A/N: Spoiler alert for Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Avengers: Age of Ultron, and Captain America: Civil War.

As always, many thanks go out to CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur for the Beta and Winter-Soldier-88 for the brainstorming.

Note 1: I know it's been a while since this story was updated, but it couldn't be helped. Not only is my muse a fickle little scamp, my family has been experiencing a great deal of emotional turmoil that may not get better any time soon. Such is RL.

Note 2: This story is being revamped. Some scenes will be removed completely. Others will be changed to better conform to the MCU movies. Also, parts 2 and 3 will be eliminated and the chapters posted all under one title.

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 8

"Don't move," James growled, his voice low and menacing. "Who are you? What do you want?"

Behind him, James heard Dum Dum's sharp inhale, almost a gasp. His instincts has gotten the situation all wrong. Looking down at the dark blonde head that stopped just at his chin, he realized his friend was right. One small hand with neat, brightly polished nails gripped his wrist, and the identity of the woman came to him. The knife was removed, carefully so he wouldn't hurt her. Dum Dum grabbed the hilt and James let him take it.

Then, to their surprise and shock, she laughed and stepped out of his loose grip. Crouching, she picked up the clothing and hair supplies that had spilled, shoving them back into the bags. Belatedly, he helped her. "Robbie told me you'd been in jail, but I thought he was yanking my chain. Trying to creep me out or something." She stood, both tote bags at her feet. "I'm Tracie, by the way. Got a place for these?"

Over Tracie's head, James saw Dum Dum set the knife in a drawer and ease it shut, relieved the situation hadn't turned out worse. He opened his mouth to apologize just as Robbie returned. His smile of welcome dwindled. The boy clearly sensed the undertone of tension in the air. Instead of calling them out, he smiled and began the introductions. "Trace, you remember Gramps."

She nodded and smiled. "Hiya, Gramps."

Robbie moved over next to James, turning his back so Tracie couldn't see the expression that said they'd be talking later. "My cousin, James."

One side of the girl's mouth twitched in a half-grin, looking James up and down. "We've met." She went around men to the table and James followed with the bags, speaking as she began laying out the tools of her trade. "I brought clothes and stuff. Didn't know what you'd like so there's lots to pick from. Would've been easier if he'd sent a pic. Robbie, go get the other bags from the car. When I'm done with you, Jamie, women will be falling all over themselves just to talk to you."

Now that she was facing him, James got his first good look at Tracie. Her dark blonde hair just touched her shoulders, the right side pinned back with one long lock colored a vivid purple hanging in a tight spiral, swaying as she moved. The ear on that side had three small earrings in the lobe and a two-inch bar through the cartilage where it curved up and over. Her jaws worked a wad of gum drawing his attention to a fragment of sparkle in the side of her nose. Hazel eyes surrounded by long, feathery lashes with purple, bright green and white on the eyelid assessed him at the same time. Dark lines at the base of both sets of lashes made her eyes look big and round, like a cat's. Her fair skin sprinkled with freckles.

The straps of her lavender top were so narrow, James couldn't see how they were able to support her… He forced himself to show no reaction at realizing she was bare under the skimpy light purple top randomly splashed with green and white. Ducking his head, he was somewhat comforted to see that Tracie's lower half was covered in denim that hugged her curves from waist to ankles, where her tiny feet had been slipped into the type of comfortable shoes necessary for her job.

The number of women he'd spoken to since his liberation had been relatively normal, to him at least. But Tracie was another story. She was bold and brazen and unapologetic for her actions. And he kinda liked it.

Tracie's feet shifted as she took two steps forward bringing her close enough that he could smell her perfume, the scent reminding him of a warm summer day. She nodded over her shoulder. "Let's see what there is to work with, Jamie. Have a seat."

Motel 9

Philadelphia

Sam stepped between the weapon and the women, holding his hands up as if to push them away. "What the hell are you guys doing? They're with us."

They all thumbed the safeties on and put the weapons out of sight. Satisfied, Sam looked over at Maria and Natasha to see them also putting away their weapons. He waved them toward the dresser where containers of breakfast food were laid out. Sam gave the men a pointed stare, and belatedly, Santino and the other two gave up their chairs for the foot of the nearest bed. Steve leaned against the wall. A woman with shoulder length brown hair scooted to the side when Maria took the seat next to her. "You going to introduce us, Wilson?"

Resisting an eye roll, Sam handed out coffee as he made the introductions, pointing with his chin. "The guy with the goatee is Aaron Santino, Army. Next to him we have Ty Sullivan, Special Forces. Over there is Wyatt Newcomb, Marines, and Kiba Hardison, also Army. Maria Hill and Natasha Romanoff."

~~O~~

Pleasantries were bandied around the room while they ate, each of them getting to know the other a little better. What the newbies didn't realize was that Natasha had given away very little personal information while coaxing the others to open up. It was something she'd learned early in her Black Widow training, how to interrogate someone without giving up anything of yourself. She could still see Luchkov's face when he and his henchmen were taken down less than two minutes after the call from Coulson.

Finally, the food was gone, the mess cleaned up and the last of the coffee had been poured. The group, increased to eight, got down to business. As always, everyone readily accepted Steve as the defacto leader.

"Let's get started. First order of business, a map of the boroughs with Brooklyn as the center. Nat?"

"On it, Cap." She took out a smartphone that superficially resembled the models available to the public. The keys were tapped in a specific sequence. The phone blinked and a holographic map of New York appeared above the table.

As he talked, Natasha made notations to the image in accordance with their plans. They laid out a search pattern starting in the heart of Brooklyn where Bucky and Steve had lived as children, progressing out from there in a spiral.

"…we'll split up into teams of two to four depending on the circumstances."

Natasha caught Steve's eye. "Kto-nibud' zdes' govorit po-russki?"

The super-soldier opened his mouth to remind her that he speak her native language, and stayed open when Ty Sullivan said, "YA delayu. Nemnogo."

She eyed the soft-spoken African-American man, silently profiling him. Mid-thirties, lean, dark hair cut close to the scalp, and eyes the color of a tarnished penny. The overly casual way he slouched in his seat belied the fact that he had seen and done things in his life that most people wouldn't approve of even though it had all been done at the request of his country. A man who'd followed orders no matter how absurd they seemed. Natasha dipped her chin in agreement. "Togda ty so mnoy na etu operatsiyu."

Sullivan saluted her with his cup. "Spasibo."

Kiba Hardison leaned forward to set her cup on the table. "If we're choosing our own partners, I'm with Sam." Santino and Newcomb snickered, assuming that her interest was non-businesslike. "I wanna hear more about Project Falcon." To Sam's surprise, she continued, "I heard the rumors just like everyone else. Even applied for a place on the team." She looked down at her hands on clenched on the table top. "Turned me down flat. Then, the convoy I was a part of got into a firefight. I was injured along with three others. One, my CO, died during the evac."

Sam nodded, the smile going away. "I remember. Sure you're up for this, Kiba?"

Natasha could see in the other woman's eyes strength and determination.

"Beats sitting at home staring at the walls of my apartment and having my cousin call five times a day to check on me. I don't have a job yet, but at least I'm doing something." Hardison picked at imaginary pieces of lint on her pants to avoid looking at anyone for the moment. "It was just so hard coming back, you know? One day I'm disarming an IED, saving an entire village, and a week later, I'm back in my apartment watching Dancing with the Stars. That show sucks, by the way."

Hardison's venom-filled comment pierced the tension making everyone laugh. Sam reached over and gave her hand a quick squeeze. She turned to look at him, smiled and let go. To Natasha that said the two were just friends, at least for the moment. Who knew what the future would bring for any of them?

The other two men, Newcomb and Santino, both eyed Hill then each other, a silent battle over which would team up with the SHIELD commander. Natasha lifted her chin slightly to catch Sam's eye, slanting a look in Steve's direction.

Santino caught the byplay, though he didn't respond to it directly. He jammed an elbow into Newcomb's shoulder, almost knocking the other man to the floor. "It's you and me, Corporal."

The baby-faced former Marine flipped a salute with his middle finger. "Whatever you say, Sergeant Major, sir!"

As the hilarity swirled around her, Natasha glanced around to see Steve and Hill death-glaring with her as the target. She responded with an innocently confused smile. "What?"

Steve shook his head. "Now that that's settled…"

The motel room door opened letting in bright light, a welcome breeze, and an uninvited guest. Within a fraction of a second, four weapons were trained on the man standing silhouetted in the open doorway. Beside her, Steve's arms hung loosely at his side, totally relaxed. Then, suddenly, Steve walked forward, hand outstretched, smiling a greeting. "Thanks for coming, Clint."

"Happy to help out a fellow Avenger, Steve. 'Sides, I got nowhere else to go now that the NSA, the FBI, and Homeland Security are camped out on my doorstep. Thanks for that, by the way, guys." The last was dripping sarcasm as Clint scanned the armed and dangerous group. Instead of feeling threatened, he found the scene amusing. He tossed a backpack in an out-of-the-way corner, and one side of his mouth curled in a smirk. "Got any coffee? I've been on the road all night."

Natasha put away her Makarov, the others following suit. She went to the window and peeked out. "How'd you get here? Don't see your bike or your truck."

Clint drank down half the coffee Steve had given him before replying. "Borrowed one of Stark's wheels. Let Jarvis know where I left it and jogged the rest of the way." Setting the cup aside, the archer helped himself to the leftover bacon, scrambled eggs and hash browns, rolled them in a pancake and ate it like a burrito. Around the food, he said, "So, when're we leavin'? I haven't showered in two ******* days."

Steve jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "Bathroom's back there. Wheels on the road as soon as we're packed, so don't take all day."

Clint grabbed the last of the coffee on his way to the bathroom. The door slammed and the water came on. Immediately, they were assaulted by the archer singing a nicely naughty song at the top of his lungs. Steve and Natasha exchanged one of those looks parents do when their "child" is being obnoxious in public, and the rest of the group laughed.

~~O~~

Steve pulled onto a small highway headed north. They'd only gone about three miles when Clint, sitting in the back between Natasha and Sam, fell asleep with his head on Sam's shoulder, pressing him up against the door. In the rear view mirror, Steve watched Sam plant a hand in the middle of Clint's chest and give him a shove. In response, Clint whimpered, but didn't move.

Sam glared at the sleeping archer and rolled his eyes. "If he drools, he's going in the trunk."

Pennsylvania/New Jersey Border

Taking the long way to Brooklyn, Steve drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music. They could've taken the most direct route, but he was sure, and the group agreed, that they couldn't take the risk of being stopped by whatever law enforcement agencies were still looking for them.

Maria laid her hand over his to stop the noise. He shot her an apologetic smile, and she returned it. They both waited for some comment from their back seat passengers, but none came. Sighing, he shifted in his seat and steered with just the left hand, slanting a look at Maria when she wrapped her fingers around his palm. A quick glance over his shoulder gave Steve a snapshot of the back seat that made him chuckle. Maria's eyes followed his, and she smiled too. That smile grew bigger as he weaved their fingers together and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles.

Sam, had fallen asleep too, still with Clint's head on his shoulder. Only now, Clint had his arm around Sam's waist. He sighed in his sleep and cuddled closer, as if hugging a stuffed animal. Natasha took out her phone, aimed it at the two men and snapped several photos. She passed the phone to Maria, and Steve looked over her shoulder, both chuckling quietly.

Knowing this group, there would be plenty of chances for ribbing in the future, and Steve was tempted to tell Natasha to delete them, but didn't. He could use them as blackmail when the archer got out of line and needed some incentive to behave, off duty of course. Clint was a consummate professional on the job. Yes, Steve sometimes felt like a parent or guardian put in charge of a boisterous group of children around the Avengers at playtime. The two faces that came to mind were Tony and Clint.

While Steve preferred to take Maria and go somewhere, a secluded cabin maybe, so they could get to know each other without being under a microscope, they had to find Bucky, meet up with the new SHIELD director-Maria still hadn't told them who it was-and have their lives go back to what passed for normal. For now, he'd get his chuckles where he could, and enjoy the feel of Maria's hand caressing his.

The Dugan Home

Washington D.C.

Late Afternoon

Tracie dragged a straight backed chair into the light and crooked her finger in the universal "come here" signal. Reluctantly, he did as she asked while she went into the bathroom, coming back with a towel. She wrapped it around his neck and tucked the ends in. "I need a few things, Rob." She gave her list as she unpacked one of the bags. "… a spray bottle with water, paper towels, and a beer."

The teen drew back, startled. "Beer? Why?"

The girl huffed at him. "To drink, silly." She eyed Dum Dum, and the look on his face. "Relax, Gramps. I'm over twenty-one."

Robbie's snort echoed from the kitchen. "Barely."

She leaned around so James could see her face, her voice a husky whisper. "Three months ago yesterday. You know, in case you'd like to take me out for a drink to thank me, Jamie."

While she spread newspapers around the chair, James wasn't sure what to think of the nickname Tracie had given him, or her boldness, though it was a refreshing change. From the bits and pieces he could recall, women used to be demure, most preferring to let the man make the first move. Obviously, it was no longer the case. His thoughts screeched to a halt when she ran her fingers through his hair.

"You weren't kidding about needing a make-over. This retro homeless look you've got going isn't doing you any favors with the ladies. Or the fellas, if your door swings that way." Now she was combing his hair, picking it up and letting it fall, testing it, but for what, he couldn't say. Thinking that this was a bad idea, James started to remove the towel, and Tracie slapped his hand. "No touchy."

Dum Dum, sat heavily on the end of the sofa where he could see what was going on. "Forgot to warn you, James. She's a feisty one."

James spent several short seconds thinking over his response and let it go without comment.

Robbie opened a beer bottle and set it within Tracie's reach. He handed another to James and held one out to Dum Dum. The elderly man shook his head. Robbie shrugged and opened the bottle. He was about to take a drink, nearly spilling it when Dum Dum pounded his cane on the floor. "Robert Joseph Dugan!"

"Aw, Gramps. It's just beer."

"I'm not busting your chops, son. If your mom finds out I let you drink, she'll flip."

The boy was so disheartened, James called out to him. "Robbie? Put this back for me. I'm not supposed to drink while on parole."

Grateful that he'd managed to save face, Robbie took the beer, replaced the caps on both, put them back in the refrigerator, and returned to the living room. "How long's this gonna take, Trace? Don't wanna get busted by the mother unit."

James heard and felt water being sprayed all over his head then the distinctive snip, snip of scissors. "As long as it takes, doofus."

Dum Dum opened the drawer of the end table, pushed the knife out of the way and took out a deck of cards. "How 'bout a couple hands of Gin, boy?"

Robbie sighed. "Sure. Beats watching her play with his hair."

Without the distraction of carrying on a conversation, James could concentrate on another aspect of living in the real world that he'd forgotten about. It had been decades since he'd been close to a woman for something other than fighting or killing. It would be a long time before he was ready to venture into the world of physical intimacy again, if ever. As he'd done with most of his memories of the before time, James filed that aspect away for now.

~~O~~

Standing in the bathroom wearing a towel around his waist and nothing else, James rubbed condensation from the mirror so he could see his reflection. Tracie had trimmed and shaped his hair. He pushed his hand through the wet strands, letting them fall, and admitted that it looked less, what did she call it, retro homeless? Whatever that meant.

He ran the back of his fingers down his smooth cheek. Per Tracie's instructions, he'd shaved in the shower, and it was an odd sensation seeing himself without the beard. Snagging a second towel, he rubbed his hair, face, chest and arms dry then flipped the towel around to dry his back. Hanging it over the shower rod to dry, he used the one around his waist to dry the rest of him and did the same with that one.

Picking up the bag of clothes Tracie had given him, James put down the toilet seat and set the bag on it so he could choose what to wear. Down in the bottom, he found a pair of boxer shorts made from t-shirt material. Shrugging, he pulled them on, not sure he liked how they clung to his thighs and his nether regions, outlining everything for the world to see. Next, he put on the socks. They were plain black and reached the middle of his calf.

Putting on the faded jeans, James contemplated how to hide his metal arm from Tracie. It hadn't been a problem while she was cutting his hair. He'd simply worn the long sleeved shirt and a glove. The situation worked itself out when he found a long sleeved t-shirt in the bottom. Holding it up, just for a moment, he wondered if the young woman had a screw loose. Splashed across the front was what he could only assume was the name of a band, AC/DC, their photo and Highway to Hell across the bottom.

He was tying the boot laces when there was a rap on the door. "Jamie, you decent? I need to put the finishing touches on your hair."

Checking one last time that his left arm was fully covered, James opened the door. Tracie stepped in and shut it behind her, closing them in the small room together, something he'd wanted to avoid if at all possible.

She pointed and he sat on the toilet while she worked on his hair. James almost groaned out loud because her chest was all he could see. He wondered if she had any idea of the effect she had on men by dressing this way. Best guess, she knew and didn't care.

He thought about her suggestion that he take her out for a drink in appreciation of her work, but wasn't certain he should step that far outside his comfort zone.

Tracie stepped back to take a look at her handiwork and smiled. "Much better. Word of advice. Women are hot for the stubbled look, so only shave every third day, and always at night so you have a bit of roughage in the morning when you head out. Unless your job requirements are different. What do you do, by the way?"

He couldn't tell her the truth, that he had no job and no way to make money legitimately, so he lied. "I'm starting at a construction firm next week. Du… My uncle is helping me out until I get back on my feet."

Tracie rinsed her combs and scissors in the sink, nodding her understanding. "My dad was shipped overseas for a while. We can talk about it while we have that drink." She gave him a wry grin. "Just a drink, Jamie. No funny stuff. Scouts honor."

Now that she'd taken the pressure off, so to speak, James found himself saying, "Okay."

"We'll go someplace quiet so we can talk. Let's not tell the Dugan family, just in case Robbie's creeped out about his bestie going on a date with his jailbird cousin. Here. Put these on, and when you get out there, play it up."

Tracie handed him a pair of sunglasses and James obediently put them on. "Play it up?"

She snapped her fingers and shifted her shoulders. "Let 'em know you not only talk the talk, you walk the walk. We're going for a look here, playing to an audience, even if it's just Robbie and his gramps." With a wink, she opened the door. "Here he comes, guys. The new and improved Cousin James."

Brooklyn, New York

The group of nine took up most of the tables in the back of Salads and Subs for three reasons. One, they could see everyone coming and going. Two, the emergency and rear exits provided easy escape routes, just in case. And three, they were near the bathrooms.

Steve had wanted to go to Burger Heaven at the other end of the block, but was voted down. He could've pulled rank, but it wasn't worth the effort. As long as they followed orders when it counted, everything else was negotiable.

Natasha shut off her phone, dropping it on the table with an angry huff. "The only safe house my contact has available in the area isn't large enough to house all of us, unless we split up."

Shaking his head, Steve picked up his soda cup, finding it empty. "We stick together as much as possible. Non-negotiable."

Kiba Hardison wiped her mouth, rolled the napkin into a ball and dropped it in her empty plate. "What about squatting in an abandoned warehouse or factory? We passed a whole slew of 'em as we came over the Staten Island Bridge."

Clint returned to the table balancing four full glasses, handing them out to their owners and keeping the last one for himself. "Our main needs are water, power, Internet. And it should be in an area where we won't attract too much of the wrong kind of attention."

Steve rubbed his eyes and snorted. "That's most of Brooklyn, Clint. Wherever we stay, it has to be centrally located." He gestured to indicate the surrounding area. "Not too far from the Botanic Gardens."

Maria, sitting across from him, looked up from her phone. "I'd say four to five bedrooms. Plenty of outlets for electronics, and storage in the basement for…" she quickly scanned the room. The other patrons were minding their own business, as they should. "…security.

Looking over Maria's shoulder, Natasha added, "A brownstone would be ideal. There are several for rent nearby. And we're in luck. The realtor handling them is next door. Sydney Crowe."

Sitting back, Steve crossed his arms, fighting a yawn. He'd only gotten seven hours of sleep in the past three days. That, the nine-hour drive that should've only taken four, and worrying about his friend were all taking a toll on his energy reserves. Normally, he only needed three to four hours a night and he was good to go. He got to his feet. "The name Captain America still opens a few doors. I'll go."

Smirking, Natasha handed the phone across the table. On the screen was a photo of the realtor gracing them with an inviting smile, yet in her eyes, Steve could see that her past had not been easy. She also didn't let it hold her back. The brown orbs surrounded by dark, thick lashes smirked at the world as if to say, "I've been there, done that, pal. So don't mess with me." Her appearance was softened somewhat by the light streaks in her shoulder length dark brown hair.

"Pretty. Hey!"

The phone was snatched from his hand. When he reached for it, Clint backpedaled. "That's her?"

The archer tossed the phone back to Maria who caught it with one hand. Clint shrugged into his leather jacket and pushed both hands through his hair, making it stand up just enough to look fashionable. He smoothed the edges of the goatee he'd grown at part of his disguise With a thumb and forefinger. No one bothered to mention that women found him even more attractive. Eventually, someone would recognize him and they'd all be on the run again.

Narrowing his eyes, Steve stopped Clint from leaving by grabbing his arm. "Where are you going?"

"We need digs, Cap." Clint snorted and clapped Steve on the shoulder. "To get it, you need your best man on the job." He winked at the women all sitting together in the corner. "Don't wait up."

Steve put his foot down, figuratively as well as literally. "This is my town, Clint. I should be the one…"

"No offense, Steve, but that woman will eat you alive, and not in any of the fun ways." He saluted the group and pushed out the front exit.

Everyone turned around to watch through the window as Clint jogged across the parking lot to the office next door. Sydney Crowe was just locking up, sending Steve's stomach down to his feet with disappointment. Then something strange happened.

Clint flashed Sydney that charming, self-deprecating smile he did so well, and within seconds, she invited him inside. From where they were sitting, they could only see the woman's back, Clint's knee when he crossed his legs, and occasionally his hand as he talked. Then, they moved out of sight into another part of the office.

Resisting the urge to pace, Steve took out his notebook and added a couple of items to the bottom of the list. Across the table, he watched the women talking quietly, occasionally laughing, at what, he didn't want to know. Everyone deserved to have some secrets.

As if she knew what he was thinking, Maria looked up and gave him a smile, one full of warmth with a touch of affection. Unless he was reading her all wrong, he was as certain as he could be that she the same feelings for him that he had for her. The only way to know for sure was to ask, and he wasn't ready for that. Once all of this crap had been cleared up and the world realized that an intelligence network was essential, maybe then they'd do something about this thing between them.

Steve went to the fountain for another refill. Just as he'd retaken his seat, Clint left the realtor's office, waving to Sydney Crowe as she got in her car and drove away.

Clint rejoined them a few moments later dangling a double set of keys and grinning. "Let's jet, boys and girls. Our new nest is waiting."

TBC