Chapter 67: Bradley

August 22, 1951

Goyang, South Korea

Summer always woke to the ghosts of pain and a longing so deep it took her breath away.

The pain always faded, but the longing remained. What she longed for, she didn't know. Where she came from, she didn't know. Whatever information stored in her mind was flung so far from the center that she couldn't retrieve it without deep, debilitating agony. So she stopped trying.

The longing lessened when she saw Winter. No matter where or when she woke up, Winter was her constant, her partner. She thought sometimes they took him alone, because his hair would be different the next time she saw him. She wondered if it felt like missing a limb, for him to go on a mission without her. She thought that's what it would feel like to her.

"Soldiers?" the Commanding Officer asked, this time in Korean.

"Ready to comply." they answered in unison, Winter with his deep rumble and Summer with her clear bell. Perfect compliments. They'd been working with this Commanding Officer for a while, though the exact time was undetermined. They knew the drill.

"Wonderful. We're going out tonight." the Commanding Officer said. "I trust that you two can handle the security detail as per our usual agreement?"

"Yes." they said. Whatever the fuck the usual agreement was. She glanced over to Winter, noticing the yellow and green on his face of healing bruises. Winter looked to the skinny, nervous looking man behind the Commanding Officer.

"Protect the King." he said, tilting his head towards the Commanding Officer. Summer wasn't sure, but she didn't think Korea had a king.

Not that it mattered.

They both nodded, snapping to attention. The Commanding Officer gestured towards a table covered in weapons. Summer felt her upper lip twitch, the disorganization making her want to snarl. Who laid knives on top of guns, and had grenades just rolling about? This was a safety hazard. Not to her, of course. Or to Winter. But if the Commanding Officer wanted them to protect him, then he first needed to protect himself.

Winter cut off her line of thought with a withering look, his blue eyes boring into hers. She swallowed down the ire and the desire to put every weapon in its place, instead taking the holsters from him and strapping them to her chest and belt and thighs and boots. Two pistols at her sides, and one at her back. Another on her left thigh, a thick knife at the same place on her right. Winter tended towards the guns, but she strapped blade after blade to her person; he could alert God and everyone to their position with a firearm if he wanted, and she would come behind and slaughter quietly.

God? Who was God?

The name struck a chord in her sternum and she swallowed. Winter heard the movement and glanced over, but she kept her face perfect, impassive. Sometimes that happened, where something would go through her mind that made no sense. The other Commanding Officers often spoke of their important work; perhaps these thoughts were remnants of those times.

"Ready?" The Commanding Officer barked, his tone not exactly having the desired affect that he wanted. Summer stared at him with a cool, unblinking expression, tilting her head to the specific angle that made the less hardy men start to sweat. The Commanding Officer's heart skipped a beat, the awkward palpitation making his arms shake, just for a second.

Good. Summer liked when they feared her.

"Ready." Winter said, bumping her shoulder slightly as he came to stand next to her. She straightened to attention again. The Commanding Officers could think they were in charge all they wanted, but when it boiled down to it, she was loyal to Winter, and only Winter.

"Good. Let's go." he said, forcing his voice to a lower pitch in a grand show of masculinity. Summer wondered when they would have a female commanding officer, and if that would change anything.

The Commanding Officer led them out of the bunker. More Korean men ran through the dirt roads of the military base, the badges of their uniforms and their guns flashing in the low light from the lamps. It was nighttime, and soon they would all settle into their positions in their bunks or their jobs. Except for the King.

Summer remembered the King now. He was not a King, but instead a general in the army who fancied himself royalty. She didn't care who he was or what he called himself, all that mattered was this so-called-general-King wanted to abuse his privilege to go to the local village and drink. And on the nights he wasn't drinking, he sent them out to fight alongside his soldiers. His human soldiers.

Ah, yes. The usual arrangement. During the day, the general made flamboyant moves against their enemies; Summer often heard him regaling the local women with tales of his victory over the southerners. He was pushing the borders, he said. Soon, Korea and America and the rest of the world would fear his wrath.

Summer disagreed, thinking of the battles she and Winter were sent into. The King liked their fighting skills, and their teamwork, and the way they could take out an entire battalion in a single night. In the privacy of the Ice Box, he said that they would change everything about this war. Summer didn't care.

The King hopped into a Jeep, barely giving them time to grab onto the top rails and perch on the bumper before pealing away from the base. They didn't bother climbing into the back; that was for people, not for weapons. It took so little of her strength to hold onto the rail that she didn't register it. The trip to town was short, the lights of the base still visible through the trees, though their brightness was dimmed by the harsh neon lights of the bar. Winter sighed as they got off, going to follow the King inside.

"Have fun." Summer said in Russian, earning a glare. Noise from the inside spilled out as someone opened the door, the smell of sweat and alcohol making Summer wrinkle her sensitive nose. She didn't like being separated from Winter, but she sure as hell didn't like whatever the fuck was going on in there. Instead she went to the side of the building, using brick and pipes to easily swing up onto the roof. The full moon hung over her, and she could swear she felt heat radiating from it, a reflection of the sun. Bad things happen on the full moon.

The roof vibrated with the music from below, the building seeming to move and breathe from the people within it. She walked the perimeter, eyes sharp for any movements in the night and ears reaching for sounds outside of those below her. The bar was a tactical nightmare, one that, if they had the power, they would advise against. But it was not their job to question, only to perform. Asset, they called her.

Another round of the perimeter.

In the valley, the wild dogs started to whine and yip, momentarily stealing her attention. Those did not sound like hunting sounds, but rather fear sounds. She could not see in the dark, but the light of the moon showed her how the trees moved in the distance, the cries echoing from a different angle as the dogs ran. She went to the edge of the roof, leaping off without a second thought and grabbing the thick, wooden pole that held the electricity wire running up to the base. With sure feet and hands she climbed to the top, careful to avoid the transformers that would electrocute her.

Would she die, if electrocuted? Sources pointed to no. But she didn't have time to test it.

She perched on the narrow top of the pole, her legs bent up as if she were coiled to spring. A flock of birds took off from their trees, these movements closer than the yipping of the dogs. She narrowed her eyes; something - or someone - was coming. She pulled her smallest knife, digging it into the wood just right so it would slow her descent as she slid down the side of the pole. It detached with a sharp crack as she kicked off, landing on her feet and striding to the door of the bar.

The King hated when Summer came inside because she hurt his chances, whatever that meant. So she stayed at the front, a demon framed in moonlight, until she caught Winter's eye. He turned away from the King and took a step towards her, stopping as she shook her head sharply. She didn't need his help, she was just letting him know. She bit into the blade of her knife, holding it there so she could reach up with both hands, curling her fingers once, rapidly.

Breach.

Then she turned her hands over, pinching her thumbs and fingers together like she was holding a pan, shaking it back and forth for gold.

Handle.

He held up a fist and bent his wrist sharply. Yes.

That was her order. She turned on her heel and headed off into the night, replacing the smaller knife and pulling out the knife from the holster on her thigh. Whatever was coming, she had a feeling it was big. Nothing good happens on the full moon.

Once free of the town she broke into a jog, the sounds of her boots nearly silent in the lush grass. A breeze picked up, further disguising her movements, and bringing to her the scent of the forest and animals and man.

At the treeline she stopped, kneeling down to listen. This man didn't care about being quiet; like Summer, he was on a mission. She extrapolated his position and found the nearest tree, scrambling into it as his footsteps fell closer and closer. Her adrenal glands did not bother producing adrenaline, as this was not a cause for alarm. This is what she was made to do. The man appeared in the distance, running with a steady pace that she recognized instantly. Someone enhanced. Someone like her, like Winter.

This was going to be interesting.

The man ran underneath her, and as soon as he was out in the open she leapt from her perch, a missile with the truest aim. He turned just enough for her to see the whites of his eyes before her body smashed into his, tackling him to the ground. He was nearly a foot taller than her and made of muscle so solid it felt like tackling a mountain, but she had the element of surprise and her own deceptive strength. She got an elbow around his neck with every intention of snapping it, but he grabbed her by the back of her tactical shirt and rolled, slamming her into the ground. Her knife clattered away and she twisted on the ground, pulling the next one from her belt as she returned to standing.

Forget interesting, this was going to be a challenge. Summer nearly smiled at the thought.

"You the one that's been causin' problems." the man said, pulling his own knife from a sheath. Did they not issue him a pistol? A shame. Summer could end it right here with a bullet through his head. But this man implied that he knew her. And information was important.

"Maybe." she said, giving him the same look she gave the King earlier. It did not have the same effect.

"I know ya not workin' alone. Why don't you grab your buddy and we can settle this?" he asked. He did not wait for the answer that she would not give, leaping towards her with his knife out. He had her beat on strength and size, but compared to her he was slow, and untrained. She easily dodged the swipe aimed at her neck, sending her fist into his ribs. The handle of her knife supported her fingers, and she felt as his ribs bent, but didn't break, under her blow. She followed up with another punch, this one towards his solar plexus, but he blocked her shot with enough force to send her spinning.

She quickly got her feet underneath her, shifting in time to miss a form tackle from the man. She swung her knife down towards his back, but he threw an elbow up, a loud crack echoing as bone met bone and her wrist shattered. A primal cry ripped from her throat, not in pain, but in frustration. That was her good knife hand.

It was hard to fight one handed, keeping the injured one tucked in close as her wrist tried to mend itself. The man, bolstered by her injury, came at her with a flurry of attacks. His strength matched Winter's, and though he didn't have a metal arm, his blows still stung. She had to be quick, ducking in and out of the movements and landing sharp, pointed attacks. More ribs bruised, and she landed a crushing blow to his spleen, but he kept coming.

Summer had a lot of confidence in her own abilities, but even she knew when it was time for a tactical retreat. She leaned back as he threw a punch, the lack of contact throwing him off balance enough to pitch forward. She grabbed him by the wrist, dropping and pulling her knees up so she could plant her feet on his chest, sending him flying backwards as she rolled back onto her feet. Her speed was her friend then as she took of running back towards the lights of the town; she needed to find Winter, and she needed to find him now.

As fast as she was, the man was faster, and she could hear the pounding of his boots as he steadily gained ground. She didn't have to make it back to the bar, not exactly. She just had to survive long enough to get within earshot.

Perhaps another soldier would have been afraid; the soldiers that she and Winter were with every day certainly stank of terror and anxiety when they marched out to the border skirmishes. But she was an asset, a weapon, and she feared neither life nor death nor pain. All that mattered was the mission.

She saw the bar in the distance and placed her thumb and forefinger between her lips, her wrist just healed enough so she could let out a sharp whistle that the forest swallowed before it could echo through the mountains. The sound was cut off as the man hit her again, pitching her forward. The breath left her lungs as she slammed onto the ground, her arm underneath her and her own elbow crushing her abdomen. The shoulder joint popped loudly as it subluxed from the socket. A knife's sharp sting sank into the area between her neck and shoulder, a blow that would have been fatal if her shoulder blade wasn't so awkwardly positioned in the fall. Layers of muscle gave the illusion that the stab was deep and true, blood from a nearby artery spraying over her face and the ground.

It wouldn't kill her, but it was going to take her a second to get back up. All she could hope was that Winter heard her message.

The music of the bar was loud, and the patrons louder, and Winter felt more than heard the whistle, the high pitch ringing something in his ears akin to a dog whistle. He stood up straighter, hand going to the hilt of his knife, but the King was too far into his cups to notice the sign of danger.

"Sit down, soldat." he said, the bastardization of the Russian word grating on his ears.

"Danger approaching." Winter said. The King waved his comment away.

"Danger is always approaching, we're in a godsdamned fucking war." he said. "Someone else will take care of it before it gets here."

The door slammed open. The man in the American uniform filled the entire space, his Black skin shining with sweat. His chest was heaving, and splattered across his front was the distinct pattern of blood. Winter's gaze went icy, and without hesitation he flipped his knife to a different hold. That was Summer's blood. Not enough to be fatal, but enough to catch his attention.

"You." the man said, pointing at Winter. The King, ever self centered, whimpered loudly.

"You don't want me, I don't mean anything, I'm just another man-"

"Not you." the man interrupted, snapping in accented Korean. He pointed, once again, at Winter. "Him."

The bar went quiet, the patrons moving to hug the walls. The man still blocked the exit as if that were the only one. If they needed, Winter could send the King through the back exit and engage the enemy, giving the man long enough to stumble back up the road to the base. Besides, the man had Summer's blood on him, which meant he had to die, one way or another.

"You hurt my partner." Winter said in English. The language felt warm in his mouth, familiar. He did not get to speak it often.

"You killed a lot of soldiers. Ya both did." the man said. The name stitched on his uniform said Bradley. Bold move, putting a name on his chest like that. "So they finally sent me to put your ass down."

Winter would sigh, if he had enough emotional availability for it. "Then let's fight." he said. Talking was never his strength, that was usually left to Summer. Fighting was the best thing he knew.

He didn't wait for more words from Bradley, leaping forward and bringing the Soviet knife around in a strong cross swing. Bradley caught the obvious move, twisting Winter's wrist down in a way that would have broken the bones of a normal man. Luckily, Winter's radius and ulna only groaned with the effort. He punched forward with his metal arm, the blow landing hard enough that he felt Bradley's sternum bend under his fist.

His breath left in a rush, but Bradley forced himself to take air in as he spun away from a kick aimed at his stomach. He regained his footing faster than other men, sinking low before coming back at Winter with rapid fire punches. Winter's knife caught his skin in a hundred tiny cuts, but he wasn't able to quite land the slash that he wanted. One bad hook into the meat of his elbow and his fingers released the knife, the metal clanging on the floor.

It had been a long time since he fought another enhanced besides Summer.

Bradley jumped, his hands clasped over his head as he aimed to land a heavy blow. Winter turned just in time to take the brunt of it through his metal shoulder. It didn't hurt him, but the weight of it did make his core buckle, just the slightest. It already took him thirty percent more energy to balance out the weight of the arm, any additions compounded that. But the move left him with an opening, and he pulled another knife from the pocket on his leg and went to stab it into the wide open gut in front of him.

Bradley moved with incredible speed, the knife missing all his important organs and instead sinking into the thick muscle of his oblique. He grunted in pain (amateur, who felt pain anymore?) but continued on, baring his teeth as he let out a yell. Winter removed the knife and made to stab again but Bradley shoved his hand. Winter saw another opening and reached with the metal arm, the gears moving slower than the flesh side of his body ever did. He should have been able to grab Bradley by the throat, but the other man shifted just right, his hand clamping over the wrist. In one beautiful transference of momentum, Bradley flipped Winter.

He expected the hard stop of the floor and braced for it, enabling him to roll away from the downward strike Bradley aimed at him. The knife sank into the floor and the boards cracked underneath the pressure, Bradley letting go immediately to abandon it. But that was all the time Winter needed. He raised up on one hand, leaning on his shin and sending his foot square into Bradley's chest. The man flew across the bar, crashing into the boxes stacked along the back. Glass broke with shimmers and pours, the dark liquids spilling all over the wall and Bradley and the floor. And for a second, he stayed down.

Winter stood up fully. Somehow, during the fight, the bar had emptied. The King was long gone, so Winter supposed he'd done his job. Glass started chiming again, and Winter was - well, surprised was too strong a word, but he was almost intrigued that Bradley was moving again. This was the longest fight Winter had ever had with someone that wasn't Summer, and she only lasted so long because she seemed to know every move he was going to make before he made it. She was smart like that. It was very annoying.

Bradley climbed to his feet, the glass embedded in him making his skin sparkle. Still, he held both his fists up in the basic American boxing style, shifting his feet towards the defensive.

"That's the best you got?" he asked. "C'mon, I can do this all night."

I can do this all night?

No. That wasn't right.

"I can do this all day." Winter said, unsure where the words came from. For one brief moment he was vulnerable as something in his mind splintered, just a bit. Unfortunately, Bradley caught this moment, and jumped at him again. The first punch landed perfectly at Winter's temple, knocking his brain even more askew. He sent out a sloppy punch with his metal arm, knowing it wouldn't land right but would hurt wherever it did hit. Bradley was faster, grabbing his wrist with both hands this time and turning with the punch, bringing the arm up and over his shoulder.

Winter's arm had been through many tests. It wasn't perfect, but it was stronger than anything the human body could build. And it also had its weaknesses.

Bradley brought his arms down, leveraging the metal one over his shoulder, right at the elbow joint. With terrible speed and strength he fulcrumed the arm, the gears and wires crunching and whirring and screaming as it all tore. Winter's eyes went wide as Bradley ripped his forearm off, sparks flying and sending an electrical surge straight up his arm and into his brain.

"Winter!" he heard someone scream, right before he blacked out.

Summer ran back in, jumping and landing both feet in Bradley's chest, sending him stumbling back. Blood soaked the ends of her hair, making them whip her in the eyes as she turned and kicked him again. With no weapon except the one he claimed, Bradley came back at her, swinging Winter's severed arm like a baton. She had an easy enough time dodging that arm when it was aimed with precision, let alone in something like this. Bradley was too strong for her alone, she knew that now. But when Winter's arm surged like this, he needed exactly sixty seconds before his mind rebooted.

Twenty-two, twenty-three…

She gave Bradley space now, circling the open area of the bar. It was usually a dance floor, but tonight it was their fighting ring. Periodically glass clicked as it fell to the floor, Bradley's healing flesh pushing it out.

Thirty-eight, thirty-nine…

Bradley rushed, and she dodged, putting herself between him and Winter. She abandoned her neutral expression, instead letting her eyes go wide, her lip quiver. She hoped he didn't learn to listen to heartbeats like she did, otherwise he would see right through her facade.

"Listen, I didn't want to hurt you." Bradley said. Lie. But most men at least faked sympathetic reactions when witnessing a woman crying.

"Then why?" she asked, even managing to get her voice to crack like the younger scientists did when they spoke around her.

Fifty-one, fifty-two…

"Cause you two were doin' too much damage." Bradley said. They were at a stalemate now. "Look, if you come with me, I bet…I bet we can figure something out."

Also a lie.

Behind her, Winter took in a sharp breath. This time it was Bradley's turn for the wide-eyed, slack-jawed look as he watched Winter climb to his feet. The sound of a pistol cocking was almost as loud as a shot would have been.

"Shit!" Bradley said. He didn't aim for the door, he just covered his head and plowed straight through the weak wall, his footsteps fading back into the night.

"Should we go after him?" she asked, turning to Winter. He was looking over her body, checking for injuries. She rolled her shoulder and wrist; they were both still healing, but at least they were functional now. He found his forearm on the floor, bending over to pick it up. The hand was curled into a fist, and he stared at it for a long moment.

I can do this all day.

"Not our mission." he finally said. Summer nodded, falling in step beside him and leaving the wreckage behind.

Listen, Isaiah Bradley was one of the best parts of F&WS. Did anyone else think of Lu when he mentioned a nurse helping him escape? No? Just me and my endless AUs?

Thank y'all SO much for the reviews of this story. Hearing what y'all enjoy helps so much with the writing process! It's strange to think eventually we'll just be in one timeline...but we'll cross that bridge later lol.

My dad is visiting next weekend, so I'm unsure whether I'll be able to update. If I do, it'll probably be just one story, and I don't know which it'll be between this one and Silver and Honey. It'll be a surprise for everyone!

All the same, I hope you liked this chapter, please let me know what you thought!

-XM