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.
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 17
Once inside, Natasha and Maria cleared the basement before climbing the stairs to the first floor. They split up to search the ground floor, meeting back at the reception desk. Maria arrived before Natasha did giving her a moment to observe her friend and colleague, noting the weariness around her eyes and hunched shoulders that spoke of physical pain. She watched as Maria flexed the fingers of her injured hand. The spot of blood had grown from a small dot to cover the entire bandage.
Natasha backtracked to a supply closet for towels, washcloths, disinfectant, sterile gauze and bandages still in their original packaging, and antibiotic cream. It had expired several months ago, but it was better than nothing. On the way to reception, she grabbed a basin and filled it with water from the tap after letting it run until it was mostly clear.
Turning at her approach, Maria gave in without a fight when she motioned her over to the counter. That she did so told Natasha that the pain had to be bad.
She spread a towel out dusty side down and Maria obediently rested her hand on the dingy material. They talked while Natasha worked on the wound. "Find anything?"
"No. You?"
Shaking no, Natasha peeled back the bandage, rolled it into a ball and set it aside. Using a wet washcloth, she carefully wiped away the blood that had started to dry around the edges. The stitches were intact and she didn't see any sign of infection.
Maria winced at the sting of the disinfectant. "Steve won't be happy we came here without him."
"He'll get over it." While the wound dried, Natasha prepared the fresh bandage. "Who do you think the mole works for?"
One shoulder went up and down. "HYDRA is the obvious choice, but by no means a certainty. We can rule out the military. Not because they aren't after us, but because they wouldn't be this subtle."
Once she had the bandage in place, Natasha pressed the edges. The adhesive wasn't great, but it would do until they returned to the brownstone. "Who else have we pissed off lately?"
"The NYPD, FDNY, FBI, NSA, DHS, hazardous waste and crime scene clean-up, a drug cartel, any number of anti-government militia groups, and the server at Lorenzo's."
Maria said the last with a hard eye roll surprising a laugh out of Natasha. "Wha-at?"
"And that's just the last seventy-two hours."
A noise put them both on alert, weapons out and standing back to back. The sound wasn't repeated. Natasha pointed out the nearest stairwell. Maria nodded and disappeared inside.
With silent footsteps, Natasha made her way to the second set of stairs and crept to the second floor. Her back to the wall, she tiptoed down the corridor. One by one, she cleared each room, finding nothing worthy of her attention. Not until she came to a door near the nursing station. So far, it was only the second door she'd found locked. The first had been the drug dispensary, empty except for a few medications that had no street value.
Taking out a lock pick set, she let herself into the room that turned out to be an office. File cabinets set against the left wall were empty as was the desk and credenza. Empty that is of anything useful in their search.
The sofa was old, the leather cracked in places, and the seat cushions bore the imprint of a body. The doctor to whom this office had once belonged had taken many naps here while on more than one three-day rotation over the years.
Standing in the middle of the room, the hairs on the back of Natasha's neck tingled telling her something was wrong. Nothing looked out of place for an abandoned building. Papers were scattered over the floor, an old CRT monitor squatted on the corner of the desk next to a tarnished brass lamp with a pull chain. She tugged and the light came on. Another tug and it went out again.
Still, something was wrong, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Everything looked just the way it should, yet it didn't. Taking out her phone, she exited into the hall where she made another infrared scan of the building. The only warm body on the scan was Maria's.
Maria joined Natasha both having come up empty. By unspoken agreement, they stayed together to explore the boiler and mechanical rooms. The layers of dust were even thicker here. The smell of lubricants, glue, cleaning fluids and uncirculated air made her want to sneeze. Natasha closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose to stop it.
"Romanoff." Maria's voice was low to minimize the echo in the huge room. She pointed at the door at the far end of the room and together they approached the roof access, Maria pointing out the broken lock. A man sized footprint on the stairs spoke of recent activity, but how recent it was difficult to tell. Natasha snapped a photo just in case.
They climbed out into the sunshine, again finding nothing of interest. Just another footprint on the parapet near the ladder that led to the fire escape. Scowling at the world in general, Natasha started down. Maria followed, jumping the last few feet to the ground.
As one, they approached the construction site. Natasha took a scan of the building. There were several warm bodies inside the structure. From their actions, they were working on the side closest to the hospital. In silent agreement, Maria kept a lookout while Natasha climbed the fence. As she reached the top, Maria hissed a warning and ducked out of sight.
Natasha jumped to the ground on the other side of the fence as a police car cruised by. Finding nothing of interest, the officer drove off. She made a quick survey, but the only thing she found helpful was another footprint identical to the one in the boiler room. She snapped a photo and scaled the fence once more.
Maria joined her, a Glock gripped in her right hand. She shoved the weapon into the back of her pants, and together, they took the long way back to the car. They stowed their weapons in the trunk. Maria got behind the wheel, started the engine and pulled away from the curb before Natasha had even closed the door.
~~O~~
From his hiding place, James heard the women climb the stairs to the roof, their footsteps loud to his enhanced senses. The murmur of voices reached him as well. Though he couldn't understand the words, their tone came through. Annoyance and frustration. The one discernible word was a name: Steve.
In his mind, James saw the smiling face of his sandy-haired friend in uniform standing over him as he repeated his name, rank and serial number, over and over. They were in a dreary, dank laboratory filled with jars of liquid in which floated the most horrific representations of failed medical experimentation he'd ever seen. He was covered in dirt and grime, unfed and forced to wet himself numerous times while experiencing painful injections that made him feel strong yet weak at the same time. His brain ached with the worst pain imaginable. And then Steve was there, saving his life and the lives of hundreds of others who had been captured by… James couldn't remember.
The women left, Natasha and the other one, their boots ringing on the fire escape. Soon, James could no longer hear them. He waited another thirty minutes before removing the silver blanket he'd used to fool the infrared sensors.
He removed the ceiling tile in the closet and stuck his head out. The room was empty, just as it should be. One piece at a time, he set the computer equipment, cooler containing his food and his duffle bag on the shelf and climbed down. With quick and efficient movements, he set up the computer once again.
When the women first arrived, James had been asleep. Their approach had reverberated through the building, waking him. Very few others would've noticed, but he did. It hadn't taken him long to stash his belongings in the ceiling and climb in after them, just getting the ceiling tile in place and the blanket wrapped around him in time.
He'd known that Steve would come looking for him, but hadn't expected him or his associates to come so close this soon. James needed more time to dig into his past, to find himself again, to become the man he was before he'd been changed by… the name still wouldn't come to him, just the face.
A short man with a round head and glasses, bright lights and freezing cold as he was dragged through the snow and ice. Looking down, he saw that his left arm was gone, the end of the bone sticking out, the skin ragged and bleeding.
Smiling with false benevolence, the man spoke to him, "Sergeant Barnes… the procedure has already started. You are to be the new fist of HYDRA!"
The name James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes was present in his memories, though it was more of an impression than an actual recollection. Yet, he accepted it as his name because of the things that Steve said to him during their fight on the helicarrier. The name was a part of him, yet slightly removed, like something he'd overheard and was just beginning to recall the conversation that surrounded it, becoming clearer with each replay.
Dizziness hit him again, familiar now. He knew he should leave in case the women came back, but fatigue overcame him. He lay down on the sofa and slept.
Before Midnight
In the night sky above Brooklyn, only a few stars could be seen. The moon was coming up and would be shrouded by the few gray and white clouds drifting from right to left, diffusing the light.
Steve shoved his hands in his pockets, mulling over the reason for his irritation regarding Natasha and Maria's decision to search the abandoned hospital on their own. He had no great concern for their safety-they were more than capable of taking care of themselves and each other. His aggravation stemmed from the almost obsessive need to be there when Bucky was found. On the other hand, he took no pleasure from the fact that the building was empty and showed no trace of being recently occupied, by Bucky or anyone else.
He moved over to the edge of the roof where he could see the street in both directions. Self-consciously, he glanced at the gargoyle Clint had named Balthazar. On several occasions, Steve had caught Clint talking to the stone statue. Having a confidant seemed to help the archer, even if he couldn't offer advice. Sometimes, you just had to talk it out with someone who didn't judge and could keep a secret.
Taking a seat on the base at Balthazar's feet, Steve rested his arm on his bent knee and briefly considered taking Clint's lead. He looked up at the bared fangs, claws extended to rip and tear at the throat and body of the enemy and decided against it.
Tonight wasn't his turn on watch. He'd come up here to think and to get away from the accusing eyes of his team after the argument. Oh, they tried to hide it with laughter, beer and a friendly game of poker using tortilla chips and Oreos in place of cash, but he could tell they were on the side of the women.
An apology was in order, and because it happened in front of the team, that's how the apology should go as well. The team had voted unanimously to take the night off from their late night searches, and Steve was more than happy to do so.
The roof access opened, and a set of soft footsteps crossed the tarpaper roof to his side. He didn't need to look to know it was Maria. She didn't acknowledge him in any way, and he didn't blame her. From the corner of his eye, he watched her in profile, staring up at the sky almost as if she were searching for something. Might as well give her a private "sorry". "Maria, I'm…"
"Don't." She glanced at him then back at the view.
How did she always know? "But…"
They faced each other, his gaze taking in her relaxed stance and the infinitesimal upturn of her lips. "Steve, the only part of an argument that matters is what we think of the people arguing. You're a good man, and we all know where you're coming from. Just let it go."
Maria's tone startled a laugh out of Steve. "You make that up yourself?"
She turned to face him, one hand behind her back. And the smile, while not exactly beaming, was genial. No anger or annoyance with him and their uncalled for squabble. "Heard it somewhere."
The hand came out holding a silver and black CD player. "What's that?"
"Thought we could listen to some music while I watch you beat yourself up." Setting it on Balthazar's podium, Maria brought out a CD and placed it in the player. She leaned against the wall next to him. "Mostly forties, a little jazz, a few of my personal favorites."
Her rueful smile was met with one of the same. "Can't wait to hear it."
~~O~~
On the second floor, Clint opened the door that led to the attic and from there to the roof. "Guess I'm sleeping in tonight."
One hand on the doorknob to her room, Natasha huffed at him. "You really sleep on the roof?"
"Not every night. Only at night when my watch is over."
"Why not tonight?"
The eye roll he shot her was comically overplayed. "It's supposed to rain later. And Rogers and Hill are up there," he made finger quotes, "talking."
Something in his tone sent up a red flag. "Whatever you're thinking of doing, don't. If Steve and Hill are meant to be together, they'll find a way."
He came back to gather her in a hug and drop a kiss on her forehead. "You know me. I'm a hopeless romantic. 'Night."
Watching Clint walk away, Natasha shook her head. No matter what the situation, he could always make her smile.
In her room, she looked at the bed, a comforting presence to the turmoil inside of her, bits and pieces of information screaming to be heard. She closed her eyes and let them come.
Picturing the data as pieces of a puzzle, she turned them over one at time, examining each one and placing it on the table in front of her until a design began to emerge. Once the pattern was complete, she knew what she had to do.
~~O~~
Maria turned on the player and Glenn Miller's instrumental of Moonlight Serenade drifted from the speakers a little too loud for the hour, and she rushed to turn it down.
Swaying to the music, they listened to a few more songs then she nudged his shoulder with hers, smiling when he gave her a questioning look. "Dance?"
Shaking his head, his mood revolved over to sadness and Maria immediately wanted to take it back. In her tenure with SHIELD, she'd heard about the last conversation Steve had with Peggy Carter before his plane went down in 1945.
Then, Steve shrugged. "Never learned."
Standing, Maria held out her hand and he took it, letting her lead him away from the parapet. "This hand here," she placed his right hand on her shoulder and took hold of his left hand, "Now follow me."
They moved side to side, turning just a little with each step until they'd completed a full circle. "Once you get the rhythm down, you can add in your own variations, take bigger steps."
Looking down at the space between them, a lopsided smile found its way into the mix. "Not as romantic as I thought it would be."
"That's the beauty of this pose. This," she indicated the distance between them, "is for dancing with your sister, mother, aunt, someone you don't know well or even a stranger. Then, when you get to know each other better," she moved the hand on her shoulder down to her waist and closed the gap, her palm sliding along his shoulder until her fingers touched the back of his neck, "you can get as close as you like. It works for fast or slow tempos."
"Where did you learn to dance?"
"It's a requisite class at SHIELD for anyone going undercover."
He smiled and she felt it against her temple. "Not your mom?"
Caught off guard by the normally harmless question, Maria responded with the truth, "My mother died when I was born."
"I'm sorry." Gripping her just a little tighter, Steve took control of the dance, leading her in a sway-step-sway-turn step. "Even after seeing you in action, I can't picture you undercover."
"Fury partnered me with Coulson and Barton a few times, mostly as back-up. After the incident in Madripoor, Fury promoted me up the ladder."
The song ended and another began. Maria had purposely chosen several slow songs to start, to give him time to learn the steps. Resting her head against Steve's, she smiled at how warm and safe she felt in his embrace, something she'd seldom had in her life.
All while she was growing up, her father never missed a chance to bring up the fact that her mother, the love of his life, had died giving birth to her. The lack of warmth and affection from her father had made her the same way. Cold and unforgiving. That is until she met Coulson. And though she would deny it even under oath, Barton did the same.
By example, both men had shown that it was possible to be tough as nails yet caring and compassionate. She'd always thought those traits were mutually exclusive. Loving others, whether family, friends or something more, was a sign of weakness that left you vulnerable to your enemies. And everyone was an enemy unless you had solid proof otherwise. From Fury, she was taught loyalty, holding fast to your values and ideologies, and your moral code.
Because of her father, she developed a thick skin, a wall around her feelings and emotions that was impenetrable. Or had been. Bit by bit, Steve had chipped away at that wall until it was now in danger of crumbling to dust. And she didn't care. Well, she did, but not enough to stop it.
Steve's nose grazed the side of her neck, and though he tried to hide what he was doing, she still heard him inhale at the spot just behind her ear. His breath whispered over her skin, and the pressure of his chest expanding where they touched gave her a warm feeling in all those places that had lain dormant for some time now.
Maria turned to look at Steve. He looked back with an expression that was a mixture confusion and surprise. She shifted her weight, and his eyes followed, his head tilting to one side as he leaned forward.
~~O~~
Holding Maria in an embrace that he hoped wasn't too tight, he kissed her. Slowly, reverently, no longer quite so surprised that this was happening, that he wanted her so badly. No, that wasn't completely true. But he didn't care. He spent so much of his time doing for others. It was time he did something that was just for him… and Maria. She didn't have nearly enough joy in her life. And if they were going to do this, they would be equal partners, giving and accepting what was offered, as a team.
Her arms loosened their hold, sliding down his body and settling on his waist leaving him free to cup her face with his palms. Taking his cue from the myriad love scenes in movies and on television, Steve lightly brushed his thumbs over Maria's cheekbones and down to caress the corners of her mouth. She inhaled sharply, her jaw dropping open. Just the tip of her tongue flitted over her lips. In the normal course of a day, he'd seen her do the exact same thing many times, and it had always seemed so innocent, because it was. Yet, here and now, it was so much more, and he found himself staring at her mouth, waiting for it to make another appearance. And when it did, he pounced.
She hadn't offered, not in so many words, but he took it anyway, and she was more than happy to give it to him, and take some of her own. Her nails dug into his waist as their tongues battled then moved around to his back so she could pull him even closer.
Feeling greatly daring, Steve's hand lightly grazed Maria's neck and shoulder, skipping over the expanse of cloth covering it, and down the outside of her bicep, squeezing every few inches. He kept going until he could smooth his palm over her hip. He caressed the curve for a moment, eventually working his fingers up under the edge of her tank top until he could feel the skin over her ribs.
After a moment's hesitation, Steve threw caution to the wind as he traveled upward. He'd just touched the lower edge of her bra with his thumb, producing sounds of urgency from the back of Maria's throat. He would've touched her more intimately if not for the sudden flash of lightning, boom of thunder and the rain that followed.
They leaned apart, looking up at the sky that had been mostly clear when Steve first came outside. Now it was filled with dark, angry-looking clouds, bright burst of electricity flickering inside them. Thunder rolled through the sky, setting off car alarms. Dogs barked and howled, and lights started coming on all up and down the street as owners did their best to calm their pets.
Steve grabbed the CD player and Maria's hand, and ran for the roof access. Inside, he pulled the door shut to keep the unexpected storm out and leaned against the wall. A stifled laugh from Maria made him smile as they descended to the attic and from there to the main staircase that took them to the first floor and into the den.
~~O~~
Steve went into the small bathroom and came back with towels for each of them. Maria patted her face dry, working down her neck and over her collarbones. "That was rude."
"Didn't know it was going to rain," Steve admitted, his voice muffled by the terrycloth. The shrill buzz of an alert sent him to his phone, which lay on the table next to the sofa. He turned it so she could see the screen, and his half-smirk. "Flash flood warning until three."
Using the towel to squeeze the water from her shoulder length hair, Maria scoffed, "And they're just now telling us?"
"It was issued over an hour ago." He shrugged and set the phone down.
On the arm of the sofa, a sheet and blanket were neatly folded and stacked, a pillow on top. The sofa was brocade in a design that was meant to be elegant and luxurious. To her, it looked overdone, even for the combination library and den. The decorative pillows were neatly arranged in the corners telling her that Steve probably slept on the floor.
Shivering, she pulled the wet material of her top away from her skin, drawing Steve's attention. He looked down at himself and back to her. "We should get out of these wet clothes."
Before Maria could comment on the guileless sentence that conveyed a double meaning due to their recent activities, Steve's eyes widened in shock. "I-I mean we should get undressed. Er, take off our, uh…"
She stopped him from further embarrassment by touching his hand. "You should stop before that hole gets any deeper."
With a sheepish grin, Steve nodded, avoiding her gaze by digging in his duffle bag. He faced her again with a t-shirt in each hand. "You can go in there and change, unless you'd rather just go to your room."
Shaking her head, she took the shirt. "This is fine. I'm too wired to sleep."
His eyes widened again when she grasped the hem of her top. He turned his back, and she gave him the same courtesy.
She dragged the soggy material off over her head then removed her bra, using the towel to dry off before wrapping her clothes in it and setting it on the roll-away bar. Because it was way too big, Steve's shirt hung on her slender frame like a sack, the sleeves reaching her elbows and the hem touching her at mid-thigh. Rustling and a double thump indicated he'd changed and taken off his boots and socks.
They turned around at the same time, and her breath caught in her throat for a brief moment at the picture he presented. The shirt fit him like a second skin, outlining each and every muscle of his torso. He cleared his throat, and that prodded her out of the minor fantasy it brought to mind. His boyish grin was back, almost as if he could hear her thoughts.
"Have a seat and I'll get us something hot to drink."
Sitting on the end of the sofa as the door closed, Maria glanced around the room, taking in the overly fussy furnishings, the rug covering the wood floor, and the books on the shelves. His shield was leaning against the bookshelf. She became aware of an unpleasant sensation. Her feet were cold and soggy. Untying her boots, she pulled them off with a groan, adding the wet socks to the bundle with the rest. She wiggled her toes in the rug's thick pile and sighed when it tickled the arches.
A moment later, Steve returned, balancing a tray with a teapot and two cups with saucers. "I made tea."
"As long as it's hot." He stayed standing, the delicate China cup looking awkward in his big hands. Cupping her palms around the cup, she inhaled the fragrance of the tea before taking a sip. It warmed her insides, leaving the outside of her still slightly chilled, especially her bare feet. She used the sole of one foot to rub the other, but it didn't help.
Abruptly, Steve set down his cup and disappeared into the bathroom. He was back in an instant with another towel. He sat down beside her, motioning for her to rest her feet in his lap. She did as he asked, sliding down until her head rested on the arm of the sofa. His touch was incredibly gentle for someone used to fighting aliens and working out with a demi-god.
Watching his face as he worked, the concentration and attention to detail he put into such a simple task made her smile. She began to relax, and soon, her eyes drifted closed. They fluttered open again when he rolled the pants legs up to give her lower calves the same treatment. The rhythmic movements of his hands felt so good it forced a small moan out of her, "Mmm."
His hand stilled. "Did I hurt you?"
"No. Don't stop. Please," She tacked the last word on to keep it at a request instead of the order it sounded like. He worked for a few minutes then, his hands stilled on her legs as he slowly let his eyes meet hers. When they did, Maria raised one eyebrow, adding in a semi-smirk for effect.
In answer to her invitation, Steve grasped the back of the sofa, using it as leverage to turn onto his knees and shift his body next to hers until they were lying on their side facing each other. She hooked one leg over both of his, drawing him closer, caressing the back of his thigh with her foot. Digging her toes in produced the expected result just as their lips touched. Bit by bit, Maria coaxed him into deepening the kiss. And when the need for oxygen became critical, she pulled her mouth from his, gulping in air, Steve doing the same.
~~O~~
Looking into Maria's eyes, Steve was startled to see the light blue had darkened. Was that desire? Her face was flushed, and from the way her hands gripped his shoulders, he knew she was more than willing to keep going. And he was ready to go the distance with her.
Or was he?
His head told him one thing while his body had other ideas. Reason dictated that they stop now, while they still could. He was saved from making a decision by Maria. Keeping her eyes locked with his, she encircled his wrist with her gentle touch, moving his hand from where it had somehow found its way onto her hip. He'd been toying with waistband of her pants through the baggy t-shirt, never going very far.
Maria pulled him down so her mouth could attack his again, and he gave as good as he got. But then, suddenly, into the relative quiet filled only with their harsh breathing, there was a pounding on the door. Steve guiltily snatched his hand from under Maria's shirt, using it to hold her in a loose hug. They exchanged a puzzled glance. She shrugged, and though he wanted to ignore the imposition, he knew it wasn't possible.
Clearing his throat, and trying to sound half asleep, Steve called out, "Yeah?"
"We need to talk," Clint demanded.
Touching his forehead to Maria's, Steve chuckled silently, still reluctant to move.
Clint pounded on the door again. If it kept up, he'd wake the others. "C'mon, Rogers. Let's go!"
"He won't go away. You might as well let him in."
Nodding in agreement, Steve pushed himself onto his knees then to his feet. "Just a minute!"
Maria held out her hands and he brought her up in front of him. She smiled her thanks, and he started to go to the door only to have her lay another of those steamy kisses on him and whisper, "Get rid of him."
He nodded, and with one hand on the doorknob, Steve paused to take a deep breath and finger comb his hair. One last breath and he opened the door a few inches, standing in the way so Clint wouldn't see into the room. Behind him, he heard the small pop of a snap and zzzt of a zipper being lowered followed by the rustle of clothing. He was relieved to see that Clint's scowl didn't change, and he hoped that meant the archer hadn't heard. "Isn't it past your bedtime?"
Just for a second, Steve thought Clint would make one of his smartass remarks, but he didn't.
"My watch." Clint paused, and if it had been anyone else, Steve would've thought he'd done for the dramatic effect. But this was Clint Barton and he only did that when he was delivering a punch line or a well-placed barb. This felt different. "Nat's gone."
TBC