Washington, D.C. 2014
"Again." I forced myself to my feet, the taste of metallic rich in my mouth as I scraped stray hair from my eyes. Before I'd had the chance to adjust my vision, I felt another strike, just below my ribs. It took me off my feet and I was once again face down in the mat, coughing blood and forcing my eyes shut, preventing tears falling. I never allowed them to see any signs of emotional weakness when my physical ones were so obvious.
"Again." One voice says, a man's voice, a stranger and yet at the same time it's so familiar.
"Enough." Another intervenes. But it doesn't stop, I continue to feel the blows of pain as my opponent continues to reduce my strength with every hit until I'm staring up at the ceiling. My breathing is shallow and ragged, every inhale is a struggle. Every exhale, makes me more tired as I fight the urge to close my eyes in the hope my unconscious state would make my opponent stop.
"Finish it." The male voice says again, and I suddenly find a tiny shred of strength as his hands - one warm flesh and the other cold metal – wrap around my throat and begin to squeeze. I open to my mouth, but no sound comes out, the blood gurgling in the back of my throat preventing me from pleading for my life. My own hands wrap around his wrists, but I have nowhere near enough strength to fight him off. Eventually, as I feel my lungs and throat burning from oxygen starvation, I look down from the ceiling and into the icy blue eyes of the soldier.
I shot to my feet, kicking back my bed sheets and marching into the bathroom, forcing myself under a cold cascade of water. My hands trembled against the grimy tiles of the cubicle as sobs escaped me and I slid down to a heap on the floor. My vest top plastered to my icy cold skin as I put my hand over my mouth, trying to muffle the noise I was making. It wasn't until I opened my eyes I realised it was dark outside.
My nightmares had returned with vigour since my meeting with Yuri and I had been unable to calm them. Nothing I did, no amount of exhaustion or intoxication prevented them from plaguing my sleep every night. No one at work had commented on my hair but I had seen Nat's face on more than one occasion, she knew something was going on and I wasn't going to be able to hide it for much longer. But the soldier hadn't made an appearance yet, at least, not one I was certain of. Every now and then I would hear half a Russian conversation and my throat would dry up. My own paranoia was preventing me from doing my job effectively, so much so that when Fury had asked me to assist Steve on a hostage retrieval mission in the Indian Ocean, I'd made an excuse and asked Nat to go instead.
Eventually I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, only to hear my phone ringing in my bedroom.
"Nat?"
"Fury's been shot. I'm on my way to the hospital, Steve's already there." She put the phone down without another word and I quickly got dressed. All personal feelings to Fury aside, my life would have most likely been very short had he not arrived in Moscow when he did. I also couldn't deny the fact that it couldn't possibly be a coincidence that this had happened now.
I scraped my wet hair up off my face and glanced at the gun sat on my bedside table. I quickly snatched it up into my grip and fastened it to the belt of yesterday's jeans that had been on my bedroom floor. I shrugged my leather jacket over the top, keeping the weapon out of sight and slipped out of my apartment.
By the time I arrived at the hospital, I could see Nat had already arrived. Having parked her Corvette in the '20 minutes drop off and pick up' zone, the vehicle had attracted some eye rolls and tuts of disapproval and I received the same response as I followed suit before running into the Main Entrance. It was easy to see where Fury was, with two armed security guards outside the door to the operating theatre.
"Nat…" I said as I pushed the door, spotting Steve and Maria next to her. No one looked at me, all keeping their eyes trained on the operating table in the opposite room. Agent Sitwell and a STRIKE officer were stood to the back of the room, neither of them saying much but keeping their eyes trained on the viewing glass.
"What's happening?" I questioned as I saw Fury, unconscious on the operating table.
"He had a metal arm." Steve said to no one in particular and I had to stop myself from holding onto the wall for support. Nat never looked away from Fury but I was staring at my own feet, trying to appear as calm as possible. Giving away absolutely nothing.
"Ballistics?" Natasha questioned lightly.
"No rifling." Maria responded simply.
"Soviet made." Nat confirmed and I heard myself exhale. Suddenly everything behind the glass switched up a gear as Fury flatlined, the surgeons rushed to bring the paddles, shocking him twice before declaring time of death. I watched Nat's face as Sitwell and the STRIKE officer left the room, quickly followed by Steve and a reluctant Maria leaving Nat and I alone.
"Soviet slugs." Nat said quietly, her lips quivering as tears welled in her eyes.
"Metal arm."
"It must be." She said, her reflection examining my face.
"Can't be anyone else." I confirmed my own fears, she furrowed her eyebrows briefly before turning on me.
"You don't seem very shocked."
"At what? Fury's death or the soldier being back?"
"The latter, but we'll get to the former."
"I knew. I mean I didn't know but an informant, he had connections in Siberia and said there'd been movement. Said…there was a chance. But they lost their trail at the eastern seaboard."
"Why didn't you say anything?" she questioned, I shrugged my shoulders as I absently watched the surgeons cover Fury's face.
"Yes, you do. You do know. So, tell me, because now Fury is dead and we are the only two in this who have the slightest idea of the person who killed him."
I chewed my lip anxiously, but I knew Nat wouldn't give up, neither of us ever did. Defeat had been programmed out of us when we were children.
"I left the Red Room because HYDRA wanted me, they wanted me to work alongside the Winter Solider. But I'd seen him, seen in his head and there was nothing there. No memories, no personality…nothing human about him at all and I did not want that. We don't have much Nat, and I don't know about you but the few memories I have of my life before the Red Room are sometimes the only thing that keeps me going. But, sometimes… ever since New York, I feel like HYDRA know exactly where I am and what I'm doing and the fact that there's been nothing from him…nothing for twenty-three years. Then suddenly he's awake and heading straight for D.C. where I am and then he kills Fury…"
"You think you're being hunted." Despite my increasing anxiety I choked out a small laugh.
"No. I think this goes way beyond me, but I don't doubt that they will try and take me out too. What was SHIELD'S ultimatum? Join us or die. Why would HYDRA be any different?"
Natasha turned away from me as the surgeons finished removing their instruments from Fury and laying a clean white sheet over his body.
"Steve said Fury was at his apartment. The soldier shot him through the window." She mentioned quietly.
"Why was Fury there? How does the Soldier know where Steve lives?" Natasha shrugged in response before swiftly leaving the room. I sighed as I approached the glass and leant against the cool pane. All our personal information was kept on a private firewall protected database that only HR and certain clearances could access. How on earth had HYDRA got hold of that information without someone knowing? As I felt a headache encroaching on my temples the door to the viewing room opened and a STRIKE agent leaned in.
"Pierce wants us to escort you home." He spoke to both of us, but Natasha swiftly left the room, forcing the agent to step aside.
"I'm fine." I replied simply, not making any effort to move my feet.
"It's not a choice, Agent. It's our order." The Agent urged, and I found my temper flaring slightly and my curiosity peaking.
"You don't know where I live." He didn't falter for a second.
"Your car will be taken home for you, we will drive you. Pierce is concerned for the safety of his Agents, particularly those that Director Fury showed a…soft spot for, and we have been ordered to escort you home." I rolled my eyes.
"Secretary Pierce should probably be concerned about himself over us. I don't need to be babysat by any of you, STRIKE isn't exactly known for out smarting opponents. I'm perfectly able of looking after myself, thank you." I began to leave the room, but the agent stepped in front of me, fully blocking the doorway. I could feel the anger coming off of him in waves and it unsettled me but as soon as Rumlow stepped up behind him, he moved to the side and I was allowed to leave the room. I nodded silently to Maria and again to Steve as he waited for Natasha. Fury's death had shifted the mood between us and STRIKE, they seemed to be under an illusion that they suddenly held more power now and it made me suspicious.