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 39

Stark Tower

Later That Afternoon

Used to being active, the four Avengers not working on the scepter dilemma gathered in the lounge doing what they could to entertain themselves and each other.

At the moment, Clint was showing off his carnie skills by juggling and doing magic tricks. At one point, he'd even picked Rogers's pocket. He put the cards away and went to the bar for an iced tea. A beer would've hit the spot, but they had to be ready to go at a moment's notice.

Clint returned to see faces of his friends grinning. "What's going on?"

Thor laid the ankle of one leg on the knee of the other. "Natasha tells us that you have another extraordinary skill, Barton."

Rogers waved the hand holding a nearly empty glass of lemonade. "Said you wouldn't mind giving us a demonstration of your acrobatic skills."

Natasha kicked her shoes off and curled her legs under. "Show us what you got, Clint."

"Always up for a challenge." Clint took off his jacket and stretched his muscles, warming up for the physical exertion. "With a few adaptations, tumbling can be used for free-running, though the official name is parkour. It's a training discipline that uses movement developed from military obstacle training. The goal is to get from one point to another in a complex environment without equipment to assist and in the most efficient way possible. That includes running, swinging, climbing, jumping, rolling, balancing, vaulting, and other movements suitable for the situation."

"From where did you acquire this training?" Thor asked, intrigued by Clint's explanation.

Clint cracked his neck. "Circus. High wire and acrobatics."

He chose the end of the bar as his starting point. Bringing the room's layout to mind, Clint mapped out his path counting in his head.

There wasn't enough room to get a good running start, so Clint did the next best thing. He jumped on the handrail for the stairs that went to the lifts and walked to the top, jumped down, jogged around the corner, leaped up on the rail and ran to the middle. Balancing on both feet, he gauged the distance and did a flip, landing on the seat of an armchair a half-level down where the others were watching with rapt attention.

Clint bounced to the floor, dodged around the feet and legs of his friends, up a short flight of stairs, jumped on the bar, ran to the end and leaped into the air, catching the edge of the next level. Swinging his legs to gain momentum, he let go on the upswing, making another flip, and landing on the decorative incline next to another set of stairs. He slid to the bottom then climbed back up, running around to the right until he came to chairs stacked against the wall. Using the seat of one as a jumping off point, Clint flew through the air, catching his handhold just as the lift doors opened.

~~O~~

As Stark and Bruce reached the top of the stairs, Natasha glanced at Clint with a smirk. No doubt Stark would have a thing or two to say about her best friend's activities.

Stark's gaze wandered over the crowd. "Where's Barton? We have intel to impart. A mission is only minutes away."

Smirking, Natasha said, "Oh, he's hanging around."

"Where? We've got work to do."

Steve, Thor and Natasha pointed up. Stark tilted his head back, spotting Clint hanging from the enormous light fixture, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Bruce took off his glasses, staring at Clint with his mouth open. "What the hell…"

Unfazed, Stark went to the bar and pulled out a bottle of ginger ale, opening it as he returned to the sitting area. "Wanna join us, Legolas?"

Clint adjusted his hand hold, got some momentum, and let go, making a flip and landing solidly next to Stark. He took the billionaire's drink, plopped down next to Steve and took a long swig. "I'm here. Let's get this party started."

Shifting his feet, Bruce replaced his glasses and tapped the screen of his tablet, sending the information to the plasma screen that lowered from the ceiling. "Do I even want to know what that was all about?"

Shrugging, Clint crossed his knees. "Let's go with no."

"O-kay. Back to business then. With what we know about HYDRA from SHIELD's files, and making a few educated guesses, we have two possible locations." Bruce turned to Stark who took over.

"The problem with hitting one is, if the scepter isn't there, the other will know and they'll move it. We hit them simultaneously. Coordinate the teams, and on Cap's mark, go in, sweep the place, and send their troops off to a secure SHIELD prison, so we can search at our leisure."

Clint shifted in his seat, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "What if we come up empty? The bad guys'll be alerted to the fact that we're scepter hunting and we'll never find it."

Bruce stepped forward. "These were just the first two locations we found. Jarvis is continuing to sweep as we speak. We might come up with more locations by morning, or it could take weeks."

Steve huffed, obviously not happy. "If that's the best we can do, let's go with it. In between raids, we'll go about our business, and regroup when the time comes for the next one."

Looking over Bruce's shoulder, Stark pointed to something on the screen then returned his attention to the group. "The first two locations on our list are here in the states."

"Good." Steve's stern gaze swept the group. "Suit up."

~~O~~

Hours later, Natasha opened the door of her suite in Stark Tower, stripped off her gloves and widow's bites, and laid them on the dresser on her way to the bathroom. While the water was running for a bath, she got undressed and hung her suit in the closet, all the time wondering how James was handling his first full day alone at the cabin.

He'd been on his own before they joined forces, so if she had to guess, she'd say he was doing okay. Just to be sure, she would video chat with him for a few minutes before going to bed.

Thirty minutes later, Natasha was out of the tub and in her pajamas. Standing in front of the bedroom mirror, she yawned at her reflection and went to sit on the side of the bed with the covers pulled back. It only took a few seconds to connect with the computer in the cabin, and she was looking at James' concerned face. "Hi."

He nodded a greeting. "You look tired."

"I am tired." Lifting the covers, Natasha swung her feet under and moved the pillow to support her back. "Do anything interesting on your first day alone?"

One shoulder went up and down. "Went for a run, watched a movie, had lunch and dinner. You?"

"Helped out some friends. I may be back sooner than I thought." She covered a yawn with the back of her hand. "The situation Clint called about is flexible."

"Flexible?"

Smiling at his confusion, Natasha explained, "It means I may have to be gone for a few days here and there, but I'll be around to break up the monotony of your day."

Again, one shoulder shrugged. "I'm not bored."

She snorted a laugh. "Guess you don't miss me as much as I thought."

He looked down then back to her. "I do miss you, Natasha."

Touched that he thought of her, she smiled. "James…" There was a knock, light, as if the person wasn't sure if she were awake. "Someone's at the door. I'll call tomorrow. Should know by then when I'll be back. Bye."

Natasha pressed the end key and set the phone aside as she went to answer the door. Bruce was standing there, unsure if that's where he really wanted to be. "Um, hi."

So not a strong lead-in, but she could work with it. "Hi." He rubbed his hands together, a nervous habit he'd never been able to stop. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes." His mind seemed to be in another place. "No." He took a deep breath, and his expression turned sheepish. "To tell the truth, I'm not sure why I'm here."

She stood back to let him in and closed the door. The attraction she felt from the first time they met in that rundown shack in Calcutta was still there. Though their reasons for the mutual break-up a few months ago seemed logical at the time, Natasha wondered what would've happened had they stayed together.

Taking his hand, Natasha led him over to sit on the foot of the bed. "Whatever it is, you can talk to me." She squeezed his hand when he hesitated. "We agreed to stay friends, remember? And friends can tell each other anything, Bruce."

His eyes searched her face, unsure what he was looking for. Bruce released her hand to trail his fingers up her arm, lingering on her bare bicep before sliding into her hair, his palm warm against the curve of her jaw, letting the side of his thumb graze her cheek. She closed her eyes and inhaled his natural fragrance. Clean, fresh, earthy, with an underlying scent of sweat and linen.

Natasha leaned toward him, closing her eyes as their lips made contact, the warmth of his mouth sending a small thrill through her. The same, yet different than when they'd done this before.

Giving in to the urge to push the boundaries, she deepened the kiss and Bruce let her. He moved in front of her, exerting just enough pressure to get her to lie down. He came down half on top of her, his chest pressing against her ribs, generating a feeling of safety and caring, fanning that small spark into a flame.

Using her elbows and feet, Natasha inched up to the pillows, and Bruce willing followed. They embraced again, and one knee slid between her thighs while they kissed.

He groaned when Natasha dug her nails into his back. She grabbed handfuls of his shirt and pulled it free of his pants so she could push her hands under the material and up to his shoulders, enjoying the feel of his skin. Nearly lost in sensation, her right hand dragged over his left shoulder blade, searching the scar that wasn't there.

Bruce whispered in her ear, a single word that effectively doused the spark. Natasha growled in frustration. She pulled her hands from under his shirt, using the heels of her hands to push him back so she could see his face.

Puzzled, he frowned at her. "What?" The first few buttons of Bruce's shirt had come open affording her a view of the tuft of dark hair that peeked above the white t-shirt he wore underneath. He rolled to the side, flopping down next to her.

"Well, when a man calls a woman by another woman's name while they're…"

He buttoned his shirt without meeting her eyes. Huffing in frustration, he lay beside her with their shoulders touching. "What are you talking about?"

"You called me Helen." Rolling onto her side, head propped on her hand, Natasha grinned down at him. "So, you and the ice queen, huh?"

~~O~~

Debating with himself for all of three seconds, Steve decided to confront Natasha, hoping to force her into giving him straight answers about Bucky. The problem with asking pointed questions of a career spy and assassin was he could never be absolutely certain if she was telling the truth or lying to his face.

To keep their conversation private, Steve chose to challenge his teammate in her room rather than one of the common areas that were monitored and recorded. If the time came that they needed Stark's expertise in handing this case, Steve would read him and the others in. Until then, only Steve, Natasha and Barton had need-to-know.

He was about to knock on Natasha's door when it was opened from the inside. Bruce was on his way out, tucking the back of his shirt in as he went. For a moment, the scientist looked guilty. He looked at Steve and back to Natasha. "We'll talk later, Tasha."

"There's nothing to talk about, Bruce. I'm happy for you." She gripped his hand briefly. "Take care."

The scientist eased past Steve without meeting his gaze and walked quickly in the direction of the lifts. Aiming a thumb over his shoulder, Steve asked, "Did I interrupt something?"

Natasha smiled and opened the door wide, inviting him in. "No."

She closed the door, crossed her arms and waited for him to speak. Belatedly, she nodded for him to take a seat on the small sofa in the sitting area that looked out over the Manhattan skyline just as Steve's did, though his faced more toward Brooklyn. "What's going on with you and Bucky?"

"What do you think's going on?"

Frustrated that she'd turned the question back on him like she always did, Steve sat back in his seat, one arm over the back of the chair. "If I knew the answer, I wouldn't have to ask. The two of you have been alone together in the safe house for months. You won't tell anyone where it's located and even Jarvis hasn't been able to track your phone or IP address. You've only communicated with one member of the team."

She smiled in that way she had when she was about to one-up him. "Steve Rogers, are you jealous?"

Taken aback by the question, Steve was momentarily at a loss for words.

"Your best friend prefers my company to yours. Tell me that doesn't piss you off…" she pinched a centimeter of air, "…just a little."

Conceding the point, Steve nodded. "More than a little. If anyone understands what's happening to him, it would be me. We've been friends for as long as I can remember. We both supposedly died at the hands of HYDRA, and were resurrected seventy years later, yet he came to you for help."

"He didn't come to me. I went to him." Natasha sat on the coffee table facing him. "Steve, everything that happened to you, the serum, crashing the plane, it was your choice. You were given full disclosure of the possible side effects of those choices. You even gave up a life with the woman you loved, sacrificed yourself so that millions of people would live. I heard the recording. You said…"

"I know what was said. I was there, remember?"

"Bucky wasn't given that courtesy. Zola and his people made him a virtual slave. They experimented on him, turned him into the Winter Soldier. They forced him to commit unspeakable acts that the Bucky you knew would find abhorrent. They drugged and conditioned him to forget everything about his life and the good man he was just so they could someday achieve world domination. HYDRA's no better than Loki. Their plans were just more long-term."

Steve admitted Natasha had a point. "Loki had an alien army on his side. None of which is relevant to my original question. Why you and not the one person in this world who knows him better than anyone else? Why not let us take him to professionals, people who know how to reverse the things that were done to him?"

"To be studied and experimented on again?" She shook her head. "I won't let that happen to him again. I promised. He trusts me because…" she looked down at her hands folded in her lap, "…we're the same."

Getting to her feet, Natasha went to the floor-to-ceiling windows. She could've been searching the sky for a particular star or using the time to gather her thoughts.

Steve went to stand behind her, their reflections in the glass making it appear intimate. "How? How are you the same?"

When she spoke, her voice was so soft he had to strain to hear it. "After my parents died in a house fire, I was sent to an orphanage. Dr. Petrovich and Madam B came one day a few weeks after I arrived. When they left, three of us went with them." She laughed humorlessly. "They referred to it as 'recruiting' us into the Black Widow program. We obviously don't use the same definition of recruiting."

Seeing how difficult it was for Natasha to verbalize something so personal, Steve stayed quiet, offering comfort by his presence.

"So you see, Bucky's not the only one who didn't have a choice in what he became. I am what they made me to be."

He wanted to let her know she wasn't alone, that she could rely on him as a friend. "You don't have to be that person, Natasha. You can walk away."

"And do what? Become a soccer mom, drive a minivan, go to church on Sundays, and vacation in the Poconos?"

"If that's what you want, yes."

In the window's reflection, her eyes met his. "That's not an option when you can't have children, Steve."

His hand touched her shoulder, turning her to face him. He held her until she pushed out of his arms. If Natasha were anything less than the woman she was, he would've expected to see tears, but there were none. Briefly, he wondered what it would take to make her cry. Then decided he'd rather not know.

"I have the option of doing or being something else, but like or not, the Black Widow is who I am. The only difference between Bucky and me is he wants more for himself than to be an assassin. He wants a life that isn't defined by death and destruction.

"The Red Room turned me into the person you see, and that's all I'll ever be." Steve stepped away from the window and Natasha followed him to the door. "Just let it go for now. I'm too tired to argue."

Nodding, he stepped into the hall and faced her again. "Good night."

Natasha waved, and was about to close the door when Clint came from the other direction. Steve kept going, ignoring the sound of their voices speaking in Russian. From the tone, Natasha was not happy.

~~O~~

As Steve walked away, Natasha turned a glare on Clint, switching to Russian. "Is this Pick on Widow Night and no one told me?"

Clint looked around as if she were talking to someone else. "Third week of June."

She nodded, knowing what the date meant. Clint wouldn't explain where they might be overheard, and he was too excited to wait.

"How you doing?"

Gritting her teeth, she stopped just short of growling as she went back into her room and he followed. "Fine. Just peachy."

He waved a hand. "I believe you." His tone said he was humoring her. Sitting on the arm of the sofa, he watched her brush her hair. "Rogers still trying to get the skinny on Barnes?"

"Yes. And no, I won't tell you where he is."

"Not my circus, not my monkey." Crossing his arms, Clint looked at her curiously. "Who shot you down?"

She paused in her task then started again. "What's makes you think…"

He pointed at her head, and the wrinkled covers on the bed. "When I walked up, you had sex hair. Rogers is with Hill, and he's not the cheating type. So my guess is it had to be Banner you were doing the mattress mambo with."

"Wasn't doing anything with anyone, eblan."

Clint appeared behind her in the mirror. She handed him the brush and he took over brushing. "You're lips say no…" he leaned close enough to sniff her, "…but my nose says you're lucky that liar's pants don't actually catch on fire."

Natasha snatched the brush from his hand, brandishing it like a weapon. "I talked to Bruce then Steve, and now you. It's like my room has a revolving door. And nothing! Happened! Now get! Out!"

Unsuccessfully suppressing a smirk, Clint backed out into the hall, holding his hands up. "Fine. Whatever. It's no big deal to me if you wanna hang spaghetti from your own ears." He ducked when she lobbed the brush at him. It bounced off the wall across from her door and landed on the floor.

With her jaw clenched, Natasha shouted, "Jarvis!"

"What can I do for you, Agent Romanoff?"

Natasha closed her door and engaged the lock. "Put out the do not disturb sign until 0700. No calls, no texts, no IMs, and especially no one knocking on my door unless it's a genuine emergency."

"As you wish, miss."

She crawled into bed, flipped out the light, and lay there with the covers pulled up to her chest, staring at the ceiling.

Vermont

The General Store

One man sat on a stool, using his knife to carve a piece of wood while the other had his eyes glued to the television. Both men were dressed as if they'd just come from hunting and smelled like it too. Battered caps that would never be thrown out because they were "lucky", vests, flannel shirts, jeans and steel-toed boots. Their hands were calloused and dirt stained from years of manual labor, the nails chipped and broken.

The whittler's name was Tommy Lee and his best pal since forever was called Woody. Why, no one had ever said.

Tommy Lee ran the hunting and camping supply part of the store, and was the more charismatic of the two, which wasn't saying much. Not surprisingly, both were single and probably would be for life considering the lack of gullible women who lived in the area, and the disproportionate amount of time they spent tending to the needs of their doting mothers.

Holding the chunk of wood up to the light, Tommy Lee ran a thumb over the grain, working out his next move. Carving animals from wood was a hobby that netted him a pretty penny from the tourists who happened into the store. He looked up when Woody nudged him with an elbow.

"Look, Tommy." Woody pointed at the television showing a grainy video of one of the biggest news stories in the last six months: the destruction of the SHIELD headquarters in D.C. One video in particular caught his eye. He paused the playback. "Don't she look like that pretty little redhead what comes in here every couple of weeks?"

His attention diverted from the carving, Tommy Lee squinted at the screen. "Hair's not the same, but yeah, it kinda looks like her. What of it?"

"And that guy she comes in with sometimes?" Woody went to the television, indicating a figure standing next to a burning car, aiming a gun at the man holding the red, white and blue shield. "If they tried to kill Captain America, and aren't in jail, then they're probably fugitives with a price on their heads."

"Makes sense, Woody." In addition to his charm, Tommy Lee also had smarts. Practically a genius compared to present company. "If they're on the lam, then it stands to reason."

Nodding, Woody came back to his friend's side. "Yup. So where you reckon they're hidin' out?"

Shrugging, Tommy Lee adjusted his cap. "Always heads north on the Four toward Mendon when she leaves."

Woody scratched at a spot on his chest. "Yeah. Followed her as far as Meadow Lake Ridge once. Then I remembered Momma wanted me to pick her up at The Bear Trap."

Tommy Lee slipped the knife into the sheath on his belt and set his carving aside. "Lots of cabins off the paved roads. What say we check 'em out? I can get Leroy or Wade to watch the counter."

"You wanna go tonight?"

The wood carving fell over, and Tommy Lee automatically righted it. "Let's start tomorrow after lunch. That's my slow time."

Two Days Later

Having parked some distance away so their approach wouldn't be noticed, Tommy Lee and Woody crouched behind a fallen tree watching the cabin. There was no vehicle parked in front, but the smoke from the chimney said someone was at home.

Hefting his hunting rifle, Woody indicated that he would circle around to the other side to check it out. A few minutes later, he was back. "Couldn't see in the windows, and the SUV they drive's not 'round back or in the shed."

Tommy Lee huffed in frustration while rubbing his hands together to warm them. The day was sunny, with a chill wind signaling winter was on the way. "Whoever's in there has gotta come out sometime. Let's give 'em a couple hours then call it a day. Then we can check out one more before suppertime."

The men took turns watching and waiting for some sign. Half way into the second hour, they were rewarded for their patience when the front door opened and the woman's male companion came out. He dragged a moderately sized chunk of wood from the side of the cabin to the chopping block, making short work of preparing it for the fireplace.

In his baggy long sleeved shirt, the man looked scrawny, early thirties, long hair. Keeping his voice low, Tommy Lee told his pal, "We can take him easy."

Woody agreed. "What about givin' Fenris a call? He'd come down here with handcuffs and a couple of his deputies and round him up."

Shaking his head, Tommy Lee fished a piece of jerky from one of the pockets of his hunting vest. "And let them get the reward and take all the credit? No, thanks. We're gonna be rich and famous. And I don't wanna share." He shoved the jerky in his mouth, sucking on it to make it soft enough to chew.

Their quarry gathered an armload of the wood and went back inside. Not long after, the smoke from the chimney thickened indicating he'd added to the fire.

"How long you reckon we should wait?"

Shrugging, Tommy Lee pushed the jerky into the left cheek. "About thirty minutes or so. Give him time to fall asleep watching the tube. Then we'll waltz in, tie him up, march him down to the sheriff's office, and collect our reward."

Stark Tower

Steve leaned in the doorway, watching Natasha pack her bags, his expression dark and baleful. "Why does Barton get to know where you're going, but you won't tell me?"

Natasha zipped the bag with her clothes and dropped it on the foot of the bed with the other one. "Because Clint is the pilot. And he doesn't know the location of the safe house. Just the rendezvous point."

He followed her up to the helipad where Barton and the idling quinjet waited patiently for their lone passenger. Standing at the bottom of the ramp, Steve contemplated forcing the issue by getting on board and refusing to leave. "Barton…"

Without turning his head, the archer put on his headset and started the takeoff checklist. "Save your breath, Rogers. There's nothing you can say or do to get me to narc on Nat."

Taking a step back, Steve watched the ramp close on Natasha smug grin, knowing she was right. Barton would go to his grave with a secret, if that's what she asked of him.

He stared at the sky long after the quinjet had disappeared. Over the sound of wind whipping around the uppermost deck of the Stark Tower Steve heard someone cross the tarmac and come to a stop beside him. A quick glance verified that his companion was Maria.

"Told you."

A long, hard exhale deflated his lungs. "You were right."

She snorted, and together they jogged down the stairs. "And what have you learned from this, Captain Rogers?"

Inside the lift, Maria stood with her back straight, hands clasped behind her back, and chin up, her eyes fixed on the digital display as the car descended into the bowels of Stark Tower. Her military bearing was mitigated by the fact that she was wearing a form-fitting deep purple dress, black heels and a black blazer. Better known as her corporate disguise.

Reaching past her, Steve entered his override code and the lift came to a stop. He swept her into his arms, holding her tight. "I've learned that Maria is always right." Their lips were about to touch when he added, "Except when she's wrong."

She made a scoffing sound that cut off when he claimed a kiss.

Vermont

The life-long pals crossed the porch to the front door without making a sound. They listened for a moment, and Tommy Lee nodded, holding up three fingers. Woody grabbed the knob, and when Tommy Lee's third finger curled into his fist, the door was pushed open and the men burst into the cabin, weapons and eyes scanning the room, finding it empty. The man they'd planned on capturing wasn't there. They moved into the center of the room, seeing nothing that would tell them where he'd gone.

Woody motioned to the hallway door that led to the bedrooms, and Tommy Lee nodded. They'd only gone a few feet when they heard the thump of boots on the wood floor behind them.

"Tommy Lee?" Woody's voice wavered slightly on the end. He was as brave as the next man, but the thought of someone getting the drop on them scared him spitless.

"Yeah?"

"You hear that?"

His friend made a slow nod. "Yup." Holding the rifles at the ready, they turned around fast. The man they'd been watching stared at them with cold eyes. This close, they could see he wasn't armed. Relieved, Woody aimed his rifle at the middle of the man's chest at the same time Tommy Lee raised his weapon and motioned to the dining room chair. "Looks like we're in charge here, pal, seeing as you're unarmed and all. Have yourself a seat, and once my friend Woody's got you tied up nice and tight, we'll give the sheriff a call to come get you."

The man seemed to think it over, then pierced them with a hooded gaze. "No."

Tommy Lee laughed out loud. "I don't think you understand. That wasn't a request. Was it, Woody?"

"No siree, Bob." Woody motioned with the end of his rifle. "Now get on over there. Me and my friend know all about you. Tried to kill Captain America, you and that sweet young thing you been shakin' up with."

One side of their prisoner's mouth turned up as he tilted his head to the side, though he did sit in the chair, somehow making it seem like it had been his idea all along.

The friends exchanged a look of confusion when he slumped down on his spine. Slowly, as if to increase the tension, he rolled his left sleeve up to the elbow showing an artificial arm made out of metal.

Woody gasped, and the end of his rifle started to shake. "Wh-what the hell…?"

His eyes wide with fear, Tommy Lee pulled out a Taser and shot their prisoner. He moved his arm, and the leads snapped and crackled on the surface of the metal. He got to his feet, flexing the metal hand as if it hurt.

Then he did the most extraordinary thing. He pulled the leads from his arm, clenched the metal hand into a fist, and swung the arm in a circle at the shoulder joint. His head went to one side then the other, cracking each time. The slump of his shoulders and spine straightened as his chin came up, and the gaze he leveled on them said he was pissed.

Woody backed up a step, and Tommy Lee followed. Their former prisoner moved faster than they thought possible, knocking the weapons from their hands. The friends lost what little courage they had and turned to run, tripped over the rug, and each other, landing in an undignified heap. They rolled onto their backs as the other man stood over them and smiled unpleasantly.

TBC