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 35
In the reflection of her computer monitor, Kiba saw Dooney lay a hand over his chest and grin. "My heart."
Broderick snickered. "Describe the, uh, suspect."
Dooney held his hand just above his shoulders. "'Bout so high, light brown hair, the most beautiful green eyes you ever saw, and a smile that could turn a gay man straight."
Dooney was watching for her reaction, and she carefully kept her face averted though her eyes were still on the reflection.
Again, Broderick made that annoying snap-pop with his gum. "Does this paragon have a name?"
"Kiba Sparks, though she was going by Hardison when the crime of passion occurred."
"I'll assign one of our deputies to examine the crime scene."
Dooney's expression turned glum. "Problem with that is the 'crime scene' is in Brooklyn, but she lives here now. I'll tell you this, my friend, if she confesses, I'll consider droppin' the charges."
Pushing back from her desk, Kiba took a breath, and calmly walked to the swinging door between the bullpen and the front waiting area. Dooney turned to face her, and just for a moment, she hesitated. Every eye was on them. "I'll finish taking his statement, Broderick."
She opened the front door and stepped out onto the small patio that curved around to the left. Dooney followed, the two of them standing and staring at each other, Kiba with a rueful smile. "You look good."
"I feel fantastic. Better than I have in years." He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at the ground. "When I got home from the treatment center, nothing felt right. The apartment was empty, and my business no longer gave me a sense of accomplishment. I realized that my life was lacking one element that would make everything right again."
"And that is?"
His hands came out of his pockets and he closed the gap between them. "You, Kiba. You're the missing piece."
~~O~~
Jody Mills came out of her office when the bullpen got quiet. Silence was golden, unless you were in charge of a bunch of rowdy deputies. Then silence was very, very suspicious.
The entire staff, except for Sparks was crowded at the front window, way too interested in something that was probably none of their business. "What's going on?"
Davenport shushed then waved her over. Jody looked out the window to see Sparks laying a lip lock on a tall, blond man. Scowling outwardly and smiling internally, Jody closed the blinds, earning her groans of annoyance from her team. She wedged herself between them and the window. "Nothing to see here. Go on about your business. That's an order, by the way."
Grumbling, everyone went back to work, and a short time later, Sparks came inside, smiling, with just a trace of a blush on her cheeks. She returned to her desk, sat down and went back to work as if nothing had happened. Jody was tempted to give her the rest of the day off, but those reports wouldn't write themselves.
Slapping a cap on her head, Jody left the office, got in her cruiser and headed toward the south end of town. The owner of one of the farms had reported that some of his cattle had been killed. It wasn't so much that they'd died as the manner of their death. Jody hoped this wasn't what it sounded like, or she'd be seeing the Winchesters again. They were great guys, fun to be around during downtime. But they always brought with them a sense of doom, that if things didn't go just right, the world as they knew it would end. And Jody wasn't up to that today. Any day, really. However, today was the anniversary of the day she lost her son and husband. She just needed to be alone for a while. The long drive out to the Calloway place would help.
Vermont
Several Weeks Later
Natasha and James fell back into their routine, and though he may not have realized it, very slowly, she was doing less and less of the cooking, cleaning and making decisions.
If he waited for her to lead, more than half the time she would wait to see what he would do then go along with it. On some occasions, Natasha would tell him to decide then change her mind about participating so that he would be on his own. Sometimes, he would even make suggestions for their meals or activity for the day without her asking.
He still had nightmares, but none on the order of the night the tree almost fell on them. One night, she was awakened by another dream about the Red Room. James knocked on the door to ask if she was okay. His tone said he was unsure if he should try to comfort her or let her work it out on her own. For a millisecond, she thought about asking him to stay with her. Not in her bed, but in the room. Instead, she was content with knowing he was nearby, and she wasn't alone in her misery as she'd been as a child.
Sentiment and coddling hadn't been a part of the curriculum. No bedtime stories, no cuddling in front of the fire on a cold morning, no teddy bear tucked in with you at night as a deterrent to monsters that lurked under the bed or in your closet, and no kiss good night. From the beginning, the girls were taught that love was for others, those who were like children compared to what they would become. It had been told to them on a daily basis, until they began to believe it. For her, the change in her perceptions came about the day she met a sandy-haired American with blue eyes and a cocky grin whose weapon of choice was a bow and arrow.
Natasha brought James here so that he would know he wasn't alone, that someone cared about him and could commiserate with him when he was feeling as if the world had left him behind. In many ways, it had.
Each night, she played a few songs from before and during WWII, while avoiding a situation where he might ask her to dance again. She shouldn't have agreed to the dance in the first place, but had been pleased he remembered the songs, and didn't want to do anything that would send those memories back into hiding.
After the storm and his flashback, Natasha was certain they'd end up back at square one. There had been some backsliding, though not enough to worry about.
Once again, to keep James out of the way while she did research, Natasha sent him for firewood. He had to know it was a ploy, but said nothing. Anything she asked him to do, he did, without question.
James was also speaking up more often. Beginning conversations instead of waiting for her to start them. And she didn't have to remind him to speak English as often. A few times, there had been a glint in his eye that could've been humor, as if he were speaking Russian just to tease her.
It had been his idea to share stories from their childhood. When he reached a roadblock in his memory, he would apologize. Many times, Natasha told him not to feel sorry for something he couldn't control. If his life had gone another way, he would still be Bucky and an old man. She smiled at the vision of a ninety-something Bucky Barnes flirting with women young enough to be his great-granddaughter, playing poker with his friends, listening to jazz, watching baseball on the tube, and doting on his family.
"Why are you smiling?"
His question came out of the blue, turning her smile somber. "Just wondering what you would be like if HYDRA hadn't happened." She turned more toward him, her arm resting on the back of the sofa, propping her head up. "Going by what Steve's told me, much like you were before joining the Army."
James got up and walked to the window, looking out at the moon shining on the landscape. Sometimes, she wondered what was going through his mind when he stared out the window or into the fire for long periods of time.
He stood there for so long, Natasha thought she'd upset him. Then, he began to speak, his voice low at first, barely audible, gaining strength without emotion.
"We were staying the night in Leipzig before heading out on the mission to capture Zola. Our contact would meet us with the most current information in the morning, and we'd alter our plan accordingly." He made a derisive snort. "Zola's loyalties were fluid, and Colonel Phillips reasoned that once captured, he would change sides to save himself.
"We planned to eat, have a few drinks, and go to bed early. Then, I saw Isolde come out of the kitchen. Long black hair, big blue eyes, sweet smile. I had to meet her, just talk to her for a few minutes. Instead, she invited me to her room…"
Natasha filled in the details with what she already knew from history and Steve's personal accounts. Getting to her feet, she went to his side, touching him on the arm. He glanced at her, barely a second and back out the window, finally speaking what was on his mind. "Natasha, how am I supposed to live in a world where so many people are looking for a magical solution to their problems, yet they refuse to believe in magic?"
"Same way everyone else does, James. One day at a time." Silently urging him to uncross his arms, Natasha gave in to an impulse to hold his hand, to let him know one more time that he wasn't alone.
~~O~~
James looked down at her small hand wrapped around his and slowly enfolded his fingers around hers, noting the sharp contrast between flesh and blood, and metal. She could've taken his right hand and not worried that he might hurt her by accident. But by taking the left hand, she was giving him a measure of trust.
His glance moved to her left shoulder where he could see a round bit of puckered skin peeking out from under the edge of her top. Something, he didn't know what, made him reach out with his free hand to rub the spot with his thumb. "Is this where I shot you?"
One side of her mouth turned up. "The second time, yes." Natasha pulled the edge of her pajama pants down to show another similar scar on her abdomen. "That's the first one."
He started to touch that one as well, drawing back at the last moment, curling his fingers into his palm. When his eyes met hers, she still wore that half smile, as if she found him amusing.
"I'm sorry."
Natasha breathed in and out. She let go of the elastic and the scar disappeared, but that didn't change the fact of its existence, or that he'd been the one to inflict the injury. James released her and stepped back, mostly because being this close to her did things to him that he wasn't ready for, that he might never be ready for. If he learned nothing else since that day at the river, it was that some things were out of reach for him. He was damaged in ways that most people would never understand, and having a life with another just wasn't going to happen for him. Natasha came closest to understanding his pain as no one else ever would. Not even Steve.
And what about Steve? It was the winter of 1944 that James had reportedly died, and now the year was 2014. Steve should be an old man, yet he looked the same as when he'd last seen him.
While he'd been thinking, Natasha had moved back to the sofa. James needed to know, and she could tell him. "Natasha?" He walked toward her, stopping a few feet away. "Tell me about Steve. What happened after…"
She nodded, and James sat in the armchair a few feet away. "Using information they obtained on that raid, the Howling Commandoes located the last HYDRA stronghold. Steve led the attack to stop Schmidt from using weapons of mass destruction on major US cities. He climbed aboard Schmidt's plane as it was taking off. They fought, and Schmidt was presumed killed. The plane was damaged by a weapon called the Tesseract. To prevent the deaths of millions, Steve crashed the plane into the North Atlantic, far from any inhabited areas.
"The plane was located almost seventy years later, and Steve was revived. He joined SHIELD, even helped repel the alien invasion I told you about."
James took in everything Natasha said, knowing she would not purposely lie to him. There was something about the time before they started the raids that nagged at him. The vision of a beautiful dark haired woman in a red dress who only had eyes for Steve. "There was a woman…"
"Peggy Carter. She's one of the founders of SHIELD, with Colonel Phillips and Howard Stark."
That last name was familiar, but James couldn't bring the memory into focus. An ache started around his left eye, and he rubbed it with the fingers of his right hand, drawing Natasha's attention.
"Headache?"
He nodded wearily. Natasha stood, holding out her hand. James looked at it stupidly, then allowed her to lead him to the sofa. She directed him to lie down while she went into the kitchen. The light made the pain worse so he closed his eyes and tried to just breathe through it.
A short time later, he heard Natasha return. She shut off the lights, all but one, placed something cold on his forehead, and grasped his wrist, urging him to hold it in place. The ache started to subside.
She left again and came back, the scent that swirled around her was unfamiliar. "Sit up, malenkii."
The ice pack was removed and set it aside. She pressed a warm mug into his hands. "Drink this. Cinnamon, warm milk and honey. It will help the headache."
James sipped the drink, finding it just a little sweet with a slightly pungent taste. Natasha watched him until he'd drunk every drop then took the mug and placed it on the table. She got up and went around to the back of the sofa. He nearly lashed out when she touched him through his shirt, squeezing the muscles of his shoulders and neck in a rhythmic pattern. When she spoke, her voice was soft and soothing. "Relax, little one. Close your eyes, let your mind go blank. Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. In… and out. In… and out."
Natasha urged him to lie down with his head on a pillow, and to apply the ice pack once more. Then she moved around to the end of the sofa to massage his temples, all the while murmuring softly. And soon, James was asleep.
Secret SHIELD Training Base
It had been over a month since Maria mentioned her father, and Steve wondered how many times she hung up or deleted his texts without responding. Checking her phone would be an invasion of her privacy, a breach of her trust. However, if Steve called Robert Hill himself, and the subject just happened to come up…
But would Maria view it as interfering or be appreciative of his efforts? Steve had little experience with prying into other people's lives in order to help achieve a goal they were unwilling or unable to accomplish on their own. What Steve needed was advice, and who better to get it from than an expert meddler?
For privacy, Steve went for a long run. When he was far enough from the main base that he wouldn't be overheard, he took out his phone, scrolled his contact list and dialed. It was answered on the second ring. "It's Rogers… I need your advice… Hilarious, and no, I don't need help with dating. That's not why I'm calling… Because you're an expert at sticking your nose where it doesn't belong…" Steve chuckled. "Only you and Stark would take that as a compliment… Right. Are you going to help me or not?" The voice on the other end moaned and groaned and finally gave in. "I can come to you. Where are… Okay… Start where? Got it… The training camp tomorrow? See you then."
Steve hung up, and though it was for a good reason, he still felt guilty for going against Maria's wishes. He wanted her to be happy, and though she told in him she was, he knew otherwise. In unguarded moments, he saw the look in her eyes when others spoke about their families, about how close they were. She wanted a relationship with her father, but resentment and the inability to truly express her emotions kept her from following through. Robert Hill had taken the first step by calling, and Steve felt it was his duty as the man who loved Maria to push her to meet him halfway.
He scrolled his contact list, his thumb poised over the screen. Then, he dialed. It rang, and eventually went to voice mail. "This is Steve Rogers, we spoke the other day. Please call me back at this number at your earliest convenience."
The phone went back into his pocket, and he broke into a jog back toward the base. He'd only gone a little over a mile when his phone rang. Looking at the caller ID, he saw that it was Robert Hill returning his call. "Rogers… Yes, Mr. Hill… Of course, Bob… I wanted to talk to you about Maria…" Steve snorted. "Yes, she's very stubborn, but she can be loving too… Well, she loves me… No, not in so many words, but I can tell… I've tried talking to her, but as you said, she's stubborn, and I don't want to… You're right. She's not someone you want to piss off… Thanksgiving is coming up in a few weeks. Would that be a good time to visit? Yes, sir… I'll do my best… Looking forward to meeting you too, sir."
Steve stood looking at his phone and tried to ignore the pang of conscience telling him this wasn't a good idea. Maybe it wasn't, exactly. He'd give almost anything to speak to his parents one more time, just long enough to show them what he'd become, because without them, he wouldn't have gotten the chance to be who he is. Maria's father made her who she is, the woman he loves, and Steve wanted to meet the man at least once. He also had a few choice words for how he treated his only child while she was growing up, and even if Maria refused to take the trip, he would go alone.
The Barton Farm
Columbia, Washington
Cooper and Lila were playing on the living room floor, building a haphazard Lego city. Outside, they heard the familiar chop-thunk of their dad chopping wood. They looked up when Laura set a plate of cookies and two glasses of milk on the table.
"Snack time, kids." Lila climbed into her usual chair next to where her dad sat and Cooper sat across from her. The phone rang, and Mom went to answer it. As she passed the table, she said, "I'm going outside to talk to your dad. Stay out of trouble."
"Yes, mom," they chorused, as the screen door banged shut. Her sneakered feet thumped on the porch and down the stairs. Moments later, the chopping stopped and they could hear their father's voice sounding concerned. A moment later, he gave a whoop of joy. The kids ran to the window and looked out to see Mom and Dad hugging and laughing. Then Dad did something weird. At least Cooper thought it was weird. He rubbed Mom's stomach while they kissed.
Lila pressed her nose against the window. "What's Daddy doin' that for, Coop?"
The boy shrugged. "Dunno." When Dad stepped back and pulled his cell phone out, Cooper dropped the curtain back into place. "C'mon. Let's finish buildin' the city 'fore you have to take a nap, 'n I have to do school work."
"'Kay."
Together, the kids returned to their Legos, not even noticing when their mother came back inside and went to the kitchen. She sniffed a few times, blew her nose, washed her hands, and went back to the laundry.
Vermont
Being away from the job she was trained for made Natasha restless. Running and hiking helped, but she needed more. Being calm and in good spirits-for the most part-helped James stay that way as well, easing him into a mental state where he could interact with others. Right now, Natasha needed aggression, to fight, to work off the build-up of adrenaline.
Normally, she would engage Clint or another agent in a round of sparring. She also knew the risks involved in doing such with James. He may not think so, but he was still in a fragile mental state, with a tenuous control over his emotions. No matter how gentle he was with her, beneath the surface lurked the Winter Soldier, a creature of instinct who had no emotional investment in the people around him aside from the completion of his mission. He'd shot her the first time because she got in the way. The second time, she was his mission.
Going to the supply closet, she dug way in the back and found two sets of fighting sticks. "Thank you, Mockingbird."
Now all she had to do was convince James to spar with her.
Standing in front of his door, she wondered what he did in there alone besides reading and sleeping. Then she wondered why it mattered. Maybe one day he would trust her enough to tell her. But for now, she needed his help. She knocked.
The door opened just a crack then was swung wide so that she could see almost the entire room. The bed had been made, though there were wrinkles where James had been sitting to read the book lying face down on the nightstand.
"Clint and I work out a couple times a week. Martial arts, boxing, stick-fighting, hand-to-hand. For all of it, you need a partner. You game?"
She held up the fighting sticks, and he looked at them without expression. "Game?" He looked from her to the sticks and back. "What if I hurt you?"
"You won't." Holding out one set of the sticks, Natasha waited for him to take them, and soon, he did.
"Then I'm game."
~~O~~
James grabbed a t-shirt from the dresser and followed Natasha outside. "I'm not familiar with stick-fighting."
She stopped and faced him with a half-smile, the one she used when she found something he said or did funny. "Let's be clear. Stick-fighting can be used for offense or defense. Sparring is a form of training common to many combat sports. Essentially, it's free-form fighting with rules, customs, and agreements to make injuries unlikely. The priority is to not get hurt while refining your timing and trying out different techniques."
Natasha spent the next few minutes going over the salute and the basic moves. They took a short break to get a drink, and returned to the clearing. When done indoors, many would go barefoot, but that wasn't possible here as the ground was too rocky.
These particular sticks could be connected to make one long staff. However, James preferred to become proficient in one aspect before moving on to the next.
They faced each other across the clearing and saluted. Natasha began by circling to the left. James moved to keep her in sight and from gaining an advantage. She spun her sticks like batons with that slightly amused expression she used so often, as if daring him to make the first move. He declined.
Then, without warning, she attacked. James swung right and left, his sticks connecting solidly with Natasha's. For the time being, he used his weapons for defense only. Watching, learning, analyzing. Waiting for the right moment to go on the offensive.
When she began to tire, he struck, driving her back toward the cabin. He backed off for a moment, then struck again. At the last possible second, Natasha ducked. His sticks whooshed through the air where she'd been standing. She moved to her right to get behind him and he spun around to confront her once more.
Again, that not-smile. "Not bad, Barnes. Let's see what else you got."
Though small, Natasha was strong. She went on the offensive, and managed to land several blows that, had this been a fight for her life and he were an ordinary man, they would've injured him badly enough for her to get away… or finish him off, if that was her goal.
James allowed her several small victories over the next few minutes then pressed his advantage, driving her backward until she stumbled against the trunk of a tree. He had one stick across her throat and the other pressed to her stomach, their bodies so close he could smell her scent. She panted, her warm breath filling the small space between them, and her upper chest pushing against his arm.
Her arms were free, but her weapons were trapped by his. If she wanted to get away, she could, but they would have to stay behind. Those green eyes, dark like the leaves on the late summer trees, slowly came up to meet his. What Natasha saw there, he couldn't say. All he knew was that the desire to kiss her was stronger than ever. His grip on her loosened just a fraction, and it was all she needed.
It felt as if the world were spinning around him, but it was he who was moving. He landed on his back in a pile of wet, green leaves, weeds and grass, the wind knocked out of him, but only for a moment. In that moment, Natasha relieved him of his sticks and flipped him onto his stomach. He made it to his knees before she pressed her sticks against his throat, pulling him back against her.
Reaching back with his left hand, he wrenched the sticks from her grip, tossing them away. In a flash, he had one foot raised as the other swept around, knocking her to the ground. Finishing the turn, he lashed out, catching her around the ankle as she started to run.
Natasha fell face forward in the dirt, immediately rolling onto her back and kicking out with her free leg, the heel catching James in the solar plexus. He was ready for it, exhaling at the impact. That same leg wrapped around his neck as she pushed off the ground until she was on his shoulders again with one leg hooked under his chin.
Somehow, she pulled him off balance, his chin pointed at the canopy of leaves overhead. He let go of her ankle, and both legs squeezed his head. As he reached back to grab her, she suddenly jumped free, ducked, rolled and came up with the sticks in her hands.
Twirling them like batons, Natasha came at him swinging, and James dodged each one. Then, his left hand shot up, catching the right stick, yanking it from her grasp. She pressed forward, and he backed up until they were in the clearing again, each with one stick, dancing around each other in some strange sword fight, the smacking of their sticks hitting one another echoing in the forest.
From the corner of his eye, James spotted the second set of sticks. He worked his way over to them, using the toe of his shoe to kick one to Natasha. While her attention was briefly diverted, he dived for the other one, coming up one knee with the sticks crossed to block her downward strike.
They paused for a moment, their chests heaving. One eyebrow rose just a fraction of an inch, and was joined by that smile. Part cynicism, part playful. And the next thing he knew, he was on the ground with Natasha's knees on either side of his head, her feet hooked over his biceps. James prepared to retaliate when she made the shape of a T with her sticks. "Time out."
Natasha climbed to her feet and extended a hand to help him up. Although he didn't need it, he let her. When he was on his feet again, she put some distance between them. "Not bad for a newbie. Let's take a break, and go again."
James took two steps and suddenly, the scene around them wavered. In an instant, he was no longer at the cabin in Vermont. The entire area morphed into Isolde's room at the inn, like changing the station on a radio, but with pictures and sound.
She was standing in front of a full length mirror brushing her long black hair, and wearing his shirt. It wasn't buttoned, and a strip of flesh from her neck down could be seen where the sides gaped.
He pulled his boxers on as he crossed the room. Coming up behind Isolde, he slid his arms around her waist and kissed her on the neck. "I have to go. My men are waiting for me."
She turned within the circle of his embrace, looping her arms around his neck. "Will you be coming through Leipzig on your way back?"
"Maybe. Depends on how things go." He dropped one last kiss on her lips. "I could come back after the war, if you want."
…If you want. …If you want. …If you wa-a-a-ant.
Again, the scene changed.
Isolde turned into a hairless, emaciated, barely recognizable vision of her former self. Her hands, bent into claws, reached for him, calling out the nickname she'd given him because of his hairy chest. "Where are you going? Come back, mein bärchen! Don't leave meeeee!"
~~O~~
The look on James' face was familiar to Natasha. He was having another flashback. What he needed now was something to anchor him in this century. She touched him on the arm. He jerked away as if he'd been burned.
"Bleib mir fern!" James turned back toward the cabin with Natasha on his heels.
"James! Please stop!" Natasha caught up to him as he opened the door. He looked back at her, eyes roaming over her features. She was patient, and soon, his eyes met hers. "My German's a little rusty, but I think you said stay away. That's not going to happen. I'm with you as long as it takes."
He tried to look away, but she framed his face with her palms, and forced his head up. His right hand gently gripped her shoulders, as if he meant to push her away. "It's my fault that Isolde died. All those people I killed. And for what? So HYDRA could take over the world?" He growled, and his tone harshened. "I spent years killing Nazis, and they turned me into one of them! An enemy to my country. My world." The sympathy in her eyes was almost more than James could take. "You should go before I hurt you too, Natasha."
She smiled at him, warmed by the fact that he was concerned enough for her safety that he would ask her to leave him alone when it was the last thing he needed or wanted. "You're not going to hurt me."
"How do you know? I've hurt so many innocent people. You must hate me."
"I don't hate you, James." The fingers of Natasha's left hand brushed through his hair, around the back of his ear to touch his earlobe. He inhaled sharply, and eyes sought hers, uncertain what he would see there. She smiled again as she leaned in and pressed her lips to his.
TBC
This is the last you'll be seeing of Kiba and Dooney for a while. I hope it was a satisfying ending for their subplot. They'll make a couple of cameo appearances later in the story.
If you're enjoying the mention of Supernatural, let me know.
Mockingbird (Barbara "Bobbi" Morse) is a fictional character, a superheroine who appears in comic books published by Marvel Comics. She is a highly trained agent SHIELD, and has a PhD in biology. She is portrayed by Adrianne Palicki in the Agents of SHIELD TV series. She is proficient in several forms of hand-to-hand combat and familiar with a wide range of weapons. The character usually uses a pair of batons which can be combined to form a single bō-staff in combat, weapons with which she has great expertise.
Mein bärchen = My Little Bear
Bleib mir fern! = Stay away from me!