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 41

The screech of metal on metal filled the air as James held Natasha so tightly against his chest that the breath was forced out of her. She looked up and found him staring into the distance, completely frozen in place. His eyes were fully dilated. Just a sliver of blue around the outer edge of the black. His arms contracted almost to the point where it hurt. She shook him. "James!"

Natasha clenched her hands into the front of his jacket and tried to push them both out of the way of way, but he was immovable, staring at the oncoming truck as though mesmerized.

A split second before the truck passed through the spot where they were standing, they were tackled to the ground. The impact of another body and the weight of all three hitting the ground brought James out of his trance. He blinked and looked around as if he were lost.

The considerable weight of the Good Samaritan was lifted, and a hand came down to help Natasha stand. That same hand was then then extended to James. He looked at it as if it were a snake, took a deep breath and allowed the man to help him up.

"Coo-wee! Looks like I came along just in time, beb." The deep voice was husky, warm and familiar, with just a trace of accent to show that he originally hailed from New Orleans.

"Thanks, Atticus," Natasha answered for both of them.

The truck stopped up ahead and the driver came running back. "You guys okay? I hit a patch of ice just as I was comin' outta the driveway."

Natasha gave the older man a big smile. "No harm done, except to our dignity."

The man let out a huff of relief. "Thank God. Let me buy ya a cup o' coffee or somethin'."

Atticus stepped forward. "No need. It's all good, mon frère. Just take it easy from now on."

With a nod and a tip of his hat, the driver returned to his truck and pulled into the street again, this time at a much slower speed.

James still seemed out of it. It was possible that he'd had another flashback. It put her on the fence about taking him to Steve now instead of later. She held his hand, urging him toward the pub they'd passed on their walk. He didn't resist when she whispered for him to slide into the booth so she could sit on the outside. She ordered them each an Irish whiskey to kill the chill from their walk and the unexpected fall. Hopefully, it would bring James out of his daze.

He picked up the cup and sipped it slowly while Natasha talked with Atticus. By the time the drink was gone, he was showing a little more animation and interest in the conversation, and the people around them.

Atticus was well over six feet tall, dark skinned, with brown eyes, a shaved head, and under his shirt she knew were several tattoos marking significant moments in his life. He beamed the coordinates to the safe house to Natasha's phone, and James read it over her shoulder, surprising them both by asking, "How far?"

"A little more than two hours, give or take traffic, which isn't much on the back roads. It's a completely self-sufficient structure. Water, gas, power, a few surprises. There's even room for a garden."

Natasha programmed the coordinates into her phone and transmitted them to the GSP in the SUV. "Won't be here that long." She stood, and the men did too. "Appreciate the assist, Atticus."

The big man shook their hands, his ever-present grin in place. "Happy to help, Nat. I'll expect my fee delivered to the dead drop."

"Within twenty-four hours, guaranteed."

James again surprised Natasha by extending his hand. "Merci." The men eyed each other warily for a moment in a silent battle of wills as they shook. Then Atticus pulled a knit cap over his head, zipped up his jacket and left them alone. When he was gone, she led the way out turning toward the inn. They hadn't gone far when James asked, "What's his fee?"

The tone of the question told Natasha that James had the wrong idea about what Atticus expected as payment. "A bottle of cognac and a box of assorted chocolate truffles for the love of his life, Marie."

"Where's the dead drop?"

"Petit Jean State Park. Once we're settled at the house, we can drive into Little Rock, and drop it off on the way back." James looked down at her when she wrapped a hand around his bicep. "What happened back there?"

He opened his mouth, closed it, and exhaled loudly. "I'm not sure. The screeching of the tires made me freeze up. It was like a… a memory, yet it wasn't. More instinctive." The silence stretched for a while, and soon they came in sight of the inn. "You could've been killed, Natasha."

"You too, but we weren't. Always a plus."

James stopped walking and they faced each other on the sidewalk where it ended at the inn's parking lot. "I would never be able to forgive myself if anything happened to you."

He held her shoulders, lightly flexing his fingers. As always, the left one felt different in a way that wasn't entirely unpleasant. "Every day we're alive is another chance to build a life worth living, James."

She sensed they were being watch. Glancing to the left, she saw an older couple smiling dreamily. The woman hung on the man's arm in a way that spoke of long-term intimacy. The tarnished gold rings on their left hands confirmed that they'd been married for many years. The man grinned at James, giving him a gentle nudge and a wink. "Go ahead, boy. Kiss her."

Over her shoulder, Natasha murmured, "Oh, we're not…"

~~O~~

James had wanted to kiss Natasha since the last time when he'd done it to prove a point. This time, his point was showing that he cared for Natasha as more than a friend or a mentor. Taking the older man's advice, James slowly brought Natasha closer. He thought she'd resist, maybe even get angry, and push him away, given that she'd been about to reveal they weren't a couple. That is until she tilted her head back, lips parted so that the tip of her tongue peaked out. To speak or as an invitation, James didn't care. He took the opportunity presented to him, lowering his head to meet her halfway. For a moment, their eyes remained open as their lips touched, and in Natasha's he saw a spark of something in those green orbs that looked to him like desire. Then, her eyes closed, and so did his.

The kiss was gentle, sweet and breathtaking at the same time. Her small hands pressed against his chest, warm in the chill wind that came off the water. Her mouth tasted like the coffee drink they'd drunk, and her lips were soft and supple as they moved over his. James thought she would take it further when the tip of her tongue grazed his lips, but then it retreated before he could respond to the contact. A sigh escaped her throat as they drew apart by unspoken agreement.

The long dark lashes that surrounded Natasha eyes lowered as she inhaled, their eyes meeting again on the exhale. Then, her hands were gone and she stepped back until his fell away. They turned to the couple and they were kissing as well.

James followed Natasha toward the inn, casting the occasional glance her way as they crossed the parking lot and climbed the stairs to the porch. He reached past her to open the door and followed her in.

By now, it was late afternoon, though not late enough for dinner. James had one foot on the bottom of the curving staircase when he noticed Natasha had veered off to the desk and was speaking to the man who'd checked them in the night before. He nodded, and she crossed the lobby to his side. Without speaking, they walked up to the third floor. Once inside the room with the door closed, the atmosphere became strained and uncomfortable.

Before they left that morning, the bedding he used to sleep on the floor had been put away so no one would know they weren't sleeping in the same bed.

Natasha pulled the pillows from under the duvet and used them to support her back while she read. Left with nothing to do, James grabbed the remote and turned on the television. He tuned it to a channel showing a movie he barely remembered seeing with Steve months before he shipped out.

A few minutes into it, a pillow smacked him on the side of the head. When he looked up, Natasha nodded to the empty side of the bed. Taking off his boots, he brought the pillow and joined her.

She surprised him by saying, "That kiss wasn't bad for someone who hasn't had much practice in over seventy years." A commercial came on, and without looking up from her book, Natasha murmured, "You're still sleeping on the floor."

~~O~~

Just after sunrise, Natasha and James checked out of the inn, gassed up the SUV, and headed for the new safe house. They had stayed in the last one for several months, much longer than they should have. She wouldn't make that mistake again.

Something else was bothering her as well. When James told her he wanted to see Steve, her first instinct was to say no.

It was her opinion that James wasn't ready to see Steve, but that didn't matter. It wasn't about her wants and needs. This was about what he wanted, what he needed. Their time together had been about helping him relearn to think independently, to exercise free will, and take care of himself without help. All he'd really done was trade one jailer for another. Over the months, James had apologized on numerous occasions for one thing or another. Now it was her turn.

Yanking the wheel to the right, Natasha pulled off to the side of the road, and shut off the engine. Natasha turned sideways in her seat as far as the seatbelt would allow. "We need to talk."

Confused, James tilted his head to the side. "About?"

She got out and walked around to his door. He got out as well and stood there watching her with interest as she paced a few steps away and back. "Since day one, I've made most of the decisions. When and what to eat, where to go on our walks, who drives, what to watch, what music to listen to." She looked away from his expressionless blue eyes. "Each time I've been away, I've locked up the weapons and put restrictions on what websites you can access while I'm gone. I also made the arbitrary decision not to take you to Steve for two reasons.

"One, my teammates and I are on a quest, as Thor would say, to locate an exceptionally dangerous alien artifact that needs to be returned to its proper owners before those in possession cause a worldwide catastrophe. So far, we've not been able to locate it."

"And two?"

Taking a deep breath, Natasha let their eyes meet again. "I didn't think you were ready. It was arrogant and presumptuous of me to not discuss it with you, as if you were a child who didn't know what was good for you." He opened his mouth and shut it again when she held up her hand. "You're supposed to be relearning how to be yourself again, and I took that away while appearing to help." She let that sink in before hitting him with the big whammy. "There's more. I should've told you this a long time ago. Again, I kept it from you for a good reason. At least it seemed that way at the time."

Shifting her feet as if preparing for battle, Natasha caught and held James's unblinking gaze. If he wanted to leave her standing on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, it was no more than she deserved. "The information I gave you on Isolde was incomplete. I removed all mention of one important fact, and you're not going to like it." Taking a deep breath, Natasha let it out and took another. "When Isolde was taken by the death squad, she was pregnant with your child."

The shock on his face was painful for her to see. The news was even worse for him to hear and experience.

"A child?" His voice was so soft, barely above a whisper. Natasha had to strain to hear it.

She moved out of his way as he began to pace, moving faster and faster, his hands becoming fists, until he exploded. He turned and slammed his metal fist into the side of the SUV leaving a huge dent and a fist sized hole. His breaths still coming fast, he gripped the top edge of the door frame with both hands, leaving marks there as well. Over his shoulder, he asked, "Why?"

"You were emotionally compromised when I found you. Holding back the information was meant as a kindness, not to deprive you of the knowledge. I planned on telling you. I just had to find the right time."

He whipped around, looming menacingly over her, arms held stiffly at his sides. "I mean why tell me now? You could've kept the secret, taken it to your grave, but you didn't. Why?"

"A real friend would've told you the truth, no matter how much it hurt because waiting always makes it worse. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry for everything I've done to you these months. For how I've treated you, telling myself it was for your own good."

Turning his back on her, James hunched his shoulders, drawing into himself. There had to be something she could do or say to keep him from pulling away so far that he backslid. Slowly, she reached out to touch him on the shoulder. "Can you find it in your heart to forgive me? I don't expect it to happen any time soon. At least think about it."

~~O~~

James let his mind go over Natasha's confession, especially about the child he would never know. Seeing things from her perspective, he could understand how it looked. All the things she'd done were for his protection had actually been her making decisions without consulting him or asking his opinion. The child, he fully understood her reasoning. And though she thought keeping the child's existence from him was the most unspeakable, it was the one he found the easiest to forgive, because she was right. Had she told him before he'd had the chance to come to terms with his past and this new world he'd been thrust into, he would've left her to find those responsible without considering that they'd died long ago.

He watched her patiently awaiting his decision. Could he grant her absolution? Perhaps the best course of action was to see how their relationship developed going forward.

"James?"

Crossing his arms, James leaned against the side of the SUV, letting her see that he was not only angry, but disappointed as well. He snatched the keys from her hand. "I'm driving. Get in."

~~O~~

Sitting in the passenger seat, Natasha watched the scenery go by without really taking it in. Since getting back on the road, James hadn't said a word. He turned the radio up loud to discourage conversation. What she found amusing was that he'd chosen Clint's favorite genre: classic rock. A few times, she caught him tapping the steering wheel in time to the beat.

Over an hour later, James turned onto a gravel road that took a winding path through the trees then burst into a clearing without warning. He pulled to a stop at the sight before them. They looked at each other, and got out, going around to the front of the SUV for more staring.

"Is this the right place?"

Natasha checked the coordinates and nodded at the building. "It is."

Behind the home was a backdrop of boulders and sheer cliffs that had been created by nature. Like the cabin in Vermont, this one blended with nature, but in a much different way. From the outside, it appeared to have been carved from one enormous boulder that just happened to have been left in this spot after the last ice age. There was no porch. Just a path to the front door made of flat stones. Windows to the left and right were covered with curtains so nothing of the interior could be seen. The sides of the home were curved instead of at right angles. It also looked smaller than their previous refuge.

James went to the back of the SUV for their bags and returned to her side. As they started for the front door, Natasha muttered under her breath, "If Fred or Wilma Flintstone answers the door, we're leaving."

"Fred who?"

Natasha snorted. "We have to work on your knowledge of modern cultural icons." Stopping at the door, she glanced over her shoulder at him. "Ready?"

Without waiting for a reply, Natasha pushed the door open and stepped inside. James came in behind her, both staring open-mouthed at the décor. The rather ordinary exterior had done a fantastic job of hiding the treasures within.

A short arched hallway led to the living room. The walls were the same color as the light grey exterior. Arched windows and doors had been carved into the stone. The vaulted ceiling curved inward to where a ceiling fan hung. A fireplace snuggled against one wall, the hearth extending out about eighteen inches. Furniture had been arranged to take advantage of the fireplace in winter and sunshine in summer.

Natasha set her bag on an antique white telephone chair that held a Tiffany style lamp and a pen set with a quill. James dropped his bag with hers and followed her over to the glass doors that opened onto a field surrounded by forest. Natasha opened the doors, letting in the cool mountain breeze that smelled of earth and the coming winter.

James opened an interior door and found a walk-in closet. Natasha's sharp eyes located the hidden compartment in the back where the weapons and so forth would be stored. The second door was a half bath, just a sink and toilet.

She followed his muffled footsteps down a short hallway to the left of the fireplace and found herself in the most amazing dining room. The floor had been carved and stained to look like wood. Another window looked out straight ahead, and on the right, through another short archway she could see the kitchen. Next to that, a set of stairs climbed to the second level where the bedrooms and the full bath would be.

In the kitchen, several arched windows let in lots of light, turning the grey stone to a matte platinum. A cooking island sat in the center of the room. Chairs lined one side of the island and the pantry took up all of one wall at the far end. On the walls were cast iron hooks holding a variety of cooking pans and utensils.

Turning in a circle, Natasha took everything in. "Not your average safe house, huh, Barnes?" There was no comment from James, and he was nowhere on the first floor. Taking the stairs, she found him standing in the doorway of one of the bedrooms. She came to his side to have a look. "Nice."

Before her confession, James would've let her choose which bedroom to take. Natasha didn't expect that courtesy this time, so when James went into the room and closed the door, she wasn't surprised or insulted. The second bedroom was at the opposite end of the hall with the bathroom at the top of the stairs between them.

The bedroom was spacious with windows on either side of the queen sized wrought iron canopy bed. A love seat was against one wall and on the opposite side there was a walk-in closet with a set of dresser drawers built into the side. A small wardrobe in antique white with a flowery design sat patiently waiting to be filled.

Up near the ceiling, Natasha spotted the environmental unit. Though she hadn't noticed, there was probably one in each room.

She opened her bag and put her clothes and personal items away, carrying her toothbrush and shower items down to the bathroom. Here, like the rest of the home, archways were the dominant feature. There was plenty of counter space and the tub included a Jacuzzi function. The tub's faucet was on the side near the corner instead of on the end. Above what Natasha called the foot there was another fireplace. The windows had bamboo blinds that could be lowered to block out the sun or to give the illusion of privacy where none was necessary. This far from other homes, peeping toms wouldn't be a problem.

Natasha had given the reins to James for the time being. Taking out her book, she returned to the living room to read until he decided what their next step would be.

HYDRA Base

Belgium

Several Weeks Later

The cold wind quickly dispersed the smoke from the destroyed HYDRA base as a SAR team searched the rubble for survivors. Thor helped where he could, lifting slabs of concrete out of the way or breaking it up so the men and women could move it easier. He rejoined the other Avengers, towering over everyone but Steve.

Bruce huddled near the quinjet's cockpit wrapped in a blanket. The Other Guy hadn't been needed on this operation, so he remained inside the quinjet, yet still felt the cold as if he'd been running through the snow covered forest in his bare feet wearing, well, nothing.

There was a beep from the port side telling him that the coffee was done. He filled six cups, set them on a tray and carried it down the ramp, passing one to each of his teammates. "Another bust, Cap?"

Steve pushed his mask up on top of his head as he lifted the cup, the steam rising from the surface, obscuring his features. "Fourth time in as many weeks."

Thor downed his coffee quickly, setting the empty cup on the tray. "Stark, are you certain that Jarvis would not dispatch us to these obsolete and remote locations intending for us to engage in the hunting of the elusive snipe?"

Bruce hid a grin behind his cup as did Natasha and Clint. The billionaire managed to look amused and insulted at the same time. "Jarvis wouldn't send us on a snipe hunt, Point Break. The intel was solid. Residual radiation tells me that the scepter was here at some point. The decay rate indicates it was moved well over a month ago."

"Then I'd like to know why there's maximum resistance with only minimal personnel in these has-been bases," Clint interjected. "I for one am getting tired of being called out in the middle of the night for squat."

Steve, Stark, Thor and Clint argued over the merits of Jarvis's intel and for once, Natasha didn't participate. She stood on the periphery appearing to listen, but Bruce could tell it was all going in one ear and out the other.

He backed away from the group and walked around to Natasha's side. "Something wrong, Tasha?" One shoulder went up then down. "Is it Barnes?" She looked at him and away, telling him all he needed to know. He exchanged his full cup for her empty one. "You should talk to Steve."

Her eyes met his over the cup as she held the drink in her hand. "He won't like what I have to say."

Bruce set the tray down and shoved his hands deep in his pockets for warmth. "Since when has that ever stopped you?"

~~O~~

Conceding that Bruce was right, Natasha looked into the sky and back to his sympathetic smile. "This is different, Bruce. I'm sure he thinks there's more going on than I've told him."

One hand came out of its pocket make a swirling motion. "Steve thinks you and Barnes are non-platonically involved?"

She drained the last of the coffee and carried the cup into the quinjet. "He also believes I'm keeping more than just our location and relationship from him."

"Are you?"

"Yes. I've been lying to Barnes, Steve and myself, by keeping it from him." Taking a deep breath, Natasha let it out slowly. "I'll talk to him when we get back to base."

Before Bruce could make another comment that would cause her to feel worse than she already did, Thor, Stark, Clint and Steve came to join them. Clint closed the hatch, unslung his bow and quiver, and stowed them in the case before taking the pilot's seat. He had them in the air within five minutes, headed back toward New York.

Steve pulled off his mask and gloves, tossed them in one of the jump seats, set the shield next to it and came to sit next to her, elbows on his thighs. "You're unusually quiet, Natasha."

One side of her mouth turned up in a wry smile. "Got a problem with that?"

"It's not like you to be so introspective."

Slowly, one finger at a time, Natasha pulled off her gloves then the Widow's Bites, setting them in a cubbyhole out of the way. "We need to talk later."

Steve shrugged, and looked away. "Maria's gone for a few days. Let's have dinner out. Away from…"

"Distractions?"

"I was going to say Stark and Barton, but that works too."

In his eyes, Natasha could see that he knew it was about Bucky. But then, what else could it be about? "Someplace quiet."

One eyebrow moved upward a fraction of an inch. From other women, what she said might've been taken as a come-on, but Steve knew her better than that. They long ago established a friendship, though the unwavering trust had come later, while they were on the run from HYDRA.

She matched his expression with one of her own. "I know just the place. Be ready to go by seven, Rogers."

~~O~~

Dinner was over, and the remains had been taken by the server. A few minutes later, he returned with coffee for two and a double serving of apple crumble for Steve with an extra spoon for Natasha. They occupied themselves with tasting the sweet treat for a few moments. Though he seemed to like it, Steve shrugged as he chewed. "Not as good as my grandmother's, but not bad."

Natasha put her spoon down, took a sip of coffee and set it out of the way. With her arms resting on the edge of the table, she watched Steve's face as he scooped up another bite and returned the spoon to the bowl. "This is about Bucky, isn't it?"

"Yes."

He ate another bite and jammed it back into the dessert with a huff of frustration. "I don't understand what's going on, Natasha. It's been months. Why won't he…"

Natasha stopped what would likely be a lengthy rant by touching the back of his hand. "Relax, Steve." He turned his hand over to hold hers and she gave it a squeeze. "He wants to see you."

TBC

Coo-wee! = Wow!

Beb = Sweetheart, darling

Mon frère = My brother

There IS such a thing as a snipe:

A snipe is any of about 25 wading bird species in three genera in the family Scolopacidae. They are characterized by a very long, slender bill and crypsis plumage. The Gallinago snipes have a nearly worldwide distribution, the Lymnocryptes jack snipe is restricted to Asia and Europe and the Coenocorypha snipes are found only in the Outlying Islands of New Zealand. The three species of painted snipe are not closely related to the typical snipes, and are placed in their own family, the Rostratulidae.

Camouflage may enable snipes to remain undetected by hunters in marshland. If the snipe flies, hunters have difficulty estimating a correct aiming lead for the bird's erratic flight pattern. The difficulties involved in hunting snipe gave rise to the term "sniper", referring to a skilled anti-personnel military sharpshooter.

"Going on a snipe hunt" is a phrase suggesting a fool's errand, or an impossible task. It is often used as a practical joke upon campers, and those unfamiliar with hunting, by those more experienced.