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

Chapter12

Clint's eyes followed Dooney as he filled a second glass from the bottle and pushed it across the island. The archer grasped the stem, performed the swirl, sniff, sip and savor routine by rote. Still holding the glass, Clint hitched his right hip onto the cushioned seat of a tall chair. To him, Dooney resembled actor Josh Holloway in his Lost days, including the southern accent. Six foot two, shaggy blonde hair to his shoulders, eyes a weird greenish-blue and the stubbled, unshaven look women found so attractive these days. "Got plans for tonight?"

Dooney used the hand holding the glass to gesture at the room in general. "You mean besides the Hachis Parmentier and crème brûlée I was thinking about making? Watching the season finale of Game of Thrones. Why?"

"So Shepherd's Pie and burnt custard in front of the tube." A careless shrug briefly clenched his shoulders. "Going hunting. Thought you'd like to come along."

Though the other man tried to hide it, Clint could see he was intrigued. "Huntin' what?"

"It's more of a missing persons case. Gotta find a guy and bring him in." Clint held up one finger as a qualifier. "Alive."

Dooney refilled his glass and Clint's as a stalling technique. "What're the chances of us gettin' killed?"

The archer thought it over. "Depends. If he resists, I'd say odds are pretty good one or more of us will be dead or in a coma come morning. If he comes along willingly, the probability is still high that the bad guys looking for him will try to kill us."

Dooney held his hands out, palms up, as if weighing his options. "Death by fugitive, death by bad guy or stay in and veg-out?" Then, he smiled. Not always a good thing. However, he was taking the bait. He finished off his wine and set the glass in the sink. "What the hell? I'm bored and we all gotta go sometime, right?"

The expression on his friend's face didn't change though an unidentifiable emotion flickered in his eyes and was gone. Clint had known what the answer would be all along. He pointed over his shoulder in the direction of the bedrooms. "Then suit up."

From their first encounter, Clint sensed that, with training, Dooney would be an excellent SHIELD agent. The big question was did he want to work for SHIELD? With its reputation shredded by the infiltration and betrayal of HYDRA, recruitment had become one of their top priorities for rebuilding their intelligence network. Clint wanted to offer him a position but held off for the time being. Their ranks had been decimated and bank accounts frozen solid so he wouldn't be able to use money as an incentive. Clint would likely be assigned as his SO with the new director having final approval, of course.

Again, Clint felt annoyance and frustration. Hill still hadn't told anyone who had taken the job. The only thing he knew for sure was he didn't want it. A long time ago, he made a promise to someone and intended to keep it, even if it meant letting others down, and Natasha had been there when he made that vow. She would understand. She'd also kick his ass if he didn't follow through. So would the others. Stark, Thor, Rogers, Wilson. Banner especially, would appreciate the value of having friends who were as close as family, people to whom you made promises.

Changes were coming up, propelling him down a path to reevaluate the choices he'd made since his parents and brother had passed away, his job, and his life in general. However, the coming events could make those decisions for him. He didn't like it, but when you've done the best you can, sometimes you had to just let the kinks work themselves out. Luckily, he had lots of support, and not just from the Avengers.

While waiting for Dooney to change, Clint helped himself to a handful of nuts from the bowl on the counter. He was going for a second helping when instincts honed over a lifetime of training and adversity warned him he was no longer alone. "I wasn't kidding, Doon. This op is dangerous. Not only for us, but for any innocent civilians who happen into the line of fire."

With his new and improved hearing, Clint heard Dooney take a deep breath and let it out. "And though you want to last forever, you know you never will."

Clint faced his long-time ally. "And the good-bye makes the journey harder still."

"Cat Stevens, Oh Very Young." Dooney looked away. "It was Mom's favorite song."

The intel Clint was able to find on Duane Oliver Nelson AKA Dooney only went back to his grandparents. His paternal line had moved to Atlanta when his mother was a child. Dooney had moved to New York less than ten years ago. On the maternal side, they'd all perished in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. Because they'd changed their names upon arrival at Ellis Island from England, there was no way to locate long lost family. Like most of the people who were drawn to SHIELD, to the family-like atmosphere, Dooney was alone. Had been since the age of sixteen. After his mother passed, Dooney had been placed in foster care, and had run away within the week.

In all the time they'd known each other, Dooney had never spoken much of his past. Yet now, he'd shared a personal memory. Wanting to put the other man at ease, Clint rubbed the back of his head. "Do Wah Diddy."

"What?"

"Mom's favorite song. When it came on the radio, she'd turn it up loud and sing along. It was embarrassing, especially to a six-year old who wanted to look cool in front of his friends." What Clint couldn't say was that he'd give almost anything to have his mother here now, turning the music up loud and dancing with him in the kitchen like they did when he was a boy. Just one more dance with his mom. Was that too much to ask?

Averting his gaze, Clint stepped into the hall, followed by his friend. Dooney locked the door and jogged to the end of the hall to catch up. Clint opened the window and had one foot over the ledge when Dooney grabbed his arm. "What're you doing?"

"Going out the way I came in." The look on Dooney's face was priceless. Clint came back inside and closed the window. "Fine. If you wanna do it the easy way…"

"You climbed up the side of the buildin'?"

The pair ran down the steps side by side. "It's a circus thing. You wouldn't understand." On the first floor, Clint told Dooney, "I jogged over. You got a ride?"

Dooney snorted. "In the garage. Don't use it much because I work from home most of the time." He dangled a set of keys enticingly. "You drive."

He tossed the keys, and Clint caught them easily, noting that they were an older style that didn't require programming.

In the parking garage, Dooney led him to a space twice the size of the others. Clint's heart skipped a beat upon seeing the silver convertible. Forcing himself to feign nonchalance, Clint walked around the vehicle and back to the driver's side. "A 1963 Corvette Sting Ray. Convertible, of course."

The smirk on Dooney's face made Clint want to slug him just for the heck of it. "Of course."

Clint felt himself beginning to salivate and quickly put a stop to it. "You got protection?"

"If you're askin' if I'm armed, the answer's **** yeah." He took out a nasty looking semi-automatic, made sure Clint saw it and replaced it in its hiding place. Going to the passenger side, Dooney swing his legs over, dropped into the seat and buckled in. He passed a loving hand over the dash. "The only non-original parts are the seatbelts. I'd rather not have my brain splattered all over lower Manhattan."

In the driver's seat, Clint buckled up and started the car. The engine made a loud rumble that was like music to his soul. This vehicle was made to turn heads. Somehow, he managed to keep his wits about him until he reached the road back to Brooklyn. Once on the highway, he floored it.

~~O~~

Sitting in the back of Steve's car with Ty, Natasha mentally patted herself on the back for managing to direct the seating arrangements so that Maria and Steve shared the front seat once again. She hoped that one day soon, she wouldn't have to do any finagling. They thought they were fooling everyone, but the sidelong glances when they thought the other wasn't looking and secret smiles had given them away. To her, at least. And the other day, though she'd pretended she hadn't seen, she'd glimpsed of the two of them holding hands. Maybe soon, they'd get down and dirty.

The teams had gone over the plan one last time before leaving so there was little talk amongst the group during the ride. Apparently unable to deal with the silence, Steve turned on the radio. Instead of Benny Goodman or Frank Sinatra, Steve changed the station and Natasha heard music that had been popular a little closer to her generation. A song she'd never heard ended. It segued into The Dance. Natasha bobbed her head to the rhythm while watching the scenery flow past.

~~O~~

Steve took his attention from Natasha's slightly odd behavior and put it back on their purpose for roaming the streets of Brooklyn in the middle of the night: Bucky. In the distance and getting closer, Steve could see the abandoned sugar factory on the wharf where it looked out over the water with dead eyes. There was talk of multi-use development of the property in the next few years. What that meant, exactly, Steve didn't know or care. All that concerned him at the moment was finding Bucky and bringing him in. Only then could he protect his friend from a world that wanted him dead or in a cage.

Steve himself still received requests and outright demands for him to submit to experimentation in order to recreate the serum Dr. Erskine used to make him a super-soldier. Without knowing exactly what HYDRA had done to Bucky, those same scientists would no doubt see his friend as yet another opportunity for advancements along the same lines. The scientists had also expressed an interest in Bucky's prosthetic arm. If he'd been the kind of man to say exactly what he was thinking, Steve would've given the science community a piece of his mind. As it stood, he greeted all such requests for his cooperation the same way: Thanks, but no thanks.

A few had tried to force his assistance. One company had even taken it to the Supreme Court where the judge literally laughed in their faces before summarily throwing the case out of court and issuing a ruling that prevented anyone else from trying the same stunt.

Arriving at the rendezvous point, Steve pulled alongside the other half of their team. He shut off the engine and got out, followed by his companions.

The team loitered near the SUV, everyone armed and ready to go. Steve didn't have to remind them to take Bucky alive, but they also knew that might not work out. Sam and Kiba nodded at their approach.

Kiba had a handgun strapped to each thigh in imitation of Natasha. She also had a lethal looking weapon in her arms. One hand caressed the stock as if she were soothing a child. With a grin, she caught Natasha's gaze. "Hope you don't mind. I helped myself to your semi-automatic rifle."

Natasha returned the grin with one of her own. "Be gentle with her. She's new."

The former EOD's grin turned into a smirk. "Like a baby."

The group turned at the roar of a high-performance vehicle coming down the wharf to join them. They'd arranged to meet a few blocks from the plant and would approach on foot from different directions.

The vehicle slalomed into a one-eighty, coming to a shuddering stop next to Steve's car. Clint was behind the wheel and his passenger was a stranger, at least to Steve. From the look in Natasha's eyes, they were well acquainted.

"Everyone, this is Dooney." Starting on the left, Clint introduced the group by name. "Ty Sullivan, Kiba Hardison, Sam Wilson, Maria Hill, Steve Rogers and you remember, Nat."

The pair studied each other warily. Dooney nodded a greeting. "I remember she almost got me killed."

"It was one time. You gotta let it go, Nelson."

Dooney crossed his arms and shifted his weight onto one foot. "I wasn't complainin'. Just statin' a fact."

Natasha gave Dooney a quick once-over, curling her lip in distaste. "That's what you're wearing?"

He looked at himself and shrugged. "Knew I was gonna see you tonight so I dressed up, Romanoff. So sue me."

She made a sound of derision. "Do us all a favor, Nelson, and slip into something more comfortable, like a coma."

Steve didn't see anything wrong with Dooney's clothing. The newcomer was all in black, a black t-shirt, black cargo pants and sturdy shoes. He got that it was a ritual between the two. And as interesting as the byplay was, they had a job to do. He stepped forward, putting an end to the bantering. "Save it. You know what to do." He hooked a headset over his right ear. "Let's go."

Somewhere in Brooklyn

Approaching his chosen refuge from a dark alley to the north, James surveyed the structure gauging its suitability for his purposes. Exterior lights indicated that at least some of the power was still on. That, and an Internet connection were essential. Food could be found anywhere.

Hitching the bag higher on his shoulder, James made a complete circuit of the outside to determine the optimal entry point and settled on the roof access as it was unlikely that anyone ever bothered to check that it was locked. His plan was to find an interior room to occupy. His observations over the last several hours gave him the security schedule. A security guard made the rounds of this and one other building once every two hours or so. And while he assumed patrolling the interior was part of the job, he had not once gone inside. Instead, he sat in his vehicle eating and listening to music or talking on the phone, his conversations of the sort that James would never repeat, not even to Steve.

A sign bolted over the main entrance advised the world in general that all functions had been moved to the much larger facility on the next block. Graffiti had been spray painted on the walls, obscene words and suggestions that disturbed James for reasons he couldn't fathom at the moment.

The abandoned hospital sported three floors and had obviously only been closed a short time. A couple of years or so at most. Hopefully that meant the inside was relatively intact and free of squatters. If anyone were in residence, he'd just have to hustle them along.

Standing below the fire escape, James jumped up to the first landing and climbed to the top where it stopped ten feet below the parapet. He jumped onto the railing and from there onto the roof. The access squatted against the side of the building's environmental system and water tank. Grasping the doorknob with his left hand, he twisted until the lock broke.

Before going inside, James surveyed the neighborhood immediately adjacent. On two sides, construction of two new wings to the sprawling hospital was well under way.

He flicked on the flashlight he'd purchased with the money he won at the pool hall near the closed train station. The men he played had been arrogant and full of themselves. Less so after he'd relieved them of every last dollar they'd hustled from unwary marks. A few women had attempted to get his attention as he read the room. And while they were all somewhat attractive in a very obvious way, his interest lay elsewhere. At the moment, his priority was filling his pockets in order to purchase equipment he needed to complete his research.

One day soon, James expected Steve and possibly the red-haired woman to come looking for him, here or in D.C. He had to find a way to stay under the radar. Beyond that, he had no firm plans for the future. He'd come to Brooklyn because it was familiar, or it had been. Now, there was little that he recognized.

On the way into town, the train had passed the sugar plant, reminding him of when his sixth grade class had taken a tour. The sweet scent of sugar dust had filled the air and clung to his clothes long after they'd returned to school. Strangely enough, he also remembered that Steve stay behind due to his asthma.

James made his way down to the second floor, wandering the halls and peeking into rooms. The smell of disuse clung to everything. Broken windows allowed the elements and small animals to make some of the rooms their home. In hopes of keeping them from destroying the equipment he'd bought, he closed the doors.

Eventually, he chose a room that had once been an office. Flicking the overhead light on, he saw that the sofa appeared to be in decent shape and would serve as his bed. The desk, strewn with obsolete papers and files, a multi-line telephone and an outdated computer, would do for a work area.

He swung the heavy bag onto the chair and removed the contents. Clothing was folded and set on the shelf in the closet. Everything else he put on the desk. Within a few minutes, he had the computer up and running. Whatever had been done to him provided him the ability to easily comprehend and retain information he read.

While the system booted up, James went to explore the first floor. Most were patient rooms, supply closets, storage and some offices. A few were examination rooms, left over medical supplies tossed carelessly on the counters and floors. In one room, a single chair sat in the middle of the floor, its original purpose unknown. Its padding was cracked and splitting, the stuffing spilling out, looking like the chair had vomited. Staring at the chair, a flash of memory cause his head to ache over his left eye. He pressed the heel of his hand to the spot as a wave of dizziness caused him to sway on his feet. Pain flowed through his body as if he were being subjected an electric shock, and then stopped. Shaking his head to clear it, James closed the door and continued with his exploration.

Returning to his starting point, James enclosed himself in the office, removed his boots, shirt and pants and sat down at the desk. Pulling the wi-fi router to him, he opened the small tool kit and rewired the router to catch even the faintest signal. It would then be augmented and strengthened by attaching it to the hospital's power supply.

His first task was to tinker with the cameras surrounding the hospital. When it closed down, only one at the entrance and one at the loading dock had remained active. Accessing them, plus the ones on the streets leading up to the hospital, he recorded thirty minutes' worth of film, setting it on a loop that would play until he, or someone else, stopped it.

Fatigue came over him suddenly making him yawn. He rubbed a hand over his face, switched out the desk light and lay down on the sofa facing the door, covering himself with a thin blanket taken from one of the linen rooms. Now that he was here, he had no idea what had drawn him to this city, aside from a memory that kept winding its way through his mind.

Steve and Brooklyn were inextricably entwined, as if they were one and the same. There was also the woman with dark hair, a man, strong and tall, an older woman, and others, none of which he could positively identify except for Steve. He thought the younger man and woman could possibly be his parents, but he couldn't be sure. Not until his memory came back. There was also no certainty that the amnesia would clear any time soon, if ever.

Deciding he wasn't sleepy after all, James got dressed and made his way down to the end of the hall. He peeked out a window to see security just pulling out. Going back up to the roof, he swung both legs over the side and jumped to the ground. Keeping in mind the locations of the cameras just in case, he chose a direction and started walking.

He'd been walking for a while when he came to Flatbush Avenue. He walked past the storefronts, most of them closed for the night, the front, and presumably the back as well, locked behind iron bars. On the side of one building he could just make out a faded soft drink logo, sparking another memory.

Pulling the cap low to hide his face, James turned down a dark alley and cut over to the next street keeping to the dark shadows and avoiding the light as much as possible. He'd passed countless people going about their business. Not one of which had smiled or greeted him. His memories of the before time peeked from under the veil of amnesia long enough for him to see that it hadn't always been this way. When he was growing up, everyone knew their neighbors. If not their names, at least by sight. Enough to nod and smile in passing.

He stopped in front of a small store advertising beer, liquor and wine for sale. Apparently, that was their entire inventory. Just ahead he spied a rundown residential area. Most of the homes were brick with sagging wood porches and steps, and rusty metal railings. The sidewalks were uneven, weeds sprouting up through the cracks.

A few blocks later, James came to a more affluent area. More trees, better sidewalks, more expensive cars. Up ahead, he heard a voice calling out, "Muffin! Here Muffin! Kitty, kitty!"

He jumped a fence and peered through the hedge to see an older woman leaning on a cane looking for her cat. She called for the animal a few more times then turned and made her way slowly up a short flight of steps. At the door, she waited about a minute then went inside, locking up behind her.

Once the woman was gone, James he heard a plaintive meow coming from above and to his left. Despite the lack of lighting, he could still see the mottled fur and glowing green eyes of a cat hunkered down on a branch, nearly invisible behind the leaves. Getting to his feet, he looked up at the cat who looked back. "Muffin?"

She made a slow blink and meowed. His experience with Lucy had given him some insight into the cat mind. Though he knew it probably wouldn't work, he still attempted to issue a command. "Come down." The cat stayed put. He'd have to try something else.

Following the branch from where the hapless Muffin lay out to the end, he jumped up to grab the leaves and pull it down. This allowed him to scoop the cat close before she bolted into the underbrush. Unfortunately, she dug her front claws into the bark, growling deep in her throat. "Let go!" he whispered urgently.

Without warning, the cat withdrew her claws at the same time James released the branch. It snapped up, wobbled a bit and settled back into place, startling the cat. She tried to get away, but he held on.

Holding her gently and rubbing under her neck, James smiled then grimaced when Muffin closed her eyes and began to purr, her claws alternating digging into his chest through the material of his shirt. One paw he couldn't feel at all where it touched the skin beside his prosthesis. The other, however, pricked the skin over his pectoral muscle again and again.

He pulled the cat's claws free as he carried her to the old woman's front door and knocked.

Shuffling feet came down the hall and a moment later, the door opened. "Yes?"

With the cap pulled low so she couldn't see his face and saying nothing, James handed over the cat. He jogged to the end of the street and turned the corner, hoping the woman wouldn't mention the incident to anyone.

Returning to Flatbush Avenue, James went into a small store where he purchased a premade sandwich and cold soda in a bottle. He ate his uninspired meal as he headed back to his hideaway. As he passed from the business district of Flatbush onto the street that would take him where he wanted to go, he dropped the sandwich wrapper and empty plastic bottle into a large metal trashcan that smelled of rotten garbage, stale sweat, dirty, wet carpeting, and urine.

When he arrived at his destination, the security guard was sitting in his car holding a small device that emitted an eerie glow over his features washing them out and giving him the appearance of wearing a death mask.

Hunkering down behind a hedge of overgrown bushes, he waited patiently, once again going over his reason for coming to Brooklyn and what he planned on doing while he was here. He couldn't live in an old hospital indefinitely, but what else was there for him? Hide during the day and spend his nights hustling pool and rescuing cats? Not the best way to live.

Were there still untamed frontiers in places like Canada and Alaska where he could live off the land without ever seeing or speaking to another human? That appealed even less than wandering the empty halls of the hospital. Though he couldn't remember specific incidents, he did get the feeling that he'd once been a very social person, comfortable in crowds and with his place in the universe. Not so much now. Maybe it was the fact that he was being hunted.

James looked up when the security guard backed into the street and drove away. Each thought trail continued to wind around, bringing him back to Steve and the red-haired woman. While doing research on the world into which he'd been thrust, he found that her name was Natasha Romanoff. Or was it Natalie Rushman? Perhaps Natalia Romanova was her true identity and the others were false selves. It was all so confusing. He took his cap off as he stood, pushed a hand through his hair and slapped the cap back on.

He'd just reached the fire escape and was preparing to scale the side of the building when he heard a sound coming from the dark construction site. Just a small peep that reminded him of when he first met Lucy. Dismissing it as his imagination, he climbed, stopping when the peep turned into an un-catlike scream. The sound was muffled almost immediately, and above the whimpers he heard the harsh growl of a male voice.

"Shut up, bitch!" What sounded like a hard slap produced more whimpering. "Now take your clothes off." Cruel laughter couldn't drown out the sobbing or the woman begging for her life. "Relax, babe. I'll make it good for both of us."

The sound of cloth tearing and another stifled scream impelled James to act. He ran in the direction of the voices, leaping up to balance on the top edge of the twelve-foot fence surrounding the property.

TBC

"Oh Very Young" is a song composed by Cat Stevens. It was released on his 1974 album Buddha and the Chocolate Box.

"Do Wah Diddy" is a song written by Jeff Barry and Ellie Greenwich, released June 1964 by the British band Manfred Mann.

"The Dance" is a song written and composed by Tony Arata, and recorded by American country music singer Garth Brooks, released April 1990.