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 33
Secret SHIELD Training Base
July 4th
Most of the new recruits had been given the holiday off to spend with their families. A few, like Steve and Maria, stayed behind, partially because they had no family, or none with whom they wanted to spend time. Coulson left to be fitted for his prosthesis.
Maria had taken Steve out to lunch for his birthday, and when they returned, she took his hand and led him down a hall to the simulator, a virtual reality room normally used for training. At the door, she handed him a small gift wrapped package the size and shape of a cell phone though not as heavy.
"What's this?"
"Your birthday present. Open it."
He pulled the ribbon off and ripped into the paper. "You didn't have to get me anything." When the paper came off, Steve was prepared to be surprised and he was. Confused worked too. The package contained a piece of clear plastic two and a half inches by four inches. "What is it?"
"You'll see." Maria opened the door to the VR room and he followed her inside. The room was wide open with green walls marked into square segments. Off to one side, Steve spied a pair of stadium seats. Next to it was a cooler and small hot dog cart. They took their seats, and she tapped the rectangle of plastic. "Hold it up and flick your wrist."
Steve did as she said and suddenly they were in a baseball stadium circa 1927, behind home plate. Maria opened the cooler and took out two beers. He opened the bottle and took a swig while watching the New York Yankees and the Pittsburgh Pirates warming up on the field. "Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig…"
"The final game of the '27 World Series."
Excited, and trying to rein it in, Steve gestured at the field. "That was the year the Yankees led the American League in runs scored, hits, triples, home runs, base on balls, batting average, slugging average and on-base percentage. Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig were at the top of their game. The team won a league record of one hundred and ten games, and finished with a nineteen-game lead over second place."
"The first six hitters in the lineup were referred to as Murderers Row. To this day, they're considered to be the greatest team in the history of baseball. Sh! It's starting."
A little over two hours later, Steve and Maria returned to his room. Leaning against the wall, he looked into her face, mouth turned up into a smirk. She had him hook, line and sinker and knew it. "Thank you. That was the perfect gift."
"My idea. Stark and Jarvis helped make it a reality."
"Sneaky." He nodded at the door. "Would you like to come in?"
Her smile turned into a frown. "Not tonight." She turned to walk away, and disappointment made his stomach clench. Then, she was back. "Just kidding."
Suddenly, they were kissing, hot and desperate for each other. Steve's hands grabbed her behind the thighs and lifted, and Maria locked her ankles behind his back. With one hand, he opened the door and they nearly fell into the room. He carried her to the bed, and soon, their clothes had been discarded as they played another, more satisfying game.
Germany
Winter, 1944
Steve opened the bulkhead door with his elbow, tossed Bucky ammo for his empty weapon and together they took out Red Skull's man.
"I had 'im on the ropes," Bucky said, both men standing over the dead soldier.
"I know you did," Steve answered with complete honesty, and Bucky believed him.
The whine of an energy weapon alerted them that their job wasn't done yet. Steve jumped in front of Bucky, bringing the shield up. "Get down!"
The blast tore a hole in the side of the train, knocking both men for a loop. The shield lay on the floor in front of Bucky. He picked it up, using it to protect Steve as his friend had done seconds before. He fired at the heavily armed soldier, bullets bouncing off his armor.
Another blast from his opponent's weapon hit the shield, throwing Bucky out the gaping hole in the side of the train. At the last second, he managed to grab onto a bent and twisted pipe. The icy cold wind tore at his clothes and chilled his hands and face so thoroughly he could barely feel them.
Steve came to the opening. "Bucky!" He climbed out and started toward him. "Hang on!" When he got close enough, he reached out. "Grab my hand!"
Holding on with just his left hand, the fingers frozen to the metal, Bucky strained to reach Steve's outstretched hand, his muscles cramping in the cold. Suddenly, his perilous handhold gave way. He fell through the icy air, screaming out in terror, knowing that within seconds he would be dead.
~~O~~
A face floated above him, round glasses perched on his nose, his mouth turned up in a gleeful smile that filled him with dread as he passed into oblivion.
The next time he opened his eyes, he was lying in a chair under a bright light, men in white coats standing in a semi-circle. They spoke to each other, but he couldn't understand them.
His left arm felt different, like it didn't belong to him. Lifting both hands, he turned them over, comparing the shiny silver metal of his left to the flesh and blood of his right. Seeing that he was awake, one of the men ventured too close. His left arm shot out and grabbed the man around the throat.
What did you do to me?!
The words screamed inside his head, but he couldn't make himself understood. Then a needle pierced his skin and the world faded again.
The next time he awoke, he was alone, still strapped to the chair, sitting more upright so that he could see his surroundings. Electronic equipment lined the walls and squatted on tables. There was an unoccupied desk. Through the frosted glass door he could see figures moving around, their silhouettes showing that they were armed.
Using all his strength, he pulled the left arm free, tearing the metal band. Stunned, he did the same with the right, gasping as it came free just as easily without damaging the skin. He reached down and broke the shackles on his ankles, putting one foot then the other on the floor. Getting to his feet, he gripped the arm of the chair as he rode out a wave of dizziness. Putting his right hand to his head, he found his hair was much longer than he usually wore it. Way longer than the Army regs allowed. Touching his cheek, he felt the roughness of his beard.
Gotta get back to my unit.
He went to the cabinets that lined one wall, opening the doors and drawers looking for something to use as a weapon. A scalpel, a reflex hammer. Anything. He came up empty.
He crept to the door, hearing voices on the other side talking about nothing in particular. Guards. Wrapping his hand around the doorknob, he slowly turned it until the door opened just a crack. Taking a deep breath, he swung the door wide immediately engaging the three men in hand-to-hand combat. He was outnumbered, and the other men were armed. He might die at their hands, but dammit, he'd go down fighting, not strapped to a table.
Within seconds, it was done, and he was standing over three unconscious men. Stunned, all he could do is stare. His fighting skills weren't bad, but he'd never taken on three heavily armed soldiers and won without a lot of help.
Searching for the exit, he found it on the far side of the huge room. It too was filled with electronics, the most he'd seen in any one place except the Stark Expo the day before he shipped out. He sidled up to the door, an enormous metal thing that had to be several inches thick, and probably guarded. It opened like a bank vault, by spinning the wheel. As he approached, he could see his reflection in the door. But something was wrong. Around his left eye he found a bruise that seemed to have been caused by whatever left an indention across his forehead and cheek. He looked down and saw that his entire left arm had been replaced with shiny metal. Then he remembered the fall and the surgery.
Flexing the metal hand, he felt the strength in it. That's how he'd defeated the guards. He also discovered he was shirtless. If he wanted to escape and return to his unit, he'd need a disguise.
He took a shirt from one of the guards. It was a little big, but it couldn't be helped. He tucked it in as he crept down the hall to the corner. Slapping the cap on his head, he stood tall walking with confidence, as if he belonged here. The weapon he'd taken from the guard slapped against his thigh, a comforting weight on his hip as he approached what looked like the exit. He opened the door, and immediately, an alarm began to sound.
Darting outside, he looked around to get his bearings, his shoulders slumping in dismay at finding himself inside an enormous cave instead of a forest or bunker. He heard shouts and the thundering of many feet coming toward him. He took off running, finally finding a hiding place under a heavy tarp. Holding the gun out in front of him, he was prepared to take at least a few of the enemy with him. He wouldn't go down easy, he promised himself.
Backing up, he crawled behind stacks of boxes, freezing in place, head cocked to the side, listening intently. Just twenty yards to his left he spied the wheels of a jeep he could hotwire and get the hell out of this place. His pursuers passed his hiding place and kept going. He gave them a few seconds then threw the tarp aside and ran for the jeep.
Just shy of his goal, a squad of men stepped in front of him, armed with strange weapons. He recognized the symbol on their uniforms: HYDRA. He'd been captured by Schmidt, the man with the red face.
The men raised their weapons and fired.
Secret SHIELD Training Base
Her back pressed against the wall and Steve in front of her, Maria slept peacefully, a smile on her face and her arm across his chest. That's how she knew he was having another bad dream. They started last week. If it kept up, she would suggest he see the staff shrink. On the upside, all he needed to nudge him out of the dream was a quick shake and it would be over for the night.
Just as on the other nights, the dream started an hour after they'd gone to sleep. However, this time, the shaking didn't help. He called out incoherently, his head turning side to side. Maria got to her knees, and turned him onto his back, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him harder. Still, he didn't wake. She shook him again, calling his name. "Steve! Steve, wake up!"
Suddenly, he grabbed her by the arms, and rolled until she was under him, anger twisting his handsome face into a mask. She pressed the heels of her palms against his shoulders and pushed while at the same time using her legs in a maneuver taught to her by Romanoff.
Steve went over the side and fell against the base of the table with a crash, rolling onto his back. "Steve?"
~~O~~
Steve awoke when he hit the floor, Maria's concerned face floating above him as she sat on the side of the bed. He sat up and turned to lean against the side of the bed, rubbing his eyes. "What happened?"
"You had another dream." Maria climbed over him, and went into the bathroom, coming back with a cup of water. He sipped it gratefully. She sat next to him, holding his free hand. "That's three nights this week alone. Maybe you should talk to the shrink."
He finished off the water and brought his knees up, resting one arm on them. "The difference tonight is I remember the dream."
Releasing Maria's hand, he hugged her close. One hand touched his bare chest. "Tell me."
"I dreamt about Bucky after he was captured by Schmidt. About the surgery to replace his arm and his first escape attempt."
"He's your best friend. Naturally you're going to wonder what it was like for him."
Inhaling deeply, Steve brushed his fingers over the skin of Maria's bicep below the sleeve of his t-shirt she'd worn to bed. "He's trying to escape, and at one point, he sees his reflection in a metal door, and as he gets closer, it's not Bucky's face, but mine. I find my way out of the complex only I'm not outside. I'm in an enormous cave that's been carved out of the hillside. And just as I'm about to break free, I get shot by a squad armed with stun guns."
"What d'you think it means?"
Chuckling without humor, Steve set the glass on the table. "That I wish it had been me instead of Bucky who'd fallen from the train."
"After all this time, you still feel responsible. But, Steve, you can't change the past. All you can do is make the best of the present, and hope for a better future."
He turned to look at Maria, to see if she was pulling his leg, finding her expression completely serious. "You're right."
"I'm always right." She pressed her palm against his cheek and kissed him, slow and sweet. "Let's go back to bed. I have an early meeting with Coulson, and you have recruits to torture."
As Maria got to her feet, Steve let his eyes skim down her side, smiling when her bare and lightly tanned thigh came into view. She climbed in the bed, and moved to the wall so he could be near the edge. There was some jockeying around until they both found a position they were comfortable with. He adjusted his position just a little, and there was a thump, followed by an annoyed, "Oh crap! You need a bigger bed, Rogers. I'll talk to Coulson."
"You really think he'll sign off?"
"After giving him the signed vintage Cap cards for his birthday, you could ask for the heart of a dying sun, and he'd find a way to get it for you."
His hand found hers, weaving their fingers together. "Don't want to trade on our friendship, Maria. I'm no different than any other member of SHIELD."
"Of course you are. You're the director's favorite." Her voice got sleepy and warm as she snuggled close. "Go to sleep, Rogers. Maria will take good care of you."
Holding her tight, Steve closed his eyes. "Mmm. I know you will."
They slept apart the next two nights because Steve and another trainer had taken some of the recruits on a campout to the woods.
The following night, Maria was waiting for him in his new double bed. It wasn't the king they shared at the brownstone, but it was better than the two of them squeezing into a twin. He moved around the room quietly, changing into his pajamas, then slipped under the covers to spoon against her back. He kissed the side of her neck below her ear, and soon, his breathing fell into the shallow inhalations of sleep.
Vermont
A guttural scream ripped Natasha from a dreamless sleep. Her feet hit the floor at the sound of a crash and breaking glass. In the living room, she found the chair where she'd left James asleep overturned, and a framed painting on the floor amid shards of glass. It was broken in an off-center star pattern, as if someone had hit it with a fist. At the edge of her hearing, harsh breathing rasped in the air.
"James?" The harsh sounds stopped for a moment and started again. She followed them to the kitchen where she found James huddled under the counter where the recycling can usually sat. It had been thrown or kicked across the room, the contents scattered over the floor.
His eyes were wide and wild, almost feral, darting around the room, never still for more than a few seconds. In his right hand he held a wooden spoon as if it were a knife. He was having one hell of a nightmare.
Getting down on her hands and knees to make herself look as small and harmless as possible, Natasha approached James one slow inch at a time. "It's Natasha, James. Please come out. I won't hurt you."
The fear in his eyes bordered on terror. His breathing increased until he was panting, each exhale ending on a gasp as he backed himself farther into the corner. She sat back on her heels, and reached out with her palm up so he could see there was nothing in her hand.
He covered his face with his arms as he shrank away. "No! Please! I don't want to!"
In this state, the physical touch of another would do more harm than good. Natasha withdrew her hand, placing it with the other on her thighs so they were visible. Making her voice as soft as possible, she said, "Don't what, James? Who are they? What are they making you do?"
Though her voice was soft, his body twitched as if her words were a physical blow. She fell silent, ready to wait him out, all the while calling herself names for thinking she could get James over his PTSD on her own. Now the damage was done and it was her fault.
After a while, James' breathing slowed, and his posture relaxed somewhat. Patience is what Natasha needed now. Still keeping her voice low, she moved into a crouch. "I'll go to my room, and you come out whenever you're ready. Tomorrow, we'll call Steve and…"
Bright lightning lit up the sky, immediately followed by a loud crack of thunder that rolled and echoed through the area, shaking the cabin's walls. Rain pounded on the roof, startling him.
"NO!"
James burst out of his hiding place, and would've crashed into her if she hadn't dived to the side. He dodged side to side, swinging his arms as if fighting with multiple attackers. Diving into a shoulder roll, he disappeared behind the sofa, popping up and pointing the wooden spoon as if it were a rifle.
Natasha got to her feet, knowing all she could do at this point is try to knock him out and deal with the situation once he regained consciousness. Dropping into a crouch, she scanned the room, planning her strategy. But before she could put it into motion, James rolled over the sofa, dropping into a crouch behind the coffee table. He looked around, then sprang to his feet, jumping over the table, the overturned chair and sidestepping the box of wood next to the fireplace.
At the door, he again appeared to be fighting with someone. Then, he yanked the door open and headed out into the rain.
Natasha ran after him, stopping at the top of the steps. "James!"
He either didn't or couldn't hear her through the sound of the rain pounding on the roof, trees and ground, and just kept going. He had to be hallucinating being back at the HYDRA facility, before the brainwashing had taken hold. There had to have been some trial and error until the correct conditioning or combination of drugs had been found. It was the same at the Red Room, but without the drugs or cryogenics.
James disappeared into the trees, and Natasha ran back to the supply closet for night vision goggles. She returned to her room to change and put on boots. On the way to the door, slipped the goggles over her eyes. Pulling the hood up, she jumped from the porch and ran in the direction James had been moving when she last saw him.
As she reached the tree line, she activated the goggles, scanning left to right and back again, hoping to see James. No luck. In this rain, tracking him would be difficult. Picturing the area in her mind, she headed in the most logical direction: along the main path that led to the stream. During the skunk incident, she noticed how he seemed calmer, more in control near the water. Though, in his current state of mind, there was no way to know for certain that he would take the path of least resistance, but it was all she had.
~~O~~
In the past, James knew when he was dreaming, his brain tossing up random bits of memory, teasing him with what might have been. Tonight, it felt as if he were back in that disgusting excuse for a lab, men and women in white coats speaking to others in dark green uniforms.
Not much scared him. Trying to cross a metal beam suspended above a raging inferno while the building shook itself apart was one. Another was seeing the man with the red face standing over him, grinning like the devil his grandmother had warned him about if he didn't behave.
Every time he regained consciousness, he watched and waited for his captor's attention to wander so he could escape. And each time, he was caught and brought back. They were relentless in their attempts to brainwash him. Oh, yeah. He knew what they were up to, but he refused to give in. Once or twice, he went along with their orders, biding his time, but they weren't fooled, and they soon moved on from the mental conditioning to injecting him with drugs that set his brain and body on fire.
Then, one day, he had enough, and started to cry. "No! Please! I don't want to!"
1944
He was tired of being put in the chair and having who knew how many volts of electricity shot into his body. The only way to get it to stop was to do as they said, but his oath as a soldier wouldn't let him give up. On more than a few occasions, he'd been told that everyone he knew and cared about thought he was dead, and would continue to believe it. They would take steps to see to it he never returned home, and that he would become the Fist of HYDRA. It was never explained to him what that meant, but he wasn't an idiot. He knew what was what. These Nazi creeps wanted him to kill those they deemed a hindrance to their goal of ruling the world. As long as he lived, Bucky would keep fighting.
He heard the scientists talking when they thought he was unconscious, saying that Schmidt had an assignment for him. The name was unfamiliar, a political leader whose death would throw their government into turmoil, and while the country mourned, his captors would move in and take control.
Bucky had to get away today. Whatever they'd been doing to him had made him stronger, had given him a greatly increased stamina and rapid healing. Hope surged. He could do this!
The next time his shackles were released, Bucky made his move. He fought his way past the men in white coats and the guards to get where he was now. The exit was in sight. All he had to do was hotwire a vehicle and head for one of the many secret ally camps hidden within Germany's borders. If he was even in Germany.
He ran, he fought hand-to-hand, even shot a few of the guards, and soon, he was outside the compound. Hiding behind a stack of crates, he took out the guards patrolling this part of the grounds, stole their weapons and jumped into the driver's seat of a deuce. But before he could get it started, shots pinged off the metal body, one coming close enough to graze his arm, though he barely felt it for all the adrenaline coursing through his system.
Bucky gave up trying to start the deuce. He snatched up his weapon, slid across the bench seat and out the passenger door, zigzagging his way through the other vehicles.
The compound was surrounded by forest. He dove into the trees, running for his life, occasionally turning to squeeze off a few shots to discourage his pursuers. If he could find somewhere to hide until dark…
Up ahead, he saw a cave, but that was too obvious. He kept searching, and soon, he found a spot protected by several fallen trees. Wedging himself into the space concealed by the roots and leaves, Bucky waited for darkness to make his escape.
A few minutes later, it began to rain.
Present
Creeping through the forest, angry and annoyed, and concerned that James would hurt himself, Natasha once again scanned the area, turning in a circle. Still nothing. She found a few warm bodies, but they were too small, animals who'd taken refuge from the storm. Lightning flashed across the sky, the goggles automatically adjusting to the glare so it wouldn't render her temporarily blind.
The path made a sharp turn to the left past a deep indention. It was an open area, no place to hide. Just as she reached the other side, she was tackled to the ground. The goggles flew into the darkness, but she was too busy defending herself to worry about a piece of technology that was made to withstand water and impact.
She and James rolled over and over, mud, twigs and leaves sticking to their clothing as she fought against his greater strength and body weight. Having gone up against bigger opponents, she wasn't worried that he'd get the upper hand, at least not for long. Hadn't she fought aliens and lived to eat Shawarma after?
Natasha made her move, and James went flying, sliding through the mud on his side until he hit a tree. He was on his feet so fast, she was barely able to put up a defense when he came running at her.
As he came toward her, he was on a slight upgrade. She broke into a run and dropped onto her side, sliding down at a great enough speed that James had to jump to keep from being knocked off his feet.
He turned and gave chase, just as she'd planned. Dodging trees, rocks and bushes, Natasha led him in the direction of an open field that ran along the stream a few hundred yards from where they encountered the skunk. At the stream, she made a sharp right and picked up speed, bursting into the open. Chancing a look over her shoulder, she found that James wasn't behind her as she thought.
Slowing down, she listened as well as possible with the rain and thunder at an almost deafening roar, and heard nothing but her own harsh breathing. She looked up when lightning blazed across the sky, the thunder coming right on top of it, masking James's approach.
He got her in a choke hold, picking her up so that her legs flailed in the air. With his superior strength, he could render her unconscious or even kill her within a few seconds. But in their fight on the bridge and in the street, he hadn't seen all her moves.
Holding her legs together, she swung them back between James' knees, and up so that she flipped over his head, breaking his hold, and landing on his shoulders,. Clamping her legs together around his neck, she twisted, releasing once James was off balance, sending him flying again. He landed on his back this time, and without a pause, rolled onto his shoulders, arched his back, and kicked out, coming to his feet.
But he was too late. She'd already broken into a run that took her back toward the trees. He gave chase, catching up to her quicker than she hoped. Natasha put on a last burst of speed, jumping up to plant a foot on the nearest tree, continuing into the flip and coming down on James' shoulders again. But he was wise to that trick. His hands grasped her thighs and pulled them apart until she was forced to release her hold or suffer a broken hip.
She let go just enough to slide down his back to wrap her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. Whatever she'd planned came to naught as James reached back, grabbed her under the arms and flung her away. The impact with the ground knocked the wind out of her. With the physical exertion and the rain, she could only lay on the ground panting hard.
Natasha was forming a new strategy that had no hope of success when another giant bolt of lightning flashed through the sky, arcing over to strike a tree at the edge of the clearing. For one of the few times in her life, she felt absolute terror as the tree was split by the lightning. It broke apart, the sheared side falling toward the ground. She curled into a ball, as if that would save her from a sudden and quick death.
TBC
The 1927 New York Yankees season was their 25th season. The team finished with a record of 110–44, winning their fifth pennant and finishing 19 games ahead of the Philadelphia Athletics and were tied for first or better for the whole season. New York was managed by Miller Huggins. The Yankees played at Yankee Stadium. In the World Series, they swept the Pittsburgh Pirates. This Yankee team is known for their feared lineup, which was nicknamed "Murderers' Row". The team is widely considered to be the best baseball team in the history of MLB.