A/N: Spoiler alert for almost anything MCU.
As always, many thanks go out to CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur for the Beta and Winter-Soldier-88 for the brainstorming.
To help those who are frustrated at the long times between updates, here's a bit of advice:
What readers and non-writers think writing is: worldbuilding, churning out entire chapters in one sitting, metaphors, character building, finishing novels, flawless plotlines.
What writing actually is: random 1am thoughts, zoning out into fictional worlds, associating songs with characters, writer's block for weeks or months at a time, coming up with plot twists at the most inconvenient times, absolute certainty that you will remember the great idea you had without writing it down.
That being said, I will be taking a sabbatical from this story. The chapter will be longer than most to make up for it. Hopefully, my mind and muse will get in sync once more and it won't be long until I'm back.
Namaste,
Sunny
"I will come back to you, I swear I will;
And you will know me still.
I shall be only a little taller
Than when I went."
― Edna St. Vincent Millay, The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems
Winter Soldier
And You Will Know Me Still
Chapter 91
The Bennett Home
Joliet, Illinois
The family sat around the table, enthralled by the story Kaitlyn was telling, nearly breathless with excitement, awe, and more than a little fear that someone of Dinah St. John's caliber was involved with Homeland Security. Not to mention the fact that she was in the country on an expired work visa, especially considering that she'd always claimed to have been born, raised, and educated in Delaware.
Dylan watched from the doorway, arms crossed, leaning on the jamb, listening with only part of his attention. The remainder worried at the nightmare that had jolted him awake the night before. In it, he dreamt of doing battle with a giant green man. Unsettled by the visuals, no doubt caused by the odd commercial he'd seen the night before that involved a giant green man saying "ho ho ho" while standing on a farm, he'd lain in bed, staring at the shadows dancing on the ceiling until the urge to move or jump out of his skin sent him from the house on a long run. Thankfully, he returned before the family had come downstairs, or he would've had to listen to yet another reminder that he didn't have the luxury of being self-involved. He had a family who would worry about him, with or without a note.
Still, Dylan was troubled by the dream. He had a deeply held belief that there was more to the dream than the fight, but his mind refused to let him see it. Or was his mind protecting him from a trauma so great that the remembering would bring more problems than it solved? But what if the bits and pieces missing were his identity, his family, his life before meeting the Bennetts? What if they were looking for him, devastated at being unable to bring him home? Did he have family? Blood family, not one adopted out of necessity, with which he stayed out of affection?
While the others had their attention on Kaitlyn, Dylan used his superspeed to leave them to it. Throwing himself down on his bed, hands laced together over his stomach, he breathed deeply, and closed his eyes. Every day, his need to separate himself from the people he'd come to care for as family seemed to grow. The urge to leave in order to keep them safe was almost more than he could bear. Every few days, he would tell himself, I'll leave this week, and he would mean it… at that moment. But when the time came to put up or shut up, he stayed because not being with them hurt more than the fear for their lives. If he could get past that, then he would make a break for it and they would be safe.
Turning onto his side, Dylan scrunched the pillow under his head and once again made a plan to leave.
~~O~~
From the corner of her eye, Christine had watched Dylan's face while Kaitlyn recounted her version of events at Evolve the night before the family picked her up at the hotel and didn't like it one bit. He probably thought he was being subtle, but Christine was a couple of levels up on him. She was a mom and a doctor, trained in multitasking and observation. She saw way more than Dylan would ever know.
A myriad of emotions shone in his eyes, though he likely thought himself stoic and above such frivolities as love and affection for others, but Christine knew that wasn't the case. If it were true, Dylan wouldn't have defended her against what he perceived as an attack by a masked criminal, but was, in reality, a superhero.
The biggest issue with Dylan was the idea he'd gotten into his head that he didn't need anyone, but nothing would be farther from the truth. He had no family, that he knew, and whatever his thoughts on the matter, he needed to be close to others, whether friends, family, or strangers who've taken on the role of family. Christine wasn't fooling herself. She and her family needed Dylan too. He had become an integral part of the Bennett family and would be terribly missed if he were gone.
Somehow, she had to make him see that here is where he belonged, whether he regained his memories of his former life or not, and she'd do it because she was dangerous, but fun!
Saturday Afternoon
South of the Mason-Dixon Line
May and Steve shared a mischievous smile as the server tucked menus under her arm on the way to put in their order. Before long, Peter came back from the restroom, and slid in next to May, watching the server start a fresh pot of coffee.
"I ordered for you, Peter. Hope that's okay," she told him.
Peter unfolded the paper napkin under his silverware and spread it over his lap. "Yeah, fine. You know what I like."
Before long, the server returned with their plates, setting them on the table, and dropping a condiment caddy in the center.
Peter used a spoon to poke a mound of white with a small puddle of melted butter in the middle, giving it a dubious stare. "What's this?"
Grinning, May reached for the coffee carafe. "They're grits. Try it."
Using a knife to push a piece of sausage mixed with grits into a spoon, Steve snorted, "You've never had grits before?"
"Um, no?" The boy looked from one to the other, trying to gauge if they were pulling a fast one on him. "Well, yeah, I've heard of them. I've just never seen a grit before. Not the kind you eat."
May nudged him with her elbow. "I was in college the first time I tried them." She added a shake of black pepper and stirred, then scooped a spoonful into her mouth.
"Seriously?" The look of distrust on Peter's face was comical. "When?"
Sheepishly, May looked down at her plate, pushing the food around. "On spring break my senior year, I rode down to Alabama with my lawyer boyfriend. His cousin and a buddy had gotten into a tight spot and he represented them in court." She grinned in remembrance, "Vinny wouldn't even try them."
"Vinny?" Steve inquired. "Italian?"
"Straight outta Brooklyn, baby," she proclaimed with pride, laying on the accent thick and heavy in imitation of her ex. She wiped her mouth and picked up the spoon to stir her coffee. "There was a miscommunication between Vinny and his cousin. See, Vinny's a personal injury lawyer, or was. No idea what he's up to these days. Anyway, Billy and Stan had helped themselves to a five finger discount at a convenience store in Alabama around the same time a couple of mooks rob and kill the clerk. They're accused, Vinny defends them," May paused to prolong the dramatic effect, "the charges were dismissed, and he wins his first ever trial in court." She breathed on her knuckles and rubbed them on her lapel.
May didn't miss the fact that Peter had been so entranced by her story that he'd eaten every bite of the grits, along with everything else on his plate, including four pieces of buttered toast and jam.
Her smile turned affectionate. "You feeling okay, Peter? Any side effects from today's treatment?"
One shoulder went up and down, "Not so far. Can we stop for ice cream on the way to the airfield?"
"How can you still be hungry?" May responded incredulously, annoyed when Steve and Peter laughed.
The server dropped the check on the table with a big smile. "Y'all come back 'n see us real soon."
The diner had an old fashion register near the exit. Steve dropped a couple of bills on the table and stood, waiting until May and Peter had gone ahead to make his way down the aisle.
While Steve paid the bill, May dropped a couple coins in the box next to the register and took three peppermints, passing one to Peter and the other to Steve when they got outside. Peter reared back, disgust and revulsion covering his features like a messy blanket. Holding the mint at arm's length, he detoured to the trash can, dropped it in, and climbed into the back seat of the rental car with a shudder.
Remembering that spiders have an aversion to peppermint, May wrapped hers in the paper, grabbed Steve's before he could open it, and went to throw them in the trash. Once back in the car, she glanced over her shoulder. "Sorry. I should've realized."
Steve didn't understand and said so, "What?"
"Spiders don't like peppermint. Apparently, neither does Spider-Man." May buckled in as Steve backed out of the parking space. They stopped for ice cream, then turned in the direction of the small, private airport owned by Stark Industries where they stashed the quinjet each trip.
The Bennett Home
Joliet, Illinois
After Midnight
Dylan hit enter, sending yet another online application off to human resources. As before, he didn't expect a positive response, mostly due to his lack of work experience. Again, he wondered if Christine and Oliver could have a few of their friends or relatives vouch for him as a cook, babysitter, launderer, caretaker, what have you. He dismissed the notion as it would be asking them to lie for him. Not that it hadn't been done. That's how he was able to get into the U.S. after all.
There was also his ability to perform so many basic everyday tasks which he had no memory of being taught. Not when or where or from whom he'd learned such skills.
Take cooking, for example. Some of the meals he made were found online. Others came from… he wasn't sure what to call it. Obviously, someone in his unknown past had been the teacher, but he'd no idea who that might be. Was it his parents? Grandparents? Another foster family? A sibling? A friend? Had he taken cooking classes?
He shut down the computer and shuffled down the hall to the bathroom. Even the simple act of brushing and flossing his teeth left him with a blank space inside his head. There were also times where he felt empty inside. Not all over, of course, and wasn't sure if there was someone whose presence should be there.
The place within his mind that kept the memories he'd made with the Bennett family gave him a warm, loving, and cared for feeling all over. They knew nothing of his past yet had been eager to open their home and their hearts to a stranger.
Looking at his freshly cleaned teeth in the mirror, a memory came to Dylan of a conversation Christine had with Sonya the first time he'd seen her. The words weren't clear, but the anger in her expression gave him a fresh perspective on that event.
Christine hadn't been surprised by his presence, only that he was alive, as well as the fact that Sonya had been torturing him due to his unwillingness to provide the proper responses to her commands. He played this same scene over and over in his mind and dreams, yet this time brought him to a different conclusion: Christine had either full or partial knowledge of his past and how he'd come to be in that awful place.
As much as he wanted to confront Christine regarding this epiphany, the middle of the night was not the time. The family still had Eli to think about. Engaging her in a hostile and argumentative conversation at this time would only be self-serving. He wanted and needed answers, and in that moment, Dylan made peace with the fact that it might not happen for a while. The affection he had for the family was undeniable, as was theirs for him. He'd gone this long without knowing anything of his past. A little longer wouldn't be the end of the… world… Something about the phrase sparked another flash of memory. Or was he remembering something he'd seen online or on television?
Dylan shut out the light, returned to his bedroom, and flopped onto the bed, pulling the covers up to his chest. With a heartfelt sigh, he shut out the bedside light, and closed his eyes.
Later that Night
He pulled the arrow affixed to her forehead free and carefully brushed the hair from her face. Panting, she squeezed her eyes shut against the pain. "Ah! It's hurts!"
"I'm gonna kill him. I'll be right back." He got to his feet, prepared to do great harm to the one who had injured her.
She stopped him with a hand on his arm. "No, I'm over it." The air rasped in and out of her lungs, rage showing on her pretty features. "I want… I want to finish the plan." She nodded at the aircraft nestled within the trees, her voice taking on a dangerous tone, "I want the big one."
The scene shifted to a previous time, or so it seemed, where he and the young woman were engaged in battle with a group of people in strange clothing who were attempting to breech the force field surrounding an enormous castle-like structure. The one that stood out the most was a giant green man who roared and smashed everything in sight, frequently encouraged by the others.
Another man, this one armed with a bow and arrow, stood behind a tree, took a breath, whirled out, raising the bow and shooting in one fluid motion, as if it were second nature. As if he could do it in his sleep.
He saw himself snatch the arrow from the air before it could hit the mark, confusing the man. Before he could arm and shoot again, he knocked the archer off his feet. Strutting past him lying on the ground, he smirked, "You didn't see that coming?"
…as if he could do it in his sleep… Sleep… Sleep…
~~O~~
Dylan shot to a sitting position in bed, breathing hard. Whisps of the dream flitted through his mind, then were gone.
Who was the girl? They appeared to know each other intimately, yet now that he was fully awake, he couldn't even bring her face to mind, just the emotions. Anger, fear, hostility, pride, deep pleasure, satisfaction, uncertainty, shock, shame… love. His brain kept cycling through a range of emotions, good, bad, annoying, and downright terrifying.
Rubbing both hands down his face, Dylan took one last deep breath, let it out, tossed the covers aside, and padded down the hall to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. He scooped water in cupped hands, drinking it down greedily. Leaning on the sink, water dripping from his face, he stared at himself in the mirror trying to picture the young woman's image alongside his own, and failing.
There was no way he'd get back to sleep now. He used the facilities, cleaned up, and returned to his room to get dressed. What he needed was a good long run to clear his mind.
Parker Apartment
Queens, New York
Mid-Morning
May awoke to a missed call and voice mail from Dorothy, her contact within the foster system. There were no details, per se, aside from an invitation to lunch at a trendy new bistro with an awesome view of Stark Tower, the unofficial Avengers Headquarters. It was more the tone of her friend's voice that gave her a, she snorted, Peter Tingle.
In her bedroom, May set the coffee on the bedside table and opened the closet. "What does one wear to a bistro anyway?"
After considering and discarding several possibilities, she settled on a green camisole under an apricot colored top with the tails tied at the waist, a matching scarf looped around her neck, and dark burgundy slacks. Her feet slipped easily into low heeled pumps. She smoothed on lip gloss and headed down the hall to the living room. She wrote a short note to Peter in case he came home before she returned, picked up her purse, and glanced in the mirror one last time. "Looking fabulous, as always," she told herself as she left the apartment.
Solstice Bistro
Rockaway Beach, New York
Stopping with her fork halfway to her mouth, May blurted out, "You're kidding."
The matronly woman sitting across from her didn't even pause in adding dressing to her salad. "The records indicate that her most recent foster mother advised the advocate that Felicia Hardy, who had just turned sixteen, had run away, taking all her belongings. According to the wife, Felicia had also ransacked the home for easily sold valuables-read jewelry and small electronics-but didn't leave a note." Dorothy snorted derisively. "Take that folktale with a grain of whatever condiment you prefer, May, 'cause the info comes from the parents who are under investigation for fraud. When I inquired again as to the girl's whereabouts, I also informed them up front what the punishment would be if they lied. No matter the outcome, they'll never foster another child in the state of New York, if I have anything to say about it." She picked up her glass of chardonnay. "Which I do."
"So Felicia's been out on the street for almost two years, probably living in a homeless encampment, an abandoned building or something." May shook her head, her appetite wanning. "Poor girl."
Dorothy's slouched shoulders shrugged. "I worry about all my charges, as you well know, but there's something about this one…" she shook her head, "I get the feeling she can take care of herself, and anyone else who comes along."
May nodded. "Same here. Still, I worry about her. Where she sleeps, what she eats, who comforts her when she's sad or sick. Guess it's a mom thing." A thought occurred to her. "Her cell phone can be tracked."
"Tried calling. The number on file now belongs to a private citizen in Long Island who has a very colorful way of telling people to buzz off," Dorothy told her. "I was in the Navy for two decades and even I was impressed."
"Peter has her number. As long as it's not one of those burner phones, I have a friend who might help." Her eyes dropped to her place while sheepishly pushing her food around with her fork. "As long as he doesn't hold a grudge for me breaking up with him."
Dorothy popped a crouton in her mouth, talking around the food, "Can't hurt to try. Remember: if you never ask the question, the answer will always be no."
"Have to get the number from Peter." May applied herself to her meal as did Dorothy. "New subject: how's your mom these days? Still the mayor of your hometown? What's it called?"
"Brockport." A sardonic smile turned up Dorothy's mouth, "Running for re-election again. That woman won't retire unless she's forced to, she loses an election, or she dies." They chuckled together. "My bestie and I are going to the symphony two weeks from Saturday. Go with us. Got an extra ticket," she wheedled. "Ride with us and it won't cost you a dime 'cause Shirley's got a parking placard. We'll make it a ladies night out."
Budapest, Hungary
Home of Zsofia Farkas
Taking up her keys and purse, Zsofia went around the house checking the doors and windows were secure and the alarms hadn't been tampered with.
Since the encounter with the Winter Soldier, she and the others had been plagued with odd occurrences in and around their homes, and while they were out running errands, attending medical appointments, or at one of the many functions with which they occupied themselves in their retirement. These incidents were subtle, never causing bodily harm or any sort of property damage. They were annoying at best and maddening at worst, and, following a short respite, had begun increasing in frequency.
Just this last week, Bence and Elizabet had been forced to appear in traffic court regarding the numerous parking and traffic citations they received. They had argued that someone had moved their vehicle into no parking zones while they were shopping, in the doctor's office, or sleeping. The worst, in their opinion were the citations, backed up by CCTV "proof" of them driving recklessly, speeding, or running red lights at times when they had been at home or in a movie theater. The court refused to believe they hadn't been at fault and ordered them to pay substantial fees that included court costs for wasting the judge's time.
Zsofia herself hadn't been bothered in some time, yet refused to let her guard down. The Winter Soldier could strike again at any moment. Americans had a saying that fit: being caught with your pants down. Crude, but apt, and she wouldn't allow that to happen. She'd been trained by the best to be the best.
The car's onboard computer screen lit up letting her know she had an incoming call from István. Zsofia didn't want to talk to him. However, ignoring his calls would lead to him coming to knock on her door. "Answer phone… What do you want now, István? I'm…"
Instead of István's nasally tones, she heard the chorus of a song she remembered from long ago. Another of the forbidden ones from the US.
Every breath you take
And every move you make
Every bond you break
Every step you take
I'll be watching you
Every single day
And every word you say
Every game you play
Every night you stay
I'll be watching you
Enraged, Zsofia pulled into the parking lot of an abandoned restaurant, slammed on the brakes, and put the car into Park. She snatched up the phone, ready to let loose with a string of vitriol that would peel paint and cause the grass to die. "Listen to me, Asset, it will do you no good to…"
The call ended, the doors locked, and the car shifted into reverse, careening backward, curving around the side of the building, and kept going. Zsofia was thrown forward, back, and side to side, causing her seatbelt to lock. Then, when it seemed as if the car would drive itself into traffic, it came to a screeching halt. The screen lit up again, the engine shut off, the doors unlocked, and the song from before came on once more.
Every single day
And every word you say
Every game you play
Every night you stay
I'll be watching you
Parker Apartment
Queens, New York
"Peter! You home?"
A door opened and Peter came down the hall shuffling through a stack of menus. "It's my turn to cook dinner." He held up the menus. "What sounds good tonight? Thai, Greek, pizza, burgers?"
May set her purse and the container of leftovers on the table and kicked off her heels. "I went out, so whatever you want."
He tossed the menus on the table at her tone and expression. "What's up? Is it bad news?"
"No, not exactly, well, maybe." She took Peter by the hand, drawing him to the sofa. "I spoke with a friend down at Children and Family Services because, well, I'm worried about Felicia, and…"
Peter pulled his hand free and got to his feet, "What the hell'd you do that for? You trying to get her in trouble?"
"No, far from it." She grabbed his wrist and urged him to sit with her again. "Just bear with me." Reluctantly, he nodded. "Where does Felicia live? Have you ever been to her place?"
"Uh, never been there. Says she lives with a foster family in the Bronx. Why?"
Getting to her feet, May went to stand in front of the television. "According to Dorothy-you remember her-Felicia hasn't lived with a foster family since she was sixteen."
Taken aback, Peter stared at her as if trying to decide if she needed to be committed. "She probably has her own apartment then. Either way, I've never been. We always go to the sandwich shop or come here to…"
May saw the light dawning in Peter's eyes and sat next to him, taking his hand again. "Didn't mean to upset you…" The boy jumped up, taking quick strides down the hall toward his room. "Where are you going?" she shouted after him.
"To get some answers." The door slammed. May sighed and rubbed her temples to ease the ache. Then, Peter's door opened and he shuffled sheepishly back to sit next to her. "Don't know where she lives or where to look for her now that she's graduated."
She draped her arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. "Call Steve and Sam, see if they have any ideas. And maybe your friend Cat will help."
Faster than May could see, Peter was on his feet once more. Grinning from ear to ear, he pointed a finger at her, "I'll do it, and eat while I'm out."
The door slammed on the last word. May shook her head, chuckling at his youthful exuberance that was only part Spider-Man.
He came out again, not wearing the Spider-Man suit. "I'll wait till dark."
Budapest, Hungary
Street Market
The car came to a stop in a non-designated parking slot away from the others shopping at the market, yet Zsofia didn't get out. She placed compact binoculars to her eyes, using them to scan the area, looking for the Asset, certain he'd followed her from home even though she'd taken precautions.
Satisfied that the area was as secure as possible with it being outside, Zsofia tucked her wallet into a convenient pocket, gathered several reusable bags, and left the car, setting the alarm and testing the locks.
The first booth held little interest as she was allergic to nuts. Continuing down the line, she discarded much of the offerings due to not being up to her exacting standards. That is until she came to the peaches and nectarines. They were her favorites and she always bought more than she could possibly eat before they went bad.
She squirted a small amount of hand sanitizer into her palms and rubbed it over both hands up to the wrists while her eyes roamed over the wooden cartons.
Then, her danger sense was activated, and within seconds, the space next to her was filled with a warm, solidly built presence. Zsofia knew who it was without looking.
A gloved hand reached past her to pick up a delicate looking fruit. "Try the plums. I like the dark purple ones and they're on sale." He squeezed the plum in his fist until the seed popped out. "I'm told organic is best."
Forcing a smile and acting as if she hadn't heard, Zsofia passed over several bills and change, tucked a carton of peaches and another of nectarines into a bag, and turned from the seller. The smile disappeared as she strolled down the line making a show of perusing the vegetables.
At the end of the line, she kept walking, her ears attuned to the heavy footfalls that trailed after her. The mouth of a dark alley beckoned ahead. No one was within sight. It was time. She spun around, grabbed the Asset by the throat and slammed him against the wall. His strength was considerable, but she had skills learned at an early age.
Tightly gripping the front of his shirt, Zsofia dragged the Asset into the alley and around a corner where they wouldn't be seen. "You have no idea with whom you are dealing. I was one of Ceaușescu's chosen advisors. I have more confirmed kills than even you," she grated out, teeth clenched, and eyes narrowed. Men, women and children alike had trembled in fear before her and soon, he would too. She laughed nastily. "I once killed an entire family whose only mistake was to get in my way. A child of no more than three was the first to go so the parents would see their offspring die before them." Her chin came up, exuding pride in her accomplishments. "One evening when he was feeling especially sentimental, which wasn't often, Nicolae confided that it was the Winter Soldier who had assisted in his rise to dominance in Romania." Her laughter echoed from the walls and his eyes narrowed, as if he had only just remembered the events he personally had set in motion so long ago.
"Zsofia…" the Asset began.
She cut him off with a swipe of her free arm. "My name is not Zsofia Farkas! I am Elena Arcos, and until the communist regime's fall in 1989, I was the highest ranking officer in the Armata Republicii Populare Romîne, Army of the Romanian People's Republic under the last and greatest Communist leader of Romania, Nicolae Ceaușescu. I tortured and killed thousands while in that position and have done the same here in Hungary, though, out of necessity, the number is much smaller." One side of her mouth turned up in a smirk, "I take pride in the fact that I am one of only two female serial killers in Hungary's history, second only to Countess Elizabeth Báthory de Ecsed."
~~O~~
Bucky listened to Zsofia, or rather Elena, provide the names of high-profile victims of her atrocities and those of her companions, digging them all deeper and deeper by the second. Her need to boast and gloat over their former and current exploits would be the undoing of her and her friends.
She paused for breath, her chest rising and falling in a rapid rhythm as she sucked in air.
Slowly, Bucky wrapped his right hand around her wrist and pulled the fingers free of his shirt, releasing immediately, and straightening his spine until he towered over her. Elena was not easily frightened, but a glimmer of fear sparkled in her eyes without changing the expression on her lined face. "Let's get something straight. I'm not the Winter Soldier. I'm James Buchanan Barnes, a Sergeant in the United States Army. You are a now a part of my efforts to make amends to those I have harmed in the past. That I was instrumental in bringing Ceaușescu to power will haunt me for the rest of my life, but putting you and your cohorts in prison for what little time you have left will bring me a small amount of peace." He gestured down the alley toward the street. "Go. But remember that someday, I'll have the pleasure of watching all of you pay for your crimes."
Elena's bravado broke. She dropped her grocery bags, turned and ran, glancing frantically over her shoulder, obviously expecting him to chase after her.
When she was long gone, with a grin, Bucky removed a small device from his pocket. Using his thumb, he turned it on, listening to Elena's harsh tones going down an impressive and bile-inducing list of crimes she committed under the communist regime and since going into hiding here in Budapest. As he did with Antonia and Andrei, he placed the audio recorder in a prepaid envelope and dropped it into the nearest mailbox.
Queens, New York
Later that Night
Up ahead, the robbery suspect dressed all in black like a freakin' cliché ducked into an alleyway from which Peter knew there was no way out except up. The building was locked up tight since the owner abandoned it. Barred windows and doors, and the fire escape had broken loose and fallen to the ground, looking like a giant set of jacks. In theory, one could climb the twisted metal that reached into the sky like some fantastic beast, but the alley was a dead end and it wasn't high enough to reach the roof. A fall from this height would cause severe injuries, or even death… maybe.
All in all, this would be an easy win. Web up the suspect and leave him for the cops to work out the details.
Peter swung in, flipping in midair to land on the very top of the twisted metal, crouched with elbows resting on his thighs, and hands hung loosely between them, waiting for the perfect moment to spring his trap.
The perp looked up and he waved, laying on his Queens accent thick and heavy, "You run into people in the weirdest places sometimes. AmIright?"
In his ear, Karen's voice seemed to whisper, "I know the identity of your suspect, Peter. Her name is…"
"Her?"
"Yes. Your perpetrator is…"
The metal groaned and shifted. The suspect lost his, um, her grip and fell. By instinct, Peter shot several web in rapid succession, creating a hammock like structure. The scream that ended abruptly was indeed female. He leaped from wall to wall, landing on the ground under the webbing, trying to see what Karen saw, that the person he'd trapped, who'd likely committed most of the robberies in the area and was being chased by the police, was a woman. Nope. The black clothing was baggy to obscure the body underneath, yet form fitting enough that it wouldn't get caught on sharp corners or snag on edges.
"You can come down now." The suspect didn't say a word. She moved around, looking everywhere but at him, hoping for a way out. He leaped into the air, coming down on a rusted bar near the person's head, casually extended one arm, and webbed the woman into a cocoon, preventing her escape.
She rolled onto her back still trying to get away. In response, Peter snapped the hammock and jumped to the ground, catching her in his arms, cutting off a startled gasp. He leaned her against the wall so she wouldn't be hurt till the police could take her into custody. "Let's see who you are in case the cops need me to make an identification." He removed the mask and his eyes widened in shock as a braid of long, white hair fell over her shoulder and bright green eyes peeked from under long lashes. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he finally found his voice. "Cat?"
Sirens shrieked, startling them both. Not once in their personal or professional encounters had Felicia looked scared… until tonight. The thought of her going to jail scared him too. With a single tug, he removed the webbing.
Felica stood and he came up with her so they were face to face. The fear he'd seen had turned to annoyance at getting caught. She brushed the bits of webbing from her clothes, her voice a harsh whisper, "Dammit! Why couldn't you have stayed home tonight?"
"What's going on," he hesitated on what to call her, going with, "Cat?"
Back against the wall, Felicia sidled up to the corner and ducked back at hearing police radio chatter and running feet. "We'll talk later, but you gotta let me go, Peter."
"I don't get it. All this time it's been you?"
She stopped him with a sharp swipe of her arm. "No time to explain." The mask went back on, she checked the street and stepped out of the alley into the shadows.
"But the night we met you said…"
The mask came off again as Felicia came back to get up in his face. "No. You assumed I'm just like you, a hero out to catch all the bad guys, and I let you, but I'm not." She sighed, her shoulders sagging. "I'm not a hero, Peter. I'm a thief. Born a thief, raised as a thief by a thief, and will probably die a thief." She shook her head, "We can't get into this now."
Felicia donned the mask, turned her back on him, and walked away.
"Stop," Peter ordered, but she kept going. "Fine. But remember I can't protect you forever." Again, Felicia stopped, turning her head to look over her shoulder. "Next time, I'll have to turn you in."
She gave a short nod of understanding and broke into a run. Peter watched her go, kicking himself for going with his heart instead of his head. He also got the feeling that this would be the last time he ever saw her.
He shot a web and swung in the opposite direction, making his way home. Landing on the roof, Peter looked out over the city.
The Bennett Home
Joliet, Illinois
"Oh, mega cool!" shouted Eli, who was in his room studying.
Dylan knocked on the partially open door and let himself in. "What's cool?"
The boy glanced over his shoulder and back to the monitor where he'd paused a video. "Doing a report for school. It's the last assignment of the year so it has to be awesome. I'm doing it on the Battle of Sokovia."
On the monitor was a scene of astounding devastation that looked like a war zone. Crumbling buildings, people running every which way, some supporting others, carrying small or injured children, still others he could see were dead. Something about it disturbed Dylan and he shied away, taking a step back, yet unable to take his eyes from it.
Eli started the video again and Dylan turned to go, the urge to run almost more than he could take. At the door, he stopped at a shout from the boy.
"Whoa, dude! Lookit this! He looks a little like you, D."
Not wanting to turn around, but knowing he had to see what had taken Eli's attention this time, Dylan came back to the desk.
Using the mouse, Eli scrolled in, centering on two figures, a young woman with long hair and a young man who, Dylan had to admit, did look like the face he saw in the mirror every day.
His gaze fell on the face of the woman. She seemed familiar and not just in a casual, we're friends way. It was more… intimate, yet he didn't get a feeling of sexual intimacy. No, it was closer than that, as if they'd known each other for their entire lives. As if they were not just brother and sister.
Then, a name came to him out of nowhere. "Wanda!" Ignoring the questioning glance from Eli, Dylan blurted out, "I remember! Her name is Wanda. She's-she's my sister," he took a deep gulping breath, "No, not just my sister. She's my twin!"
Avengers Headquarters
Upstate New York
Deeply asleep, Wanda came awake so suddenly she knocked the everything off the nightstand. The lamp and cup crashed to the floor, both breaking, but she didn't even notice.
Tossing the covers aside, she ran from her room and into Steve's arms.
"What's wrong, Wanda? Another nightmare?"
She shook her head, hair flying, strands sticking to the sheen of perspiration on her face. "Pietro!" Griping Steve's arms tight, her eyes wide, she shook him, "I-I heard him calling to me in my sleep." Their eyes met and she saw and felt his confusion. "Don't you understand?" Looking frantically from one face to another as her friends crowded around, Wanda tightened her hold on Steve. "It's Pietro. My brother is alive!"
TBC
"Every Breath You Take" is a song by the English rock band the Police from their album Synchronicity (1983), and was written by Sting.