadía, señorita Ramsey." [Enjoy your stay, Miss Ramsey.]

"Gracías." She took the card and stooped just enough to pick up her bag. She turned to leave and then hesitated. "Me gustaría ordenar el menú hasta mi habitación, por favor." [I'd like to order the menu up to my room, please.]

He blinked and then nodded. "Por supuesto. ¿Qué te gustaría del menú?" [Of course. What would you like from the menu?]

"No— No, me gustaría el menú completo, por favor." [No— No, I'd like the entire menu, please.]

He blinked again. He stared. And then he cleared his throat and turned to put the order into the computer. "Por supuesto, señora." [Of course, ma'am.]

She murmured her thanks again and finally left. She escaped to the safety of her hotel room except . . . it wasn't exactly safety, was it? The smell of saltwater pressed into her lungs, begging her to relax, to unwind. But she couldn't. She just couldn't. Her skin itched beneath the heavy layers of makeup hiding her scars and her identity and her wig kept making the irritation on her scalp worse and worse and worse.

"Tell me again why you're here and not in Bucharest?"

Danielle groaned and dropped her bag, slumping down onto the bed. "ARNO, please," she whispered. "Don't do this."

"Humor me."

She closed her eyes and threw an arm across her face. "I don't know what he did to me," she whispered.

"He tried to brainwash you with the chair. I'm pretty sure he failed, Boss."

"But then why was he so pleased with himself?" Danielle snapped. "Why the hell—"

"¿Señorita Ramsey? Tengo tu comida." [Miss Ramsey? I have your food.]

Danielle sighed and dragged herself up. As ARNO began to say something else, she muttered, "Not now. Please not now." She opened the door, already digging out money as she let the two hotel workers wheel the carts into her room. "Gracias," she said, giving them each their tip and stepping aside to eagerly wait for them to leave. As soon as they did, she shut the door and leaned against it, closing her eyes.

"Boss—"

"Don't. Please."

"He's running! South exit!"

Bucky dropped from his position guarding the westernmost exit to the building and started heading that way. He got there just in time to see Rumlow dig his elbow into Natasha's side and get a stinger to the neck in return. Rumlow grunted and fell to one knee. Natasha slammed a knee into his nose and, as he fell to the ground, pointed her gun at him to keep him still. "I wouldn't move if I were you," she said coolly.

Rumlow spat out blood and a tooth and looked up, a snarl twisting his mutilated face. "You wouldn't."

Bucky aimed his gun at him and watched out of the corner of his eye as the others arrived and mostly did the same. Tony lifted his hand and the repulsor on his palm started humming. "Don't test me," the Stark said, the modulator taking out the exhaustion Bucky knew was in his voice and replacing it with robotic coldness.

Rumlow's gaze flicked between them all and his snarl shifted into a grin. "What? She's really worth all this?" He gestured to them all and their grips on their weapons tightened. He paused and carefully lowered his hand. "Alright. No need to get trigger happy, here."

"On the contrary," Clint grit out. "Where is she?"

Rumlow scoffed. "Hell if I know. You think I haven't been trying to figure that out? After all the work I just put into her?"

Clint's expression tightened. "What did you do to her?" he asked, the harshness in his voice just barely suppressing the trembling to his words.

"Did you know the chair doesn't work on her? God, we tried. Over and over and over. Nothing. Well . . . ." His grin turned a touch feral. "Nothing but her screams. It's a painful process. You remember that at least, don't you, Soldat?"

Bucky growled and didn't give him the satisfaction of an answer.

"Of course, even if you do remember, you probably haven't shared that information, have you. I mean, how much have you actually told them? About what you did?" Rumlow cocked his head to the side, but not far. His burned skin pulled like it wouldn't let him go farther. "Do they know you're the one who dragged her off to Hyrda in the first place?"

Bucky's expression twisted and he stepped forward. Rumlow took the opportunity and rolled, yanking Bucky's foot out from under him as he went. And then a flash bomb went off, leaving them with burned eyes and ringing ears. By the time that cleared, Rumlow was far ahead, on the run.

"Form thirteen!" Steve yelled as he took off.

Bucky ran to the left, diverging from the others as he chased their target down. He could just barely see Rumlow before he disappeared around a turn. "He's heading east!"

"He's aiming for a high population concentration. We have to stop him before he gets there," Steve said. "No civilian crossfire."

"Catching up," Clint announced. "Gotcha, ya bas—" His com cut out.

"Hawkeye? Hawkeye, respond. Hawkeye!" Steve swore loudly. "Anyone have eyes on them?"

A chorus of nos answered him. Natasha cut in, saying, "Assuming they're engaged?"

"That's our best choice for now. We need to give Hawkeye backup."

And then they heard a gun, both cutting through the air itself as well as through their coms. It was silent for a moment, and then Bucky turned a sharp angle and found them just several of the others were. Clint was standing over Rumlow, gun in hand as he impassively stared down at the hole drilled through the body's head. He looked up. "He was resisting." He said the statement casually enough that it was achingly hard to believe him.

"He could have had more information," Steve growled out, crouching down to futilely check for any remaining signs of life.

Clint said nothing for a long moment. Then he said, "I'd do it again. I won't apologize for that."

Bucky glanced away, his satisfaction at Rumlow's death fighting with the regret that he hadn't been the one to do it. He frowned. "Where's Tony?"

"Bringing the quinjet around," Tony's voice said over their coms. But now, the exhaustion in his voice seemed far more than just physical. "Ready to load?"

Although she knew that the others in the building were fearful of the storm—she could hear the frantic pattering of their hearts beneath the roaring thunder of the maelstrom—she wasn't afraid. Danielle tilted her face up towards the sky and closed her eyes, focusing on the harsh coldness of the pelting rain against her skin. There was something comforting about the total lack of control. The knowledge that the storm could sweep her away at any moment.

That was an illusion, of course. She knew that in many ways she had more control that she liked. But it was a soft illusion, and she would live in it as long as she could.

It was the crying that shattered her comfort.

Danielle opened her eyes against the storm and looked out towards where the sound had come from. When she didn't see anything, she stood and glanced around for a moment—part of her said that was pointless, because who would be crazy enough to be out in this weather?—before she flickered away, closer to the sound. She landed on a rooftop and peered down.

There was a car in a flooded ditch. There was someone in the drivers' seat, and it looked like she was talking. But Danielle couldn't hear her over the storm and the wails.

But she could hear the creaking of the telephone pole.

She acted before she'd even fully thought it through. She flickered infront of the car, dug her fingers through the metal as she grabbed it, and swung the entire thing out of the way right before the pole crashed down into the ditch. And she was left holding a whole car a foot off the ground, identity bare without her wig or makeup, and being stared at by the family in the vehicle.

Her heart stopped. It wasn't the first time her heart had stopped, of course, but somehow this felt worse. She dropped the car more harshly than she needed too. The crying started again. "Shit, sorry!" She could see in the backseat at the child that was clutching his arm to his chest as she sobbed. It was twisted wrong. Broken, then. At least that explained why they were out driving in this storm.

She's already done a lot of damage to her hidden identity. What did a little more matter? She flickered to the back door and opened it. "Hey," she said, trying to keep her voice soft but knowing that she had to pitch its volume over the roar of the storm. "Puedo ayudar." [I can help]. She reached out a hand to the kid.

The mother let out a shaky breath, as if she was still struggling to come to terms with the situation. The child in the front seat stared at her with wide eyes. "¿Eres un superhéroe?" [Are you a superhero?]she whispered.

Danielle glanced at her. "No lo sé," she admitted. "Pero yo puedo ayudar. ¿Me dejarás ayudar?" [I don't know. But I can help. Will you let me help?]

The boy sniffled, still holding his arm against his chest. He nodded cautiously.

"Okay, okay." She ducked fully into the car and the door slammed shut in the wind behind her. "Va a doler un poco, pero será mejor. Lo prometo. Aquí." [It's going to hurt just a little, but it'll be better. I promise. Here.] She took his unhurt hand and had him hold on to her fingers. "Aprieta tan fuerte como puedas, ¿de acuerdo?" [Squeeze as hard as you can, okay?] Then she slipped off one arm of her jacket and twisted it around to lift it up towards his mouth. "Y muerde esto." [And bite down on this.]

He hiccuped out another sob and then did as she said. Danielle glanced briefly at the shell-shocked mother and then took his broken forearm in her free hand. He let out a little cry through the jacket and she soothed him with a low hum. Tesseract energy spread through his skin, warming his arm as she took stock of the situation. Just a clean break, then. Easy. She wrapped tendrils around the two edges of bone. "Es rapido," [It's quick.] she promised again. And then she snapped the two pieces back against each other and let the energy seep between them to bind them together.

The boy screamed through the jacket and his grip on her fingers tightened. But the sound quickly trailed off into nothing but quiet whimpers. Danielle pulled her hand back and gently took her jacket from his mouth. "¿Mejor?" [Better?]

Eyes wide, he nodded.

"¿Quién eres tú?" [Who are you?]

Danielle glanced at the mother, who had finally spoken. Instead of answering that, she said, "Va a estar bien, pero entiendo si todavía quieres llevarlo al hospital." [He going to be okay, but I understand if you want to still get him to the hospital.]

The mother swallowed and nodded. "Por favor," [Please.] she choked out.

"Por supuesto." [Of course.]

It was the first time he'd seen Tony since they'd gotten off the quinjet after chasing Rumlow, but not for a lack of trying. For the last two days, he'd been doing nothing but trying. But Tony was smart, and he had JARVIS on his side, so it was easy for him to evade Bucky's attempts.

So Bucky hadn't expected to see him accidentally when Tony stumbled into the common area at three in the morning, looking for coffee while Bucky was hunched over a computer and stacks of information about Danielle's possible whereabouts. He and Clint were continuing to check in on the Bucharest coffee shop, but she wasn't there yet, if she was ever going to be there at all. And so he'd been searching desperately for any other clue for where she might possibly be. He was clicking through security stills from a library in Dubai when he heard the coffee mug shatter.

Bucky jumped, looking up and finally realizing he wasn't alone. Tony was staring at him in a half-daze, too exhausted to even notice the broken ceramic at his feet. Bucky straightened. "Tony."

Tony flinched.

Bucky quickly backtracked. "Stark," he corrected. "I—" He hesitated, watching the way that Tony was clearly ready to flee at a moment's notice. "We should work together to find her, first. Then we can go back to you hating me."

"It's, it's not— I don't know if I hate you."

Bucky couldn't hold back his scoff. "Coulda fooled me."

Tony scowled and moved to take a step forward. He stopped as soon as he realized he was about to step barefoot onto the ceramic. He stepped back again. "I just . . . want to know why the hell this, why— Just, I keep learning about all this stuff that she hasn't— You two have hidden stuff. And I just want to know what's going on with my daughter. So I can protect her. Though I've been doing a . . . pretty shit job there, aren't I?" His scowl turned into an angry expression, though Bucky felt it was directed inward instead of at him.

"I know the feeling," Bucky murmured.

Tony looked ready to argue, but instead he sighed. His shoulders slumped.

Bucky glanced down at his papers and hesitated. "I— There's other things, but Nell should be the one to tell you those when she feels she can. There's just, just one that I should be responsible for telling you right now." He looked up and stared Tony down. "Just promise that you'll wait to hate me until after she's home."

Tony's gaze narrowed. "I doubt anything could be worse than you having been the one to take her away in the first place."

Bucky swallowed. "I— It's why we left. I, I didn't feel I could—" He cleared his throat. "Look at you, I guess. Knowing that I'd done. Once, once I remembered it."

Tony cautiously stepped around the broken mug and busied himself with getting a different mug and finally starting the coffee maker. "Just spit it out."

"What happened to your parents was my fault."

He stopped, one hand on the machine as he stared at the cabinet in front of him, his back to Bucky.

"I didn't remember when I came here originally. I— It felt wrong, living here and knowing that I'd done that."

Tony lowered his hand and drummed his fingers against the counter. "Why? Hydra had you . . . ."

"Kill them?"

Tony flinched and finally turned to face him. His expression was blank, but his eyes were sharp. It was how Bucky had seen Danielle look countless times when she was working on a problem. The Stark's eyes narrowed. "But why?"

"I— I'm not sure. I had to get something from the trunk of the car. That's all I know."

"And my mom? You killed her too?"

Bucky didn't want to, but he forced himself to meet Tony's eyes. The man deserved that, at least. "Yeah," he rasped. "I did."

Tony was gone. He was out the door, away from Bucky, before he'd even finished talking. Bucky groaned and dropped his head into his hands. And he was alone with nothing but the quiet hum of the coffee maker.

She said nothing as he stopped next to where she was sitting on the end of the docks, staring out across the night's ocean. Part of her hoped that he'd leave, that he wouldn't say anything, that he would politely ignore her presence just like everyone else in the village had done over the past week.

She should have known that was too much to hope for. "Might I have a word, Miss Stark?"

The English caught her off guard, but she couldn't stop her sigh. "I guess this whole get up is pointless, huh?" She tugged uselessly at her wig. "The entire town know?"

"They do. But . . . it's been kept quiet. You shouldn't worry."

She finally glanced up at him. She recognized him as one of the older fishermen she'd see around. "Oh? Why's that?"

"You don't come to a place this small and remote unless you have something you're wanting to get away from." He looked out at the water. "Besides, you've done nothing here to hurt us. On the contrary, even. Andrea is quite thankful, I know that."

"Glad to hear it," Danielle murmured. "I thought you were going to ask me to leave. At the very least, I thought someone would have let my location leak."

"You deserve to be left alone." He paused. "If that's what you want."

His phrasing made her pause. "It is," she murmured.

"If you say so. But for someone who's chosen to be here, you sure do spend a lot of time looking like you'd rather be somewhere else." The deck creaked as he turned. "But if this is really where you want to stay, then we won't complain, Miss Stark."

Danielle dropped her gaze down to her hands as he walked away. Her chest hurt.

"He's got a point."

"ARNO, please," she whispered. "Not now."

"Thanks for the coffee."

Just like the night before, Bucky was surprised to find himself suddenly not alone on the common floor. He blinked tiredly and looked up to find Tony standing in front of the table. "What?" he rasped out blankly, still unsure of what had been said.

"The coffee. Last night. Outside my door. JARVIS said you left it for me." Now, Tony was cradling another cup of coffee as he sat down. He was looking everywhere but at Bucky. "I . . . might hate you. I have no idea. But . . . I do know that you want to find Dani too. And, and that's more important right now. So . . . ." He cleared his throat. "Do you want help?"

"I— Yes. I'm still hoping she'll show up in Bucharest. If she does, one of Clint's contacts will let us know. But until then—"

"Wait, Bucharest? Why, why Bucharest?"

"Because that's . . . that's where we're supposed to meet if we get separated. But she hasn't been there. And if I'm there waiting for her, I don't have the resources to look for her that I have here."

Tony stared down at the papers scattered across the table. "You do if I have anything to say about it."