I met James shortly after Sam became the new face of freedom. i was sitting in a dim bar in New York, recovering from a long week at work when he slid onto the stool next to me. he didn't say anything, just tapped the bar and the man behind the counter slid him a drink without question.
"Do you come here often?" The stranger looked up at me. "That wasn't a corny pick up line. i just mean... the bartender read your mind." I nodded to his drink.
"Oh." A gloved hand wrapped around the cup and he drummed his fingers against the glass. "Yes, I'm here often enough. Especially lately. I've never seen you here before." He brought the glass to his lips and made quick work of it, tapped the bar again and the bartender was quick to refill his cup with a dark amber liquid.
"No, this isn't really my scene." I glanced around the dim room and take in the smell of stale cigarettes.
"So why are you here?" He had asked me.
"It's been a long week."
"Tell me about it," he agreed, clinking the rim of his glass against mine.
"I just needed a break. My name is Sloane Watson."
"James," he tipped his second drink towards me. "So, Sloane Watson. What do you do? What is it you needed a break from?"
"I own a bakery just around the corner." I smile at him, the bakery was my baby. My parents had instilled in me a love for baking, it was how we spent our weekends. Covered in flour and the house smelling like fresh bread and sweets.
"Just Baked?" James asked, effectively bringing me back to the present.
"That's the one. You've been?"
"Well, not inside... I pass by it all the time. My apartment is just around the corner as well."
"Small world... what do you do, James?" He narrowed his eyes.
"I am... military?"
"Are you asking me if you're in the military?" He had smiled.
"No. I work for the government."
"Ah, well. I guess your week has been worse. Dealing with John Walker and all." At this he had let out a small chuckle.
"You have no idea."
"Well, James. I have to go, bakery's open early. You should stop in some time, I'll give you a deal on some sweet stuff." I smiled at him and after paying for my drink, I left.
A few weeks passed by and I had told my business partner about the handsome stranger I met at the bar. "I can't believe you refuse to go to the bars with me and the one time you go, you meet some mysterious hottie." I roll my eyes at her as I knead the dough in front of me. "What was his name again? I'm going to look him up on Facebook." She pulls her phone out.
"James. I don't know his last name. I didn't ask."
"Well that narrows it down a lot. There are probably only a couples James' in New York. Shouldn't be a problem finding him." Sighing, I wipe my hands down my apron front, leaving a trail of flour down it.
"I'm not looking for him." It's her turn to roll her eyes. "Come on, Beth. How cliche would it be? I meet a mysterious man in a bar after a bad week and he turns out to be my Romeo? I don't think so."
"Well, I don't know about Romeo," a voice behind us makes us both jump. I spin on my heel and see James at the door. Beth and I had been so focused on our conversation that neither of us heard the bell ding.
"Hi! Welcome to Just Baked," Beth says, recovering faster than me and moving towards the counter. "You must be James." She puts heavy emphasis on his name and flashes him a mega watt smile. "You're much better looking than she told me... wait. You actually look kind of familiar."
"Yeah, I get that a lot. Anyways, Sloane? Can I talk to you for a minute?" Beth slips her apron over her head and winks at me.
"I have some paperwork to fill out anyways," she winks at me and excuses herself. James watches her curiously then turns his focus back to me.
"She seems nice,"
"She is. And a liar. She's never done paperwork once. That's Beth, my partner."
"Business partner!" She corrects loudly from the kitchen. I smile at James and crossing my arms, I lean against my countertop.
"So what can I do for you, James? I doubt you've come here to buy cookies."
"Not quite." He shuffles his feet and instead of looking at me he stares at the pastry case. "I'm actually here for work." I straighten up, suddenly worried.
"Are we being investigated by the government?" I ask, alarmed.
"Well, yes. And no. Your bakery isn't.. but you are. Sort of."
"Me? Sort of? What does that even mean?" I rack my brain and can think of nothing I've done that could possibly interest the government. Unless... no. They couldn't know, how could they? After a brief panic, I stare at James. "Who are you? Really." He finally makes eye contact with me and Beth was right. In the bright lights of my bakery he does look familiar. Inside the bar his features were fuzzy, but now his blue eyes and the shadow of facial hair on his chin calls to mind a face I can't quite place.
"My name is James," he confirms. "James Barnes. I'm-"
"The Winter Soldier," it dawns on me. Stepping away from the counter I narrow my eyes and concentrate as hard as I can on his energy.
"I'm not going to hurt you. Besides," he takes a seat at one of the tables in the dining area. "You aren't srong enough to hurt me. Yet." He gestures to the chair across from him, I hesitate. "Come on, let's talk."
"What do you want from me?" I ask after a long pause. I come from behind the counter but stand a few feet away from him. Just in case.
"We need your help."
"Help the Avengers? I can't help the Avengers."
"The Avengers don't really exist anymore, first of all. Secondly, I was never an Avenger."
"Avenger Adjacent then." I cross my arms over my chest.
"Please, just come with me. I have a bike out front and Sam really wants to talk to you today." I sigh and look over my shoulder, knowing I'd see Beth staring the the kitchen window. She smiles brightly at me.
"Let me talk to my partner."
"Just go! Look at him! I'd go. But I have nothing to offer them," she says after I fill her in on the important parts.
"Neither do I."
"Oh come on. Do you think it's because you-"
"What else would it be?" I cut her off. "I just want to know how they know. And how long they've known." I stare out the window at James Barnes as he drums his right hand against the table.
"Did you get a chance to see his metal arm?" Beth whispers.
"No. Goodybe, Beth. You're sure you'll be okay here?"
"I'll be fine. This place practically runs itself. Be careful." She wraps me in a tight hug and kisses me lightly on the cheek.
"Okay, James Barnes. Let's go."
The whole way I have my hands locked tightly around his chest as anxiety claws at mine. My parents were very careful my whole life to keep me sheltered from people like James, and here I am, latched onto his back and speeding towards who knows what. They wanted me to have a normal life. And I'm throwing that all away, and for what? We drive for what feels like hours. As the sun is setting James pulls off the highway and we travel farther away from the lights of the city. At last we slow in front of a warehouse district, coming to a stop in front of a barren looking building. James dismounts and puts his hand out to me. Instead of taking it, I swing my leg over the seat and stand. As soon as I put weight on my feet, I stumble. My legs feel like jelly.
"Whoa!" James grabs me tightly at the elbow. "I tried to help. You'll get used to the bike."
"I hope not," I mumble as he deftly unsnaps my helmet and hangs it off the seat of the bike. The feeling begins to return to my legs so I shake off his hand that is still clasped around my elbow. "So, is this the part where you kill me?" I joke halfheartedly. He meets my eyes.
"You tell me." Without another word he turns away from me and heads into the warehouse. Having nothing left to do but follow him, I do just that. "This is where we stay, for the most part." His voice echoes around us and somewhere to my right, water is dripping. "It isn't very many of us at this point in the game. No one really wants to do it anymore."
"No one wants to work with the new Captain America and the Winter Soldier?"
"I prefer Bucky. And no. Everyone wants to retire. Well. Almost everyone." We stop in front of a tall set of double doors. "This isn't SHIELD, Sloane. We don't have a boss looking over us. It's just us." And he shoves open the doors. Inside is not what I was expecting. All of the halls we walked through to get to this room were cold, dark, and slightly damp. The room we enter now is brightly lit with a couple of computers off to the side. There are two oversized couches in the middle of the room, and a small bar off to the right. But the first thing I notice is her. My eyes are drawn like magnest to the left side of the room where she stands against the wall, her arms crossed. Her eyes are already on me but she is not smiling. The air pops with electricity.
"Wow," says a new voice. I pull my eyes away from the woman and see Sam Wilson himself, in street clothes, sitting on one of the large couches. "You feel that, Buck?" Bucky just nods before falling onto the couch opposite him.
"Hello, Sloane," the woman says, drawing my attention back to her.
"You're Wanda Maximoff," I say in awe.
"Yes. You're stronger than I was anticipating. I could feel you as soon as you pulled off the highway." Bucky exchanges another look with Sam. "I don't think you even know what you're capable of, do you?" I shrug.
"I can move things," I finally admit. "Catch little snippets of someone's thoughts. It's easier and more clear with people I know well.. I can influence people's thoughts." She nods her head.
"There's more there. You just don't know how to access it. That's why I'm here." She does not elaborate.
"There is a group of people over seas that are collecting people like you," Bucky says. "People with psychic abilities. We've been tracking a few of you, the ones we knew to be in the states. And you're the only one we've actually gotten our hands on. The others have already been gone before we got to them."
"What do you mean 'gone'?"
"Taken," Sam interjects. I stare blankly at him.
"What do they want with us?" Us. Up until this moment I wasn't aware there was an 'us'. Of course I knew about Wanda, but I never considered myself to be anything like her.
"Short answer is, we don't know. But there is a lot of psychic energy coming from just outside of St Petersburg." Sam nods towards a computer screen and there is a large red circle off on its own. "This is in the middle of nowhere. We have no way of measuring the energy field, but these are heat signatures. There's at least 100 people living in the woods. When Wanda and I flew over it a week ago, she could feel them."
"So what am I supposed to do?"
"Train with Wanda. Hone your abilities. We don't know what these people want with all these gifted people, but we need to be prepared for anything. Bucky and I are going to follow a couple of leads on some other potentials." He leaves the room.
"Wait!" I catch Bucky by the arm. "I don't belong here. I'm not like you guys."
"Wanda has faith in you. I trust her. You should too. We'll be back in a few weeks. Good luck, Sloane."
Over the course of the next two weeks I spend day in and day out with Wanda. I crash into bed mentally exhausted and seem to wake within moments of closing my eyes. On day fifteen I hear Wanda's footsteps approaching my room. Before she can reach my door, I focus all of my attention on and mentally push against it as hard as I can. I hear her turn the knob and give another mental shove against the door. I feel her brief confusion through the door.
"Cute," she says. I begin to feel some push back and realize she is using her own power against mine. For a solid forty five seconds I hold my own and then she increases her concentration and I can feel sweat break out across my forehead. Another thirty seconds pass and she finally pushes full force and my door flies open, smashes into the wall so hard it cracks the foundation and then hangs, limp and defeated, from one hinge. "You put up a good fight." With a flourish of her hands, the door glows red and rights itself. "You've worked really hard this last week. Today we will take a break from training." She smiles softly at me. "Bucky and Sam will be back some time today."
"Did they find the people they were looking for?" Wanda stares at me and I can tell she is trying to decide what she should tell me.
"Yes, they did. Two of them. Brothers. Both dead."
"Dead?"
"They refused to go with these other people.. they fought back. And lost." There is no emotion in her voice, she is simply stating facts. My heart pounds in my chest. I knew these people were exploiting other psychics, I didn't realize they were willing to kill them for compliance. "You should get some sleep. You've worked really hard," she repeats. Despite my anxieties, I do fall into an uneasy slumber.
In my dreams I am alone in a large city I do not recognize. I'm sitting on the patio of a quaint restaurant when I notice a man walking through the street out of my peripheral vision. I drum my fingers impatiently on the table in front of me. I count to ten, then stand and walk around the side of the building to the alley beyond. My footsteps echo around me, lonely until I hear to sound of another pair of feet joining me. "Sloane Watson?" A muffled voice calls from behind me. I turn and see the man from the street approaching me. He wears a mask, which is muffling his voice. "My name is Nikolai Romanov and I have to ask that you come with me." His accent is thick, and as he speaks I can feel power radiation off of him. With it, my own dwindles. It doesn't matter that he is blocking my power, I wasn't planning on resisting him. I take a steadying breath as he approaches me. Nikolai stop just inches from me, I cannot see his face, the only part I see is his eyes. Cruel. The instant he grabs me by the arm all of the air leaves my lungs and my eyes roll into the back of my head. Darkness swallows me.
I jolt awake, covered in sweat. For a moment I am disoriented. Slowly I recognize the stone walls around me. I take gulping breaths of air to calm my rising panic, knowing Wanda can most likely feel me from wherever she is.
"Sloane?" As if summoned, Wanda appears in my doorway. "Is everything okay?" She tilts her head, trying to read me.
"Yes," I lie. "Just a nightmare." She studies me for a beat longer before nodding.
"Sam and Bucky are back." I wait until her footsteps recede and eventually fade all together before swinging my legs over my bed. Now that she's mentioned it, I notice I can feel the presence of two more consciences. I close my eyes to see if I can place them better. One of the men is up pacing, his mind is clouded with worry, and pain. The other is calm on the surface, but has the same storm of worry just beneath.