Author's Note:This is a straight up re-telling of my previous story Winter's Shadow. If you haven't read it, don't worry. If you did read it and found yourself thinking that there was mad chemistry between Steve Rogers and the Reader, then this is the story for you. A lot of the writing stays the same, but there are some big changes due to the romantic shift. Enjoy!
Your movements are absolutely silent as you slip in the twentieth story window and come up behind the target; one quick snap of your wrist and the metallic scent of blood fills your nostrils. The target gurgles helplessly for a moment, clutches at his throat in vain, and then slumps forward. The dull thud of his head hitting the wooden desk gives you pause, and your eyes snap to the door waiting for one of the guards you knew waited outside to come in and catch you in the act, but the door remains shut.
Turning back to the body, you gather a handful of the crisp white fabric of his dress shirt into your fist and clean the blood off of your knife before slipping it back into the holster on your ankle. With that done you grab a handful of his hair and lean him back in the chair before kicking it out of the way, allowing you access to the computer. You tear your eyes away from the bloody gash of the man's throat and focus on the task at hand. You unsnap a small pocket at your shoulder, and pull out a nondescript flash drive. You take it, plug it into the back of the computer and then reach for the keyboard. You hesitate for a fraction of a section as you note the blood pooling in the shallow indentations of the keys, and then snap yourself out of it and pull up the command line.
"That was messy," You glance over your shoulder; the soldier sits crouched in the window, his cool blue eyes look out from curtains of dark hair. You roll your eyes and look back at the screen.
"Even silenced gunshots are still gunshots," You reply faintly, "Unless you feel like taking out his private security army downstairs." There shouldn't have been any extra security, besides maybe a bodyguard, but someone had tipped the man off that someone was after the information he had. It seemed to you that nowadays every mission you went on had some kind of catch. This one just happened to have thirty armed men waiting for something to happen to the man who now sat slumped in his chair, throat opened in a grotesque smile.
"We could," You don't turn around, but you can picture the expression on his face. His brown would be furrowed, his lips turned down in a slight frown. Torn.
"Yeah, well we don't need to," The file transfer hits 100% and you pull the drive out, returning it to the pocket. The Soldier was the more trusted asset, but you were better with technology. "The man outside has three kids. It's not his fault his boss got wrapped up in the wrong shit."
"That shouldn't matter," Now you do turn around, and his expression is just how you predicted. When his eyes meet yours he drops them, staring at his hands clenched in his lap instead: one flesh, one metal. "Neither of us should care. We're not supposed to care."
You wet your lips; he had been wiped relatively recently, after attacking one of Hydra's doctors. The cold, rigid, compliance had faded, but it had left confusion in its wake. You clap your hand onto his shoulder, the muscle underneath is tense beneath the Kevlar. "Come on," You tell him softly, "Let's get out of here."
He looks at the mess you left at the computer and the nods once, before falling backwards out of the window. The thought crosses your mind that this time he might not catch himself, not for the first time. And like every other time the certainty that you would follow him into death soothes you. A few seconds later you see the rope go taut. You give him another few seconds and then you too let yourself fall; the wind slaps against your face and you close your eyes, enjoying a few seconds of free fall before you reach out and grab the rope with one gloved hand. Your momentum comes to an abrupt stop, your shoulder crying out at the action. Your feet brace against the wall of the building for a half a second before you repel yourself off, letting the rope run freely through your hand until you catch yourself a few feet before the ground.
"I bet you felt that," The Soldier nods to your shoulder, "You should be more careful."
You let yourself drop, and give him a grin, "Couldn't help myself. I love that feeling. It's been too long since we've had to skydive." You start to pull down the rope, but the Soldier shakes his head.
"Leave it. We'll be long gone before anyone notices it." You both put on the masks that cover the lower half of your faces and walk around to the back of the building, though you don't see a soul. The soldier climbs on the back of the sleek black motorcycle illegally parked in the alley and you settle into the seat behind him.
He's silent as you ride out to the cornfield where you were scheduled for your pick-up so you follow his lead and keep your mouth shut. You knew it was better when he was like this it was best to let him work through it on his own; his memories of you were often affected, making them seem hazy and unclear. He had lashed out at you before.
You untuck your face from his shoulder as you notice the bike slowing down, and look around confused. "We're getting picked up like six miles east of here," You frown as he comes to a complete stop on the side of the road, "Something knock your sense of direction out of whack Soldier?" You laugh despite the uneasy feeling that had settled over you.
Ignoring you, he climbs off the bike and you quickly follow suit, staring at his back as he stands there silently. You swallow reflexively, despite the fact that your mouth was suddenly dry. "What's going on Soldier?"
Finally he turns around, his combat knife clutched in his flesh hand. Your gun is drawn in a flash, and your jaw clenches as you level the sights at his head. Your finger is at the trigger, ready to pull it at the slightest movement. It's just pure reflex. If the thought that the Soldier might off himself had crossed your mind before, the next one had as well: HYDRA had told him to kill you, and he was still too fresh to be able to question it.
You wildly imagine the ticking of a clock as the two of you stare each other down. You wondered if you would shoot him if he came at you; you would like to think you would surrender your life for his, but instinct and reflex both ran deep.
After what feels like hours but could only have been a handful of seconds the corners of his lips quirk up ever so slightly and he lifts his hands, palms out so you can see the now loose grip he keeps on the knife. "Relax," He says, amusement creeping into his voice, "If I was gonna take you on I sure as hell wouldn't do it with this." He nods his head towards his weapon to punctuate his words, but doesn't take his eyes off of you.
You realize that he still sees you as a threat as well; it's disorienting when you knew that a few months ago, before his memory had been tampered with once again, that the trust between the two of you was implicit, imperishable. You keep him in your crosshairs for another breath, before you lower your gun. "Thought we had at least some semblance of trust." You can hear the hurt beneath the weak joke and realize that on some level he still remembered your former relationship as well, more than HYDRA would like him to at least.
"Yeah, well you're not always you," You remind him, holstering your weapon, "Now will you please tell me what the hell is going on?"
He pauses, an internal battle waging behind his eyes, "Something is going on," the words tumble from his lips as he fights back a grimace, "Something big. It's time. Like we talked about before. Right? We've talked about it?"
A hundred times throughout the long years, you want to tell him, but the implications of his words have stunned you into silence. The slow nod that you give him feels insufficient, but he accepts it without further comment. "Let me see your arm," he commands, and you lift your left arm, a question in your eyes that he reads easily. "I'm going to cut out your tracker," he pushes your sleeve out of the way and positions the knife a few inches below the crease of your elbow, "Try not to shoot me." Your eyeroll turns into a grimace as he digs the blade into your arm. You grit your teeth and look away as hot rivets of blood cut down your skin as he digs the knife around, looking for the chip. He finds it after about a minute, and you let out a sigh of relief as the blade leaves your flesh, the tracking chip with it.
"Worst surgeon ever," You pull your sleeve back down over the unsightly wound, hoping that the tightness of the fitted fabric will stifle the bleeding. The Soldier tosses the tracking chip high into the air, and in the same motion pulls his pistol and fires a well placed bullet, obliterating the small plastic chip.
"Let me see the drive," The Soldier says, and you hand it over, thinking he's going to shoot it as well. Instead he slips it in his own pocket. "Alright," You frown, confused now, "Your turn." You reach for your own knife but his hand reaches out and grabs your wrist, stopping you.
"No," The Soldier says as you look up confused, "This is your chance. You have to go."
"What?" You shake your head, "What the hell are you talking about? You're coming with me," You move towards your knife again and his grip tightens, "I'm not going without you. Don't be stupid."
"I can't." You had known the Soldier for a long time, you had seen him everywhere between full compliance to some semblance of what you imagined the man he had been before had been like. But if there was one thing that was consistent about the Soldier it was the fact that he was a cool customer; you may see a glimmer of amusement here or a hint of anger there, but you had never seen his face so open and honest and painful as you did with those two words. Without warning he reaches out and grabs your shoulders, his pale eyes wide as he looks into yours. "They're inside my head (Y/n)," his voice is only a whisper but each word hits you like he had screamed it, "I can't. I can't trust myself. You can't trust me. You need to go. You can go."
"No," You clench your jaw, "I won't."
He smiles then, the only time you had ever seen that expression on his face, and for the briefest of seconds you think that you had convinced him. Then his metal fist rushes at your jaw and sends you sprawling backwards into the dirt. Black spots curl in front of your eyes but you fight through them, scrambling back to your feet, but it's already too late: the bike takes off, kicking up dust in its wake, and the Soldier is gone.
For a long time you just stand there and stare off in the direction he had disappeared from, the pain in your arm was nothing compared to the storm of emotions that swirled within you; too many and too powerful to even name. On top of that, you didn't know what to do. You had no plan. No ideas. But you needed to move away from your last known location: that was priority one.
With that decided, you start walking west, following the road until the loose dirt beneath your feet becomes pavement. Plans flitted through your mind, but nothing went beyond surface thinking: you were sure there were plenty of jobs for someone with your skill set, but you weren't sure how to find them. And you sure as hell weren't going to find them in Cornfield, Wisconsin. Your jaw felt tight where the Soldier had hit you and you didn't need to probe the area to know that it was rapidly swelling. You needed money. Food. Water. A car. And you could sure as hell have used a Soldier. You were going to give him a nice left hook if you saw him again. When you saw him again. When night falls you cut into a field of tall grass and lay beneath the stars. The cold is bitter as frost forms on your exposed skin, and your arm throbs painfully but all of it pales beneath the feeling of your first taste of freedom.
The next morning you rise at dawn, wiping the beaded dew off of the surface of your body suit and weapons. You're not terribly thirsty yet, but you can feel the threat of it lurking in the back of your throat.
It's a pleasant enough walk when you reach the road once more, and you're fairly certain you should reach some sort of civilization by the end of the day at the pace you're making. That's until mid-afternoon, when the sun beats down on you from directly above, making the tickle at your throat into a deep burn. You can feel the skin on your face reddening beneath the rays; even your enhanced genetics can't beat constant sun exposure like this.
When the sun finally begins to dip to the horizon, you start to feel, not nervous, but on edge. At first you're not sure what's causing the reaction, and then you recognize the low hum of an engine in the distance. The land is flat so it's hard to identify exactly where it's coming from, but it's definitely within a few miles, and coming from behind you.
Your instinct is to get off the road, but you force yourself to keep walking; this was a road after all, there were bound to be at least a handful of travelers passing through. Still, you're not paranoid if there really are people after you. You slow your pace slightly and cock your ear in the direction of the rising hum; not just one car, you decide, three? Four? It didn't matter exactly, either way after miles of empty road the new additions had you on edge. HYDRA couldn't have found you this quickly though-the Soldier wouldn't maybe be back on base now, at the earliest. Unless they had operatives stationed close by… The cars are close now and you turn around, walking backwards as they come into sight. Your hand drops to your gun as you take in the formation of black SUVs headed your way. There were six, not four, and if the roaring of their engines was any indication they had already seen you.
There was nothing but empty land on either side of you now, nowhere to escape to. You take a deep breath, pull your pistol, and drop to one knee. What you wouldn't give for your rifle right now, you think mournfully. Your only choice now was to get them close and hope for the best. With the wind conditions you judge a half a mile to be a safe distance, and you fire four bullets in rapid succession; they hit true, taking out the first two van's front tires. Two more shots, and the other van's front tires start emitting smoke. The trucks come squealing to a stop thirty feet from you, and the doors pop open seconds later spilling men into the road. You shoot the first one out the door and then pop your second clip in, taking out two more with clean headshots.
Your ears are ringing from the sound of bullets, so you see the van coming from the opposite directions before you hear the squealing of it's tires. Cursing, you roll out of the way and then shoot the driver before he can open the door. With five bullets left you turn back to the original group. Now it's all strategy. You take out two beefy guys who's bulging muscles spell trouble, and then spin; the passenger of the sixth van swings a rod crackling with electricity at you and you jerk backwards just out of reach before shooting him twice, first in the stomach and then in the head.
Now you were in trouble; you turn again just in time to dodge another of the rods, you fire your last shot into the body of the closest man and then smash the butt of the empty pistol into the next man to reach you. You grit your teeth as his blood splatters across your face like grisly freckles. Now you're surrounded and you let out a low growl as someone lands a hit with the electric rods they carry; you spin and punch the one who had hit you, feeling the bones of his face give way under your knuckles, and then duck out of the way of another rod. You can't hear the crackle of electricity, but you can feel it on your skin as it passes just over your ear. Another rod hits the back of your legs, and you drop to one knee. The man in front of you swings it at your head and you block it, taking the shock to the arm instead of your already injured face. It doesn't matter, there's too many of them. This was as pretty an ambush as you had ever seen, and you had been a part of plenty. You manage to cut the legs out from another one of the men and then all you see is the butt of a rifle before everything goes dark.