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 19

Male, brown or sandy hair, Caucasian, no distinguishing characteristics, except for the smoking.

The basic description Danny had given Clint could've fit Santino or Newcomb or even himself since the boy couldn't say for certain how tall the person was or his age. Santino had shaved his goatee the second day they were in Brooklyn which meant that he and Newcomb now looked like siblings. Clint hadn't detected the smell of tobacco on either man though that didn't mean anything. Anyone trained in infiltration would know how to hide it.

Clint had Dooney drive around to the back of the Brownstone and wait while he went inside. They'd already talked over the plan he'd devised, his friend setting the scene while he completed his part.

He slipped in the kitchen door and eased it shut. Kiba was staring at the computer as if she were awaiting an epiphany. Sam, Newcomb and Santino were playing Gin and drinking coffee. Sullivan was reading a book taken from the library. The remnants of burgers on paper plates littered the tables.

"On your feet, slackers!" Clint was careful to inject a note of mocking amusement into his voice. They all jumped up, peppering him with questions. Clint waved a hand for silence. "The lead on Barnes is solid, but we need help to bring him in. Santino and Newcomb, you're with me. Wilson, you, Sullivan and Hardison stay put for now. You're our back-up so stay sharp."

Sam's expression of frustration was ignored along with Kiba and Sullivan's disappointment, as Clint continued issuing orders. He pointed at Santino and Newcomb. "Go to the basement and bring up weapons and ammo. Grab a couple of Tasers as well. Barnes needs to be brought in alive. Cap's orders."

Sam, annoyed at being left behind, took Clint aside. "I want to know why the three of us are being left on the sidelines. Did we say or do something to make you believe you can't trust us to watch your back?"

Clint glanced over his shoulder to check that the other two men had gone while Kiba pouted in front of the computer. Using his phone, Clint sent a message to Sam. "If this goes sideways, Wilson, we need someone to report to Fury and the new director. Someone has to know who's in charge. Find out, and don't take no for an answer."

Where Kiba couldn't see, Sam slipped the phone from his pocket, and read the message, responding to Clint's words rather than what he'd read, keeping his voice low. "So we're the black box."

The thump of boots on the basement stairs announced the return of Newcomb, followed seconds later by Santino.

As if they'd been in the middle of an argument, Clint clenched his jaw, pointing angrily at Sam. "You're staying. No arguments."

"Funny, but I thought Cap was in charge of this operation."

Clint slashed a hand through the air, cutting him off. "Just stay sharp, Wilson." To the men, he said, "Let's go. Ride's in the back."

~~O~~

James and Natasha cleared the parapet, and swung into space, their combined weight tilting the rusted antenna at a precarious angle accompanied by the sound of screeching metal. At the apex of the arc, he let go, turning in the air to land on his back on top of a large black vehicle. With Natasha still in his arms, he swung over the side, threw them both to the ground and rolled under the vehicle to protect them from the blast. It wasn't as big as expected, and he doubted that it had compromised the integrity of the building's structure. But with all the attention it was getting, he knew they couldn't stay in the area.

Eventually, the debris from the explosion stopped, and James lifted his head to have a look around. Natasha had instinctively put her arms around his neck when he picked her up. They were so close now, he could smell her scent, feel her body under his, and for some reason it made him uneasy. Releasing her, he crawled from under the huge vehicle and climbed to his feet, extending a hand to help her up. Sirens screamed, far away and coming closer.

"This way. Hurry!" Natasha took off and he followed, easily keeping up with her fast pace.

James didn't know why she'd come at all, much less faced him alone, or why she was helping him avoid being taken into custody, even by Steve. Doing so indicated a level of trust that usually comes with time and shared experiences. He'd shot her on both of their previous encounters. The first time because she was in the way of his objective, and the second because she was his mission. Why would she be here now? The questions stayed in his mind long after they'd made their escape.

~~O~~

Dooney was standing beside the Hummer staring at his phone when Clint, Santino and Newcomb came out the back gate. He put it away as they approached and opened the hatch to stow the weapons, Clint shouldering between the other two. The door was slammed and locked. No one saw Clint palm a Taser and drop it in his jacket pocket.

Once on the road, Dooney rubbed a loving hand over the dashboard. "You should be honored, guys. Stella doesn't let just anyone ride in her. She has standards, after all."

Rolling his eyes, Clint snorted a laugh. "You gave it a name?"

"She's a she, not an it. And you hurt her feelings." Once more, Dooney patted the dash affectionately. "Don't listen to him, baby. Daddy will always love you."

"Whatever." To look busy, Clint took out a rag and wiped down his Glock. His bow and quiver were stashed in the hatch.

Soon, Dooney turned left onto Flatbush Avenue. As they passed the Brooklyn Center for Performing Arts, Santino and Newcomb noticed their surroundings.

Santino leaned forward as far as his seatbelt would allow. "Where're you taking us, Barton?"

Glancing in his rearview mirror, Dooney shrugged. "Relax. It's just the scenic route."

Now they had Newcomb's attention. "The hospital's at the other end of town. We're headed south."

"What's goin' on, Barton?" Santino demanded.

With a grin that matched Dooney's, Clint turned in his seat, a Glock in one hand and a multi-shot Taser in the other. "What's going on is we're all going to have a nice little chat, and if we don't like the answers to our questions…" He let the implication hang in the air.

With a growl, Santino lunged for Clint. A pair of electrodes hit him in the chest making his body shake. He fell forward with his head on the back of the front seat. Newcomb's weapon hadn't even cleared the holster when the Taser hit him on the solar plexus.

Clint unlatched his seatbelt and reached over to disarm both men. Dooney flipped a switch on the dash to lower the bullet proof divider into place between the front and back seats and locked the steel reinforced doors. "Intimidation and interrogation. Been a while. Might be a little rusty."

"It's like riding a bike. I'll do most of the talking. All you have to do is just stand there and make the occasional smartass remark."

"That I can do." His thumbs drummed on the steering wheel a few beats, his smile fading. "Called the doctor today. Appointment's for Monday."

Slanting his eyes to the side, Clint still couldn't see anything that pointed to his friend being terminal. "What changed your mind? Rosalie?"

Dooney rolled his eyes and made a negative gesture with his fingers. "Rosalie's moved on. No. Though the motivation behind my sudden urge for a cure did come from the fairer sex."

Seeing the significant look in Dooney's eyes, Clint knew the identity of that someone. He chuckled and shook his head, adding an affectionate eye roll. "Wears you down with logic and reason, and if that doesn't work, she takes it up a notch."

"Guilt. Talked about duty, obligation, and," he shuddered dramatically, "responsibility. Even used the L and the C words."

"Love and commitment. Two of her favorites. And if that doesn't work, she brings out the big guns: the puppy pout."

"Don't remind me." Dooney looked over his shoulder. "Ready to do this?"

Clint snorted as he got out. "I was born ready."

~~O~~

Clint and Dooney tied up the unconscious men and dragged them to the end of a rickety pier, laying them face down. With the recent rains, the water level lapped at the underside of the pier, the cool breeze causing ripples that weren't quite waves.

Turning his wrist over, Clint nodded and kicked Santino in the ribs while Dooney did the same to Newcomb. "Wakie, wakie, boys. Show's about to start."

With their hands tied behind their backs, Newcomb and Santino twisted around trying to see their surroundings. Santino spoke first. "What the hell are you doing, Barton?"

Squatted down where they could see him, Clint held the Glock in a position of readiness. "One of you boys is a traitor, not only to the team, but to this country. Now SHIELD may be on the outs with the government and the intelligence community, but we're still loyal citizens, and we aren't particularly tolerant of low-life creeps who pretend to be your friend, all the while conspiring behind their backs to overthrow…"

"Dude," Dooney interrupted Clint with a harsh whisper, "you're monologuing again."

"Sorry." Getting to his feet, Clint stepped over Newcomb to lean against the support pylon, keeping the Glock in sight at all times. "It's Q&A time."

That was Dooney's cue to kneel between the men. He dragged Santino forward another few inches, grabbed a handful of hair and shoved his head in the cold water of Jamaica Bay. The man struggled, the air bubbling from his mouth and nose. He waited for a count of three before raising his head. Santino spit out water, coughing and choking. "Dammit, Barton! What the…"

The rest of Santino's question was lost when his head was forced under water again. Dooney pulled him out and moved over to Newcomb, ready to do the same to him.

"I'm the host of this little quiz show. The only difference between is that here, the wrong answers can get you killed. And if we don't like your answers, well, Dooney, give Newcomb here a demonstration."

Obediently, and with pretend glee, Dooney grabbed Newcomb's hair and shoved his face into the water. The man struggled but couldn't get his head above water until Dooney released him.

"Are we all clear on the rules?" Clint didn't give them a chance to respond. "Good. First question: Are you now or have you ever been a member of a group whose goals are designed to undermine the military, economic, psychological or political strength or morale of any governing authority by working secretly from within?"

Newcomb, never much for words, shook his head. Santino coughed hard a couple of times before speaking. "Treason? No. Never. What…"

Dooney pushed Santino's face in the water again. He let him up when Clint shook his head. Squatting next to Newcomb, Clint looked from one face to the other. "Have you ever been approached by any groups whose ultimate goals are," he waved the hand with the Glock, "all of the above?"

He waved Dooney out of the way and moved in between them. "Think carefully before answering. You have fifteen seconds. Doon?"

There was a pause, then, "Mark."

This time, the prisoners talked over each other. Clint let that go on for a while, amused. Without being told, Dooney kicked them on the bottoms of their feet to shut them up. "One at a time, boys. Santino."

Santino swore under his breath and rolled onto his side so he could see Clint better. The one light on the dock was dim, but he could still see his surroundings. "Will you please just tell us what's going on? I can't believe Rogers would sanction torture."

For once, Newcomb spoke up, after first eyeing Dooney distrustfully. "He's Captain freakin' America. The best of the good guys. You're supposed to be on his team, for gosh sakes. Doesn't loyalty mean anything to you?"

As if contemplating his place in the universe, Clint looked into the sky and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Yes. Yes, it does. And you know what? Hanging out with Captain America, he just… the guy just brings out the absolute best in people. He makes you want to be good when he's around. Seriously."

Leaning down, Clint looked both men in the eye, his expression changing from affable to deadly in less than a second. "Look around you, boys. In case you haven't noticed, Captain America isn't here. It's just you, me, my pal Dooney and Jamaica Bay. Tide's going out soon. We toss your bodies in here, they'll be swept out to sea, never to be seen again. No one will ever know what happened to you. Your families will spend the rest of their lives wondering."

Clint moved to a part of the pier where he and Dooney couldn't be seen. Using ASL, they conferred on the next step in the plan, Dooney indicating agreement. Over his shoulder, Clint said, "I'm gonna take a leak, give you boys time to come up with the answers we want."

The Abandoned Hospital

Steve pulled to the right to let an ambulance go by, the third in as many blocks. In the passenger seat, Maria had her phone out tracking the police and fire department channels. To go by the chatter between divisions, the damage wasn't nearly as bad as the sugar factory. The basic structure was sound except for the roof. Once the weather and animals got at it, the decay would gain momentum. They had to get inside to see if Natasha had left a message behind, a clue as to where she and Bucky had gone. That they were together, Steve felt was a given. But why? He'd tried to kill her twice.

He found a place to park that was relatively inconspicuous and shut off the engine. Maria got out of the car and was standing by the trunk when he joined her. He popped the trunk and she went for the Glock and extra ammo, shoving the weapon in her back waistband and the ammo into the pockets of her cargo pants. Just for a moment, he could see a sliver of her skin, almost feel it on his fingertips, and then it was gone, covered by her shirt and jacket.

She grinned when Steve followed her lead. His sheepish smile joined a slight shrug. "The shield's too conspicuous. Need a weapon I can conceal."

"Just one?"

"And my knife."

Maria snorted. "Just one?" Rolling his eyes, Steve headed in the direction of the abandoned hospital with Maria at his side. They were less than two blocks from their destination when she casually informed him, "We're having sex. You and me."

Dumbstruck, his jaw dropped and he stumbled. Maria waited for him to catch up, that smirk turning up one side of her mouth. He cleared his throat, using it to find his voice. "Um, what?"

"Not tonight. But soon." Her hand wrapped around the bottom of his bicep and gave it a small squeeze, an assurance of things to come. "I promise to be gentle."

Certain she'd made the risqué comment to throw him off his game, Steve decided then and there not to let her get away with teasing him anymore. He pulled free, grabbed her around the waist and drew their bodies close together. One eyebrow rose, joined by a smirk of his own. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Be gentle." Holding onto her upper arms, he swung her around to press her up against the fence surrounding the construction area. The chain links behind the boards rattled with the force and her mouth dropped open. He took it as an invitation and claimed a heated kiss as if he had every right to do so. Just as suddenly, he released her and stepped back, leaving her breathless. "We should separate and work the crowd. Meet you back at the car in one hour."

He walked away with a grin, tugged his hat low, and soon joined the throng of onlookers. Using his phone to scan the building, Steve noted that the fire was already out and had been confined to the roof and maintenance rooms just below. The interior was intact, at least for now. They could come back when the first responders were clear.

Off to his left, he saw Maria weaving her way through the crowd. She also had her phone out, both of them giving the appearance of videoing the scene to post online. He caught her eye and smiled. She ignored him and turned to speak to someone standing next to her.

Jamaica Bay

Dooney knelt between the two men, tugging on their bonds to make sure they were secure. His conversational tone held a hint of boredom. "Just between you and me, fellas, Barton is one of the most dangerous people you'll ever meet. He's deadly from a distance, that's true. But at street level, he's everyone's best friend. And that's how he gets in close for those times it's called for. In my opinion, that's what makes him even deadlier than the Black Widow. So, whatever you know, it's best to tell him now and get it over with."

Footsteps thumped on the unstable pier sounding like the approach of the specter of death coming for them. Leaning close, Dooney whispered, "Remember what I said."

Clint stopped and just stood there, using silence to intimidate. At his nod, Dooney scrambled out of the way so Clint could take his place, squatting between them like before. "Newcomb."

The former soldier rolled his head around to face Clint, his expression unreadable.

"Your turn. Are you now or have you ever been a member of a group whose goals are designed to undermine the military, economic, psychological or political strength or morale of any governing authority by working secretly from within? Three seconds, Newcomb."

The younger man squirmed around in attempt to free himself then gave it up. "I'm not even going to honor that with an answer. Where the hell do you get off making groundless accusations?"

Clint waited several heartbeats then stood. "I'm the man who holds your worthless lives in his hands."

"Say something, Wyatt. Tell him you've never even thought of committing treason before he kills us both."

Newcomb's eyes turned flinty, and anger pinched his features into a ludicrous mask. "You're above the law, Barton. Cut us loose and we'll consider not pressing charges."

Dooney loved watching his friend at work. The elegance of his approach to these two was immensely entertaining. So much so that Dooney had a childish urge for popcorn.

Clint aimed a wink over his shoulder. "Not very cooperative, are they?"

Reaching into his pocket, Dooney took out a power bar, ripped the end open and took a bite, talking around the food. "Maybe Newcomb needs an incentive."

With false good humor, Clint grinned. "I believe you're right."

That was Dooney's cue. He picked up the long pole used as a life saving device and tossed it. Clint caught it with one hand. Then, without warning, the archer used his foot to roll Santino into the water. The big man hit with a splash that left specks of moisture on the dock, dark against the sun bleached gray of the wood.

Using the pole, Clint pushed Santino under the water, gripping tight with both hands as the man fought to get away. Eventually, his struggles got weaker and weaker until they stopped altogether.

Dooney joined Clint, both men staring at the water until the last ripple had vanished. "Yowza! He didn't last nearly as long as the last one."

Clint stamped the pole on the deck. "The drug dealer in San Diego?"

"Dude, that was before the invasion. I'm talking about…"

"Daytona Beach, right." Both men shook their heads sadly. "They'd never have found the body if it hadn't been for hurricane Armando."

Lowering his voice to a stage whisper, Dooney remarked, "Sure you got the right guy this time? We don't want problems like Sioux Falls."

"Doesn't matter. The only witnesses are you, me and…" The men turned as one to stare down at Newcomb as he tried once more to get free.

Outside the Abandoned Hospital

Turning a corner at a dead run, Natasha and James abruptly reversed course when they came face to face with more of HYDRA's henchmen, obviously regrouping after the loss of their colleagues. One of them shouted, "It's him!" and the group gave chase.

Ducking bullets, they returned to their starting point and kept going until they reached the end of Lombardy Street at Newtown Creek. There, they headed south, jumped the fence and cut through the North Brooklyn Business Zone, ignoring signs threatening dire consequences to unauthorized personnel.

The gunfire stopped and they paused to catch their breath. At the far end of the property where they were trespassing, she could see a group of men milling around a food truck. They were too far away to be seen clearly so there was little chance the police would be called provided their pursuers didn't catch up to them.

Turning in a circle, Natasha saw something that would help their escape. "There."

She ran toward the fence already choosing her handholds to avoid the razor wire. James stopped her, motioning for her to follow.

When they reached the end of the fence where it turned into a twelve-foot retaining wall, James very carefully broke the ties holding the chain link to the pole. He peeled the fencing back to let Natasha ducked through. He joined her then put the wire mesh back into place. Searching the ground, he found several pieces of flat metal that he used to secure their escape route. Hopefully, it would be a while before it was found.

Jamaica Bay

Clint laid the pole on the dock, brushed his hands down the back of his pants and turned an unsympathetic gaze on Newcomb. "Let's try this again."

Newcomb stared at the spot where Santino had gone into the water with his mouth open. "You-you killed him."

To further demoralize the former soldier, Clint squatted in front of him. "Easy come, easy go."

"But you're an Avenger! You don't kill indiscriminately or for fun."

Clint stood again, forcing Newcomb to turn his head at an odd angle to keep him in sight. "Don't believe everything you hear, Newcomb. Even superheroes have spin doctors." He planted a boot on Newcomb's side and rolled him toward the edge of the pier, and there it was, the first glimpse of genuine terror in the man's eyes.

"Stop! I'll tell you everything!" He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself to endure being dumped into the cold water.

"Yes. You will." The foot was removed, and Newcomb flopped onto his stomach again. Clint rolled him onto his back and helped him sit up but didn't remove his bonds. "Start with who you work for."

Newcomb sneered, his contempt coming through loud and clear. "I could be a cliché and say, 'Hail HYDRA'. Or spout all that crap about cutting off one head and two taking its place, but I won't." He bit down, surprised when nothing happened. His tongue probed the side of his mouth frantically.

Coming up next to Clint, Dooney tucked his thumbs in his belt, rocking back on his heels. "We got rid of it. You're not dying on our watch."

Sagging in defeat, Newcomb pointed his chin at the other side of the dock. "What about Santino? I saw you kill him."

Ominous sounding footsteps approached, coming to a stop next to Dooney. Santino had changed clothes and was rubbing his wet hair with a towel. "You saw what we wanted you to see." He hung the towel over his shoulder, shaking his head. "How could you join HYDRA, Wyatt? What could they possibly have offered that would convince you to turn against everything you've ever believed in?"

Resigned to explaining his choice, Newcomb sighed heavily. "Told you about Kandahar."

"What about it?"

Heaving a big sigh, Newcomb looked away from his friend's accusing stare. "There was way more to the story than made it into the reports. Suffice it to say that my faith in our country's leadership was badly shaken. I guess you could say HYDRA came along at just the right time. They offered a solution, a way to make things right again." When he looked up again, his mouth was set in a stubborn line. "Not sayin' anything else without my lawyer."

Clint had a momentary urge to laugh at Newcomb's assumption that this would go down according to the constitution. Together, he and Santino got Newcomb to his feet. Clint and Dooney followed as Santino dragged his former friend toward the Hummer.

Over his shoulder, Santino called out, "Barton."

"Yeah?"

"Would a body really be washed out to sea from here?"

Though the other man couldn't see it, Clint shrugged. "Damned if I know."

Dooney chuckled. "Sounded good though, didn't it?"

While the other two were putting the traitor in the back seat and buckling him in, Clint sent a message to an anonymous source he'd gotten from Hill, receiving a set of coordinates in reply. He set the GPS and got into the driver's seat.

It didn't take long to arrive at the specified coordinates, and Clint was glad because he was already done with this night. There was someplace he wanted and needed to be, but he made a promise to see the SHIELD rebuild through, and he would. But no one said he had to like it.

Santino was given the honor of tranqing Newcomb before dragging his sorry ass out into the middle of the field and leaving him. What happened to the ex-soldier from here on out was no longer their concern. At least that's what Clint tried to tell himself on the ride back to the brownstone. He hadn't wanted to walk away from an unconscious and unprotected man, even if he was a traitor to his country.

At the Brownstone

Clint parked the Hummer in the street, assuming that Dooney would be staying at least for the night. Despite his friend's claim that he felt fine, he'd fallen asleep on the way back. It was something he'd only done on a few occasions, usually after a long night of running, fighting and the stress of doing business with those that inhabited the world's underbelly. As plans went, this came in on the simple side with few chances for mistakes to trip them up.

Though subtle, Dooney managed to arrange the seating so he could be near Kiba during the debriefing. Clint had wanted to wait until morning so his friend could rest, but Sam, Kiba and Sullivan insisted on answers. The following discussion was cut short by Clint when he sent them all to bed, more for Dooney's sake than anything else.

In the hall closet, Clint found sheets, a pillow and a blanket and made up the sofa in front of the fireplace. He showed his friend the bathroom before climbing the stairs. Santino was sitting on the top step rubbing his hands together and staring at a spot between his feet. Clint sat a few steps down, leaning his back against the wall and covering a yawn with his fist.

"This how your nights usually go?"

Clint shook a weary no. "It's not all going be aliens, hundred-year-old super-soldiers and resurging Nazi terrorist organizations bent on world domination." The other man had his head down, rubbing his forehead. "What's your day job, Santino?"

He snorted. "Only been out a couple of months and no job offers. Let's go with unemployed soldier. Why?"

Stretching his legs out in front, Clint rolled his head around to look at Santino. "How'd you like to work for SHIELD?"

~~O~~

Aaron Santino, ex-Marine, watched Barton closely, looking for any indication that he was having a laugh at his expense, and found none. "What's it pay?"

Barton sighed heavily. "Room and board, a little walking around cash, pretty much it."

"Medical, dental and vision?"

"Private holding company handles it." Barton closed his eyes, crossed his arms, and appeared to go to sleep.

Without making a sound, Santino got to his feet and headed to the bathroom. He took care of business, brushed and flossed, and went to his room. He got undressed and had just turned out the light when Barton's footsteps passed by on his way to the attic.

Sleep didn't come for a long time as he lay there thinking about all the personal details of his life, his hopes and fears for the future that he and the others had shared with Newcomb. All these months sitting in group therapy, sharing lunches, beers and confidences, and all that time Newcomb had been collaborating with the enemy.

When Barton sent the text telling him the identity of the mole, Santino had wanted to beat the truth out of Newcomb. But the agent was right. HYDRA trained their people to serve a single purpose and to not back down. To get him to talk, they would have to psych him out. And as much as he'd have enjoyed using his fists, Santino had to admit that Barton's plan was much more fun. As a certified scuba diver, he could hold his breath underwater for more than three minutes. Apparently that's what sold it to Newcomb.

The only question left was did he want to work for a disgraced super-secret government agency that had no pension plan to speak of and no guarantee of a steady paycheck?

TBC