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

Chapter14

"Like hell you are!" Clint bit out as he got up in Dooney's face, his voice rising slightly in pitch. "No one gets left behind. You hear me?"

Through his headset, Clint heard Natasha's voice dripping sarcasm. "We can all hear you, Clint."

"He's right, Dooney," Steve added. "We'll figure something out."

The independent adventurer huffed. "I don't have what I need to MacGyver it. We agree the lab has to be destroyed, and this is the only way without calling the cops."

Angry at his friend's obstinance and cheerfulness displayed in the face of certain death, Clint returned to ASL for them to have a private talk. What the hell's going on?

Someone has to stay behind and it is not gonna be you!

Clint shrugged. Why not? I can push a button.

You know why. Do I have to spell it out? L-A-U…

Cutting him off, Clint signed, What are you doing? Dooney's eyes wouldn't meet Clint's telling him more was going on than altruism and self-sacrifice. Don't be an ass, Duane. He deliberately used his friend's given name knowing it would irritate him into talking. It's like you've suddenly got a… a death wish, throwing your life away for no good reason. The drug lords, they don't give a **** about you or your sacrifice, so just put it out of your head 'cause it is nothappening.

Those oddly colored eyes met Clint's and looked away, but not before he saw the kind of pain that one doesn't get over. It reminded him of the sort of pain you put up with because you don't have a choice.

I do have a good reason, Clint. I… I didn't want you to know. Didn't want anyone to know. I'm… Clint could see that this was the first time he'd said it out loud and it wasn't as easy as he thought it would be. I'm dying. Dooney paused to let it sink in for his friend. Got the diagnosis a few months ago. Eleven months, maybe a year. He threw his hands up in the air. My whole stupid life was a ******* waste. Might as well let my death have some meaning.

Before Clint's stunned brain could formulate a suitable reply, he heard Steve's voice demanding a response. Taking a deep, calming breath to keep from yelling obscenities at their team leader for the interruption, Clint answered, proud of himself for sounding composed. "Sorry, Cap. Still working out the logistics."

"Forget logistics. Get out and blow this thing! We don't have a lot of time."

Giving Dooney a milder version of his death glare, Clint paced a few steps away and back. "There's a slight hitch in the plan."

Sam finally managed to get a word in. "C'mon, Barton. Blow the SOB and get the hell out."

Clint had hoped to end the debate without bringing the others into it. However, he now realized that eight heads were better than two. "It's the remote detonator. The signal is being blocked. My partner and I are having a lively discussion about who's going to stay behind."

The entire group voiced their thoughts on that scenario with Steve's winning out. "No one stays behind. Got it? Figure something out and do it fast! They're getting restless out there."

This time, Kiba was the one to barge in. "I got this one, Steve." To Clint, she said, "I thought the Amazing Hawkeye was an explosives expert."

Clint scoffed. "I am, but this is a whole different ballgame. New on the market."

"SHIELD doesn't require continuing education? How backward of them."

In the background, Clint heard Sam say, "Probably fell asleep in class."

The EOD specialist's voice had a teasing tone he liked. Not so much Sam's, but he was getting used to it. "Training was scheduled for the day after SHIELD collapsed."

"Ah. Okay, guys, I need to know everything you know about the building, materials, square footage, chemicals in the lab. Don't leave anything out. And make it quick. We're running out of time."

~~O~~

Zachary Callahan examined the newest batch of product coming off the line. His people were diligent and took great pride in their work. Most of them had degrees in chemistry or were in the process of acquiring a degree. Except for the guards. But then all a guard needed was the ability to follow orders, the skill to fire a weapon and the balls to use it on another human being.

Known by his street name Skeez, he'd worked for Carlota Augusto, the leader of the Piedras Negras drug cartel from the age of fourteen, the year his father died and left his mother to raise five children on her own. Skeez started out as a runner and had risen steadily in the ranks over the years. Now, he ran the New York division, overseeing the manufacture and local sales of their products. They had labs all over the city, mostly in buildings like this one that had long been abandoned.

Talk on the street said that the current owners of the old sugar factory were planning to develop the area. In doing so, they said, it would create jobs and hundreds of millions in revenue. All it meant to Skeez and his employers was that their time in this location was coming to an end.

Skeez had spent the last month scouting for new digs. The move would halt work for at least a week. That's why he was working his people hard to build up enough product to get them over that hump without loss of revenue. Every time there was a drop of more than a few thousand dollars, Carlota would send her henchmen around to find out why and provide "incentives" to get back on track. Skeez rubbed the back of his neck. Their last motivational speech put me in the ER.

Behind him, the normally quiet voices had taken on an anxious undertone. One of the workers called out, "Skeez! Look!"

The young woman pointed and through the window, he could see smoke. He went to the door and looked out. The smoke was getting thicker with each second. They all knew what would happen if the fire reached the lab. Pulling his mask away from his face, Skeez whistled for their attention. "Fire! Everyone out! Now! Go!"

They didn't have to be told a second time. With the guard and Skeez holding the doors, the workers rushed out, and they followed. By his estimation, they would have to get at least the equivalent of three city blocks away to avoid the blast.

At the loading dock, someone had already opened the doors letting in fresh air. Skeez did a quick head count, relieved that there were no stragglers. The guard brought up the rear as they ran from the factory. "All units report everyone's accounted for. They'll meet us at the rendezvous point."

"Good." Even for a man in his late thirties, Skeez was in excellent physical shape, and he arrived just seconds behind the others. "We'll hang out here until it blows then head home. Should be pretty spectacular."

The guard tucked his thumbs into his belt. "Señora Augusto won't be happy."

"I'll take care of Carlota. Go check for injuries, and do a headcount."

Something in his tone drew the guard's curiosity. "What're you thinking, boss?"

"I'm thinking it's all a ruse and we're about to be ripped off." Skeez quickly went down the list of rivals who would have the resources and balls to attempt something of this magnitude and came up with only one name. "Has to be Reyes. He's been trying to take over the operation for years." What Skeez didn't say was that Junior Reyes had Carlota's husband killed then tried to romance her, and when she rebuffed his advances and his offers to relieve her of the burden of handling the business on her own, he began raiding their Mexico warehouses. Carlota put a stop to that immediately by having Junior's prize-winning stallion killed.

The group milled around, watching for the night sky to light up with multicolored flames. When it did, the first responders would arrive within moments, and they would get away in the confusion.

Skeez pulled his mask off over his head and shed his protective suit. Behind him, the others did the same. As thick as the smoke had been outside the lab, the explosion should happen any moment now.

~~O~~

"…Sorry guys, but under the circumstances, the best way to blow this thing is the remote. Anything else would take too long to set up, even if I were there and had the tools."

Kiba's voice sounded calm and soothing in Clint's ear, with just a trace of humor. Clint and Dooney listened to her while simultaneously carrying on a conversation in ASL that frustrated Clint more than it should have. Dooney refused to answer any and all questions regarding the specific diagnosis aside from his prognosis. Clint had to get him to open up about whatever it was that was killing him. How else could Banner and Cho create a cure?

"Thanks for trying." Though his tone was quietly calm, Clint wanted to scream and yell and hit things. Not only wouldn't that help the situation, it would make his friends and colleagues question his sanity yet again.

Standing midway between the exit and the sweet spot, Clint gauged the distance and their chances of getting out with their butts intact. They stayed close, always within sight of each other, and for the same reason. Neither man trusted the other not to take the remote and run for the lab. How that would stop the one left behind from following was a mystery with no easy solution.

Then a germ of an idea took root. Clint fed it with Kiba's EOD knowledge and his expertise in archery and contracting, and soon, it grew into adulthood. Not wanting to get the others' hopes up, Clint signed I make the distance about thirty-eight yards to the exit. Agreed?

Thirty-seven-five. Dooney gave him a so what shrug.

The archer motioned for his friend to follow him. Returning to the sweet spot, he silently asked for the remote and Dooney turned it over without hesitation.

Taking out his knife, he cut a narrow strip of cloth from Dooney's shirt. His friend started to protest and Clint responded with the universal sign for zip it! Clint used the cloth to tie the remote to the slat of a wooden pallet then propped it against the wall, gauging the distance, angle and height. He made minor adjustments, and when satisfied, picked up his bow. Slinging the quiver over his head, he made for the exit with Dooney in tow. Into the headset, he murmured, "Two minutes from my mark, Cap."

In the background, Clint heard Steve send their teammates ahead while Steve and Maria conferred quietly. Steve wanted to call the police, anonymously of course. However, Maria's voice of reason prevailed. "They have it under control, Steve. He said two minutes. Let's get to cover."

Then Natasha's smug tones played a trump card as only she could. "Unless you don't trust Hawkeye to get the job done."

Clint had to give it to his bestie. Steve was all about trust, and Natasha used that knowledge against him.

He heard the super-soldier huff, knowing he'd been played. "Call it, Clint."

Clint removed his headset, motioning for Dooney to do the same. Puzzled, but willing to go along for now, Dooney pocketed his own headset.

He turned his concerned gaze on Dooney as they headed for the exit a short distance away "Duane…"

Normally, Clint only used his given name to annoy, but that wasn't the feeling Dooney got from him this time. The conversation was about to get serious and he rushed to reassure him, at least for the immediate future. "I'm fine. The symptoms won't manifest for another couple of months. As long as I take my meds and listen to the docs, I'm good to go."

Clint came to a stop just outside the exit and faced the building. He replaced his headset and prepared his bow. Touching the buttons turned the caddy in the quiver and attached one of the specialized tips to the shaft of an arrow. He drew the arrow out, nocked it and pulled the string back to his cheek. "It's show time, boys and girls." To Dooney, he whispered, "Go. I'll catch up."

This time, there was no discussion. Dooney walked backward a few steps not wanting to miss what he felt was a shot that only Clint could make.

"Three… two… one…" grinning at Dooney, Clint brought the bow up and pulled the string back to the anchor point, "Mark."

The arrow leapt from the bow, and before it had even hit the target, Clint was off and running, catching up to and passing Dooney.

Washington D.C.

The Dugan Home

The Dugan family returned home from the funeral of Timothy "Dum Dum" Dugan just fifteen minutes before guests started arriving. While his mother, father, sister and grandmother answered the door and made everyone was comfortable and fed, Robbie placed the urn containing his great grandfather's ashes on the table near the window. Another urn already held a place of honor there. Now Gramps was with his beloved wife once again.

Robbie had known this day would come, and hoped it wouldn't come for a long time. If his mother, father and grandmother knew that Barnes fellow had been here and what they'd been up to, they would surely place the blame on him. Robbie wasn't so sure that was the case. Gramps was nearly a hundred with several medical issues and had been lax about taking his meds.

His mind had been as sharp as ever. He just hated the fact that he'd gotten old and had to take pills every day. Robbie himself had argued with him, to no avail. Gramps did what he wanted and to hell with everyone else. That was especially true after Grams had passed. He'd just turned seven and hadn't been sure what was happening. Just that they'd gone to the chapel for the service only she wasn't there. An urn at been placed on a podium with a sign and a photo of Grams with Gramps on their wedding day.

There were so many people in their house, you could hardly move let alone breathe. His tie was choking him. Robbie had tried to take it off, but his mother put her foot down. His younger sister Kristy ran through the house with the other kids, yelling and making so much noise he couldn't think.

Robbie went through the kitchen and out the back door, crossed the yard and let himself into the apartment. Silence at last. He could still hear the music coming from the house, but it was easy to ignore. He stood in the middle of the living room, hands shoved deep in his pockets, expecting Gramps to come out of the bedroom or the bathroom so they could play cards or watch a game on television.

Going to the kitchen, Robbie took out the last bottle of beer, twisted the top off and carried it into the bedroom. Gramps had kept all his cherished photos and memorabilia in here rather than display it in the rest of the apartment. He was proud of his service, but didn't like bragging, except about his family.

Sitting on the foot of the bed, Robbie drank the beer and stared at the photos, the awards, the medals, remembering all the pride his great grandfather had taken in serving his country. How each year, he attended the Memorial Day festivities in uniform, all the pomp and circumstance of the occasion, the American flag that was only taken down when it needed replacing. To Gramps, being a soldier, to be the one who fights so that others can sleep peacefully at night, was one of the noblest professions in the world.

Now he got it.

"I understand everything now, Gramps." Robbie finished off the beer and set the bottle on the floor. "You never said so, but I know it bugged you that none of us followed in your footsteps. You wanted to change the world, to make it a better place, and you did. You changed me too. And you can rest easy now." He chuckled. "Mom and Dad are going to freak when I tell them I'm enlisting in the Army. I'll make you proud, Gramps. Promise."

Brooklyn, New York

When the explosion didn't happen as expected, Skeez's suspicions shifted into high gear. To the guard, he said, "Smoke bombs. The Borde Del Mundo aren't getting away with taking what's ours. We're taking the fight to them."

"Yes, sir." The guard spoke into his headset and soon, three of his men arrived with a variety of weapons. "Kyle, Rachel and Maggie, head for the rendezvous. I don't want you involved in this."

To the guard he said, "Take three and cover the loading dock. The rest of us will hit the front." Skeez looked at his watch. "Three minutes. No one gets out alive. If Reyes is with them, bring him to me."

The guard nodded, motioned to three of the group, two guards and one other, and together they jogged around the side of the small shed and out of sight.

Counting in his head, Skeez held up his hand and signaled to advance.

~~O~~

Clint released the string, turned and ran after Dooney who did his best to keep up. But the chemicals he'd inhaled had done a number on his already compromised system and he began to get winded, his steps faltering. Suddenly, Clint was there, sliding an arm around his waist for support. Dooney wrapped an arm around his friend's shoulders and held on tight.

Dooney thought he'd reached the final stage of mourning his own death, acceptance, as well as the fact that it would happen just after the New Year. But in the space of a single heartbeat, he realized that he didn't want to die. He wanted to live for a long, long time. All the treatment options for his condition sounded worse than the disease so he'd declined, not very politely. I'll call the doc in the morning, provided we survive Clint's brilliant plan.

This close, Dooney could hear Clint murmuring under his breath as he threw them down behind what was left of a concrete wall. They covered their heads and seconds later, whoosh-BOOM!

The sound was similar to, yet different from a normal explosion. In this case, the substance they used to destroy the lab was designed to implode. But, with the concentration of chemicals, it also caused an explosion leaving them with a strange sucking sound at the same time as the rumble of debris being thrown outward.

Peeking over the wall, they watched in horror as the smoke stacks were thrown up into the air. One fell on the main part of the building. The other arced up and over, headed for the ground followed by chunks of concrete and twisted pieces of metal. Dooney and Clint shared an "oh shit!" moment as they watched it all come down on the north side while the center of the main building collapsed in on itself.

~~O~~

Just as Clint gave the two-minute warning, a bullet pinged off the aluminum tanks lined up outside of the L shaped structure sending Steve and Maria running for cover. The place they chose was relatively safe from their attackers, however, they had less than two minutes to get as far away as possible from the blast, and their current was too close for comfort.

Steve pushed Maria into the narrow space made by a building that was not attached to the factory and an eight-foot retaining wall. It went in about ten yards to where the wall made a ninety degree turn to the left which would lead them back to the factory again. The building itself wasn't much help, made as it was to house landscaping equipment. Steve peeked in the window and quickly ducked out of sight again when a man dress all in black fired at him through the window on the opposite side, shattering what was left of the panes and showering them with sharp slivers of glass.

Wincing with every gunshot, Steve did his best to protect Maria even while she took the occasional potshot to keep their opponents busy. "That thing's going to blow any second!"

Another voice interrupted. One of the people from the lab. "Come out of there, Reyes, and let's settle this like men!"

To Maria, he said, "Who the hell is Reyes?"

She popped up, fired off a few shots and ducked again, bullets ricocheting off the corrugated metal and cement wall. "Business rival."

Steve chanced a look at their surroundings. "What's on the other side of this wall?"

"Don't know. Phone's down so I can't scan. Don't see that we have any other option." The handgun went back into its holster as she got to her feet and Steve came up beside her. "Lift me up. I'll go over and you follow."

Now Steve had his weapon out, firing back just enough to keep them busy. He nodded and backed up to the wall, dropping the handgun back into its holster. Steve squatted and laced his fingers together. Maria put her foot in the stirrup and her hands on his shoulders. "If the coast isn't clear," he told her, "then I suggest prayer."

She didn't respond except to push off with the other foot, one hand moving from his shoulder to the top of the wall. Holding onto both feet, Steve lifted until her head cleared the top. She ducked, and semi-automatic weapons fire passed through where she'd just been, penetrating the walls of the shed and ricocheting inside. With his face somewhere around her knees, he murmured, "We need to talk."

"Now?"

He couldn't stop a wry grin when Maria looked down at him. "It's called multi-tasking. And we may not get another chance for a while."

Her weapon appeared in her hand, gesturing for him to lift her again. Steve had his back against the wall with Maria's abdomen pressed against the side of his face as she fired over the wall. Someone screamed and under her breath she muttered, "Jerk!"

"Excuse me?"

"Not you." She squeezed off a few more rounds then bent at the knees, ejected the empty magazine and replaced it with a full one.

Now her chest was in his face though she didn't seem to notice. Steve turned his head a little more to the side so he could breathe and talk. "Maria, when we kissed earlier, I felt that we might, one day…"

When he didn't continue right away, she huffed, and carefully stood to have another look. Again, shots were fired, she ducked and now his field of vision included the skin above her tank top and a small wedge of cleavage. "Before we move on to something more…"

"Just say it, Steve."

"You should know that I've never…"

Once more, Maria popped up, firing off the rest of the clip, drowning him out. The skin around her eyes crinkled in annoyance, some of which was directed at him. Then, she shouted, "Grenade!"

The next few seconds seemed to go by in slow motion. Steve released his fingers, allowing Maria to slide down the front of his body, wrapped his arms around her and ran from their hiding place with his head down trusting the shield would protect them. He jumped to the side, turning in the air and drawing his knees up forcing Maria to do the same. They landed on the grass, skidding away from the source of the explosion that erupted behind him. Rolling once more, he and Maria curled into a tangle of arms and legs, protected by the shield. A muffled whoosh was followed immediately by a louder boom.

Steve looked over the edge of the shield. Coming toward them was a chunk of concrete imbedded with rusted and bent pieces of rebar. Quickly pushing Maria out of the way, he braced for impact. The projectile knocked him more than twenty yards into a tangle of bushes, weeds and vines that had been allowed to grow unchecked for several decades. Dust, pieces of metal and smaller hunks of brick and concrete rained down, sounding like hail on a roof. Then it stopped.

Rolling onto his side, Steve scanned the area. Several of the people they'd tried to save had been killed by the chimney stack. The company sign, recently added to the National Register of Historical Places, had collapsed, killing three others. Angry at the loss of life, he considered that they wouldn't have been killed if they weren't bent on revenge.

A hand reached down to help him up. Maria was covered in dirt, grass, leaves and twigs. A smear on her cheek had blood mixed with the dirt. She also had an inch-long gash on the back of her left hand between her thumb and forefinger that would need stitches to close. He probably looked worse than she did, but in his case, they would all be gone in a few days. Tearing two strips from the tail of his shirt, Steve folded one into a pad and tied the other longer strip to hold it in place over the cut.

She hissed in pain, nodding her appreciation. Saddened at the loss of life, Maria hid behind a neutral mask. "Police, fire and the morgue will be here soon. We should go."

Panting from their narrow escape and amount of adrenaline still coursing through his system, he responded with just a nod as they started toward their vehicles. They'd only gone a few more steps, when she asked, "You never what?"

Confused by the non sequitur, he looked at her blankly. "What?"

"Before, you said, 'I've never…'"

Suddenly shy about the subject, Steve brushed at the dirt on his clothes, mumbling a single word, "Sex."

Now it was Maria's turn to be confused, while Steve waited for her to get it so he wouldn't have to say it out loud. She turned to him with a question in her eyes. "You're…"

"Yes. Thought you should know before… Not that we've talked about it. Just in case you wanted to with me or were wondering… It seems to me like we're headed in that direction and…" he trailed off and cleared his throat.

Taking his wrist, she turned it so she could see the time. "Let's get cleaned up and get something to eat. There's an all-night Chinese place that has the best Dim Sum on Staten Island."

"Sound great." They turned a corner and the vehicles came into sight, the rest of the team already there. "Any questions you like to ask about…?"

Maria snorted. "Lots. I'll ask them when I can do it without sounding like an ass."

He turned his head to side trying to get a read on her only to find that she was looking at him with the same intention. They shared a smile as they joined the rest of their team waiting at the vehicles.

TBC