A/N: Spoiler alert for Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Avengers: Age of Ultron, Captain America: Civil War, Ant-Man, and Spiderman: Homecoming.
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. We're into year two of the Year From Hell.
Note 2: This story is being rewritten from chapter 45 forward to more closely conform to the MCU.
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 51
At the last possible second, worry for his child blinked out of Clint's mind bringing clarity. Only one person could've breeched the early warning system he'd put in place. Not even Sheriff Guthrie and her deputies knew of their existence. Just the person who'd helped install the systems, and she'd already breeched the perimeter.
He held up a hand to stop Laura from barreling into the room to confront the intruder. His wife breathed a hard sigh of relief while he engaged the safety and put the weapon out of sight. "Thought you were asleep."
Natasha dangled a colorful toy in front of Nathaniel's face, smiling with affection when he grabbed for it. "Needed quality time with my namesake before bed." She looked up, the light from the lamp making her hazel eyes gleam. "Sorry we woke you. He started to fuss the way he does when he wants a belly blow, so I gave him one."
Clint shared an indulgent glance with Laura. They'd long ago given up reminding her that Nathaniel hadn't been named after her. And really, what harm did it do to let his best friend persist in this one delusion? He and Laura would get to the bottom of the one regarding her feelings for Barnes in the next few days, more due to his wife's stubbornness than his own.
"More than one."
"It's my duty as his godmother to spoil him rotten." The toy was put away as Natasha brought a finger to her lips and spoke in a whisper. "He's almost asleep."
At Laura's urging, she and Clint left the nursery, her arm around his waist and his draped over her shoulders. He pushed the bedroom door open and followed her in, shutting it quietly behind them. Laura came into his arms, intent on picking up where they left off.
They jumped apart before their lips could touch at a startled yelp from Natasha via the monitor, followed by, "Bozhe moi! Nathaniel!" Natasha's feet thumped to the floor and her footsteps came down the hall. Clint opened the door just as she reached it. She thrust the baby into Laura's arms. "What is with your son?"
A splotch of wetness on the left side of Natasha's black silk pajamas told Clint all he needed to know, but he wanted to hear her say it. Holding in a grin and injecting innocence into his voice, he asked, "What happened?"
Natasha absentmindedly rubbed her right breast as she watched Laura take a seat in the rocking chair in the corner. A moment later, the boy was nursing greedily.
"What do you think, mu'dak? He tried to get a drink from an empty fountain."
Shifting his weight onto one foot and pushing the opposite hip out, Clint let the grin take over. "What can I say, Nat? My boy knows a good thing when he sees it."
Scowling, Natasha turned on her heel and padded quickly down the hall to the stairs. A moment later, Clint heard the door to the work room open and close.
"That wasn't nice, Clint. Teasing her." Laura's soft voice was more reprimand than bantering. "Especially since she can't have kids of her own."
Immediately repentant, he came to crouch next to the chair, rubbing a hand over the downy soft hair of his youngest son. "You're right. I'll talk to her in the morning."
Clint kissed the boy's head then his wife's lips and went to get ready for bed.
The Cephalus
Crew Quarters
Off the Coast of Bermuda
The ship had been anchored off St. George's Island for more than twenty-four hours and Bucky had yet to go ashore. He liked having the ship mostly to himself. With no one around, he wandered the decks, peeking into rooms he shouldn't be anywhere near. It wasn't like they could stop him even if they'd been here. And he was curious. He took a chance and let himself onto the bridge, nodding amiably to the skeleton crew that had nothing much to do put be bored until it was their turn to go ashore.
The third mate lounged casually in the captain's chair, eyes on the tablet in his hand. He barely looked up when Bucky went to look out the window, arms crossed so he wouldn't accidentally touch the controls. "Wow." His voice was low and as filled with awe as the first time he saw Carole Lombard on the silver screen. "Beautiful."
"First visit to the bridge, crewman?"
Bucky glanced sideways at the other man who'd come to stand next to him. "Yes. I was… curious."
The other man held out his hand. "Milos. And you are Grant with no last name, naí?"
They shook, but Bucky didn't say anything else, preferring to let his companion lead the conversation. Milos, like the captain, first mate, and several of the crew, had a Greek accent. Not surprising as their port of registry was Athens, Greece. Milos seemed content with his lot, happy even, while the rest of the staff and crew appeared sullen and cheerless. It was refreshing and annoying at the same time.
"You should go ashore then. Staying on board will give even the most seasoned sailor cabin fever." Milos turned his back on the amazing scene. The crystal blue water and the seaport were laid out before them, bustling with life. "Sleeping and working in such confinement for too long is not good for the soul."
Holding in a laugh, Bucky breathed deeply of the sea air, thinking about the cryochamber HYDRA's scientists kept him in for seven decades. "Maybe the next port."
Milos grinned and slapped him on the back on his way back to the captain's chair. "Your choice, o fílos mou. If you change your mind, I would be happy to show you around. In the meantime, stay as long as you like. I could use the company. Just do not touch anything."
Bucky left the bridge and returned with two cups of coffee. They silently saluted each other and lapsed back into their separate worlds, sipping their drinks, and contemplating the future.
Bucky supposed Milos was right. He should go ashore at each port to determine the best place to hunker down until he was sure the HYDRA shit was gone or rendered dormant. Night was best. Less people around. He could take his time. Get a good lay of the land. While in port, shifts and duty stations were fluid. Best get approval from one of the officers. "You're right, Milos. About going ashore, I mean. I'll go at midnight, if that's okay."
His new friend was taken aback. "That late? The pubs'll be full of touristes and the prettiest girls at the brothels will be otherwise engaged."
"Not going to drink or to be with a woman. Just getting off the ship for a while."
Milos narrowed his eyes. Not in disgust or revulsion. Confusion was more like it. "Didn't take you for… what do they call it in America?"
"Gay? I'm not." Bucky finished his coffee and dropped the cup in the recycling bin. "I'd rather get to know a girl before we," he fought a blush; successfully it seemed when Milos didn't mention it, "you know."
The man's eyes widened. "You're not a virgin, are you?" He waved a hand. "Forget I asked. None of my business. Go. Do whatever you wish. Just be back before dawn."
His eyes slanted at the clock and Bucky's followed. "I should get to work. Thanks for the talk."
A genial smile crossed Milos's bearded features. "Any time, o fílos mou."
Stark Tower
Manhattan
86th Floor Lab
Arms crossed, Friday tapped a foot, lips pursed and eyebrows raised to show that she was more than pleased at the current turn of events. At her feet lay three of the LMDs, their remains burnt and smoldering. The smoke was carried away by the environmental system, preventing the fire suppression from activating. The remainder of her assistants stood in a semi-circle, their features expressionless. "Too bad we had to lose a few good 'men' during the testing phase."
If she were human, she'd have sighed aloud. "The suit works perfectly. I hereby declare this experiment," she waved her arms dramatically, "a success." With a dismissive nod to her assistants, she nonchalantly stated, "Dismantle the suit and return the parts and equipment to inventory." Friday blinked out at the end of her pronouncement and immediately returned, sporting a devious and calculating grin of unbridled impishness. "Wait! I have an idea."
The Parker Home
Queens, New York
The Next Morning
With school out, Peter indulged himself a long lie-in. He alternated between praising and heaping censure upon his own head regarding the two Avengers. Yeah, meeting them would have been way beyond cool, but then they might've exposed him as the vigilante in the videos popping up on YouTube nearly every day. Peter wondered who was following him around recording his every move, and if they knew his identity.
But if they knew who he was, it stands to reason they'd followed him home at some point. What would he do if this unknown person or persons tried to hurt May, or threatened to if he didn't do what they wanted? May was all he had, his only family, and he hers. The hand under his pillow clenched with his emotions. If May got hurt, all bets were off. The thought of being put into foster care wasn't even a factor. The city couldn't confine what they couldn't catch.
He'd get Ned to convince his parents to take him in.
Or I'll be like that teenager who moved his siblings from place to place after their mother died, all while making sure they and he got the best education possible under the circumstances. If he can do it, so can I.
There was a knock at the door that barely registered until May called his name.
"Peter?"
Reluctantly, he rolled to his feet, shuffling out into the hall while yawning and rubbing his eyes. "Yeah?"
May, still in her pajamas, stood at the counter, examining a box with a puzzled crease above her nose. She looked so much like Dad when she did that, the breath caught in his throat. She went to the cabinet to take down bowls for cereal. "That was just delivered. You order something?"
Confused too, Peter picked the box up and gave it a shake. It was a little heavier for its size than he would've guessed. "No." His danger sense stayed silent telling him it contained nothing that could be considered a threat. Merely a curiosity. "I'll open it later, after breakfast."
Head tilted to one side, May smiled. "You know what? We both have the day off. Let's go out for breakfast to that coffee shop you like over by the stadium." She put her arms around him from behind and rested her cheek against his. He held in a sigh at the affectionate gesture they'd shared since he was a small boy. "If it's not too windy, we can sit on the patio and talk. I'll even let you have coffee."
Peter put a little distance between them so he could turn around. "Only if you're ready to talk about Mom and Dad… and Uncle Ben."
His aunt took a deep breath and let it out. "Yeah, I think I am. Finally." They hugged briefly. "Now go get dressed."
He set the box on the bed, his eyes never far from it while he shed his pajamas and put on jeans and a t-shirt that proclaimed his affinity for classic hard rock. Sitting on the side of the bed to tie the laces of his sneakers, he momentarily thought about opening the box now to appease his curiosity. Then, he heard May's bedroom door open and rushed to comb his hair before joining her in the living room, pulling his jacket on as he went. As she had when he was small, she reached for his hand and stopped. He'd long ago told her holding hands with his aunt was no longer cool. And each time she made the attempt without actually taking hold, he regretted that particular edict.
When they reached the sidewalk, Peter wrapped his hand around May's, giving her an affectionate smile at her shocked glance, and together, they walked in the direction of Java Jive.
The Bennett Home
Joliet, Illinois
Christine fussed with her daughter's hair until the sleek chignon was just right for Kaitlyn's ballet recital. She would rather have been at the lab, but she'd been instructed by Sonja not to deviate from her normal routine regarding her private life. Toward that end, to make everyone believe that nothing had changed, tonight, the family would sit in the audience while Kaitlyn and her classmates performed a routine they had been practicing for two months. At the end of the program, Kaitlyn would do a solo performance.
In her mind, Christine recalled how gifted her teenage daughter was, and had Sonja not shown her the error of her ways, she would be proud of the fact that tonight was an audition for one of only a few coveted places with a prestigious ballet school here in Joliet. The school was run by a former prima ballerina, Dinah St. John, who had retired from performing three years ago. Only those students who showed an innate talent for the ballet were admitted. With the studio being local, the drive wouldn't be long for her husband. If accepted, Kaitlyn would be home schooled until she graduated high school while she attended dance lessons. She wanted so much to be a ballerina, something she'd craved and strove towards since she was four and had seen Swan Lake for the first time.
Oliver stashed Eli's wheelchair in the back of the SUV and came back for the boy. Because of his illness, he was small for his age and still required a safety seat they'd had especially made for him.
All of this information marched through Christine's thoughts, though she assigned very little real emotion to any of it. Oh, she said and did what was expected of her, as she'd been told, while much of her cognitive energy worked on the formulation necessary to remove the last bit of resistance harbored by the subject. His was a strong mind young man indeed, if he continued to struggle against his orders each time he was sent on a mission.
Christine forced her mind back to the family and their reason for being out and about instead of at home, to show enthusiasm for the girl and her art. Though that part of her had been suppressed, she still felt a tiny frisson of anticipation as the M.C. announced Kaitlyn's name, and the girl came out to center stage.
When Kaitlyn danced, everything else fell away, demanding your attention. Your focus narrowed down to a kind of tunnel through which you could only see her. Every other aspect of your life became secondary. Without conscious thought, your mind opened and expanded, encompassing Kaitlyn's beauty, which had been apparent even at a young age, as part of her incredible artistry. Every aspect of her performance transfixed even the non-balletomanes in the audience. Kaitlyn was thoughtful and generous to her fellow performers, leading Christine to wonder if her ambition, the drive to succeed, was strong enough to get her what she wanted so very much.
She was brought out of her reverie by the harsh coughing coming from the boy. The new Christine felt little for his hardship, but had to play the part. Leaning close, she whispered in Oliver's ear, "I'll take him to the lobby and put him on oxygen."
Oliver started to rise and she waved him back as she pushed the wheelchair down the aisle and through the double doors being held open for her by a concerned usher. She wheeled him over to a padded bench, took out the portable oxygen tank, placed the mask over his mouth and nose, and turned it on. Soon the racking coughs eased off. Opening her purse, she took out a bottle, shook a pill into her hand, and accepted a glass of water from the same usher who'd been on the door. He stood back with a concerned expression, cell phone in one hand, ready to call 9-1-1, watching Eli take the pill.
Eli's breathing evened out, becoming less labored. Christine gripped his hand for a moment then took the cap from his lap and tugged it on over the boy's hairless head while giving him an encouraging smile that felt like a lie, because it was. His needs and wants had been in the forefront, the impetus of everything she and Oliver had done for over a year. With her wand, Sonja had changed everything, giving Christine a new purpose while at the same time providing her with the tools to blend in with her surroundings outside of the lab. She'd done that well enough before, but now it was essential that no one know of the shift in her focus.
The phone beeped, and after a quick glance, she handed it to Eli so he could watch his sister perform while Christine mentally returned to her work once again.
~~O~~
So deep into her brown study was Christine that she jumped when Eli touched her on the arm. "You okay, Mom?"
She blinked, bring the lobby of the auditorium and her son into focus once more. "Yes. Just thinking about work." Because it was expected, she added, "What about you?"
The boy's pale feature scrunched in thought. "I think I'm getting better. Only needed oxygen twice today and didn't throw up after lunch."
Nodding as if he'd just said the grass was green, Christine stood. "Will you be okay while I go the ladies room?"
"Yeah." Eli pulled a lanyard from inside his shirt, letting the small square device swing back and forth.
In the bathroom, Christine went into the farthest stall from the door, but instead of taking a seat, she pulled out her phone. She tapped out a quick email reminder to herself, sent it, and deleted all copies. Because she worked for the lab, her phone had a secure internet connection for emails, texts, and such through an anonymous server to keep correspondence confidential. She deleted everything, though she didn't need to, to keep her husband and kids from accidentally seeing what she was really up to at the lab since her epiphany that came via Sonja's use of the wand.
That was another thing she wanted to work on, the wand. If they could reverse engineer the tech, it would have many practical uses, perhaps even be a cure for mental disorders, bipolar disease, Alzheimer's, non-specific dementia. Christine scoffed. Not really a concern. There was no place for people like them in the new order that was coming. Let them die instead of being a burden to society.
The bathroom door opened, kicking her out of her wandering thoughts.
"Mom?"
Christine hastily shut off her phone, flushed, and came out of the stall, going to the sink. Her youngest son, Sawyer, stood with the door open, eyes darting around, scared of what he might see in the ladies room.
"What's up?" she asked over the sound of the running water.
"Dad's gone backstage to give Kaitlyn her flowers now that she's done."
She turned off the water and grabbed several paper towels. "Be right out. Go sit with your brother."
~~O~~
Sawyer plopped onto the bench next to his Eli. "Mom's been actin' weird."
"Yeah," Eli answered quietly, so Mom wouldn't hear. "Think Dad noticed?"
The younger boy shrugged. "Dunno. Should we tell him?"
"Not yet. She's probably just feeling sick or something." He scooted around in his seat to get more comfortable. "If she's still acting like that in a couple days, then we'll talk to him."
Eli could tell his brother didn't like the idea, but he'd go along with it because he didn't want to upset him. He would've said more, but Mom came out of the bathroom.
The Barton Farm
Columbia, Washington
Mid-Morning
By the time Laura and Clint came downstairs Natasha had already fed Lila and Copper and sent them to feed the animals. Nathaniel played with the dangling toys hung over his bouncy seat while talking to himself, every now and then letting out a shriek or a laugh.
Natasha handed Laura a hot cup of tea just the way she liked it, with honey and a little cinnamon. Clint was easier to please. Hot coffee, black, no sugar. When they were on a mission, sometimes his cover dictated that his order be a little more complicated, but not once had he ever complained. Coffee was coffee, as far as he was concerned. She could've given him almost anything and he'd drink it. Except for any sort of flavored drink mix that may or may not contain fruit juice, stating it reminded him of the orphanage.
She took two plates from the oven and placed them on the table, already set. "I don't often get a chance to cook, so eat up. Coop and Lila are feeding the animals and turning the horses out into the pasture."
A look passed between the couple as they took their places at the table, Laura responding, "You didn't have to to do all this, Nat."
"No bother. You guys let me hang out here whenever I need to get away, so happy to do it. I'll do the dishes then go check on the kids."
"Nat, you're a guest. You shouldn't be working," Clint protested while cutting into his omelet and spearing the chunk with a fork.
Smiling to take the edge off her words, Natasha set a plate of toast between them. "I always get my way, sestra. Ask your husband."
Again, that look. The one that said Clint and his wife were communicating telepathically. Confirmed at Clint's next comment. "Wanna work out later? Winner buys dinner. Not at the grill. Someplace nice."
The smile turned slightly evil. Seldom had Clint come out on top in one of their sparring sessions that started with that look, and he knew it. Easy money. And naturally, because they were family, she'd pay for dinner anyway. It was when it was only her and Clint that she enforced payment in the form of a meal and a good bottle of wine. "You're on."
"Let's make it a little more interesting, Nat." Bells went off in her head, but she let him talk. "Dinner with a small addition. An addendum to our usual wager."
Under her breath, Natasha mumbled, "Pretending I don't know…" She raised her voice, smiling with false cheer, "And what might that be, Clint?"
"If I win, you have to tell the truth about you and Barnes. If you win, I let it go and never mention him again in the context of you and him as FWB."
Natasha scowled and made a show of thinking it over. "Deal."
"Just remember, Nat, shila v meske ne utaish."
Without honoring his comment about Bucky with a reply, she unbuckled Nathaniel from the bouncy seat and headed for the back door. "My namesake and I are going outside for some fresh air. Let me know when you're ready to get your zhopa kicked again."
The last thing before closing the door, Natasha held up her left hand, thumb pushed between the middle and index finger, making Laura laugh and Clint roll his eyes.
Oncological Research Center
Pewaukee, Illinois
Secure Lab
Sub-level 7
That Night
The subject blinked his eyes and stood, his expression as always, unreadable, almost a blank canvas awaiting brush and paint or pencil to create upon it. Or as if he were waiting for someone to tell him what to do, what to think, and how to act. It was just as Sonja had hoped with this last injection. He appeared more complacent, ready and willing to carry out orders.
She placed dark clothing and a pair of soft, flexible shoes on the table, speaking to the subject in Russian. "Put those on. I have a mission for you. A very special mission at which you must not fail, for to do so would result in severe punishment. Understood?"
As always, the subject appeared to consider her words before responding, "Da."
What was missing in this instance was the stubborn set to his bearded jaw.
He stripped out of the skin-hugging suit specially made to protect his epidermis during cryosleep, uncaring that he was being observed. This was as it should be. He'd been programmed without a sense of modesty, which indicated his emotions played no part in his everyday life. Modesty was a learned behavior, taught to children by their adult guardians, intended to avoid impropriety, indecency, or offense. The last vestiges of the subject's former life had been wiped clean by this last injection. No more would he refuse to respond when given an order, be it a mission or the demand for his report on same.
Sonja ignored the now naked man and went to the computer, once more going over the results from the lab. The subject had performed above what had been predicted by the computer models. Her superiors would be elated.
Her hands stilled on the keyboard when she felt a strong, solid presence standing behind her. "Ah, you are ready." She turned and handed him a small tablet on which were written the parameters of his mission, waiting while he read them over, committing them to memory. "Do you understand, soldat?"
The subject nodded but said nothing as he handed back the tablet and let his arms hang at his sides.
"One last thing." Sonja picked up a small article of clothing and held it out. He took it. "Put it on. Make sure your hair is completely covered. Watch and wait until the time is right. Your target must be alone when you make contact. No witnesses."
This time, his response was immediate.
"Budet sdelano."
~~O~~
As instructed, the subject crouched in the dark, hidden by a dense stand of bushes, waiting for the specified conditions that would meet the criteria posed by the one who gave him his orders. A light came on in the small building at the back of the property. A single shadow could be seen moving against the window shades. He compared it to what he knew of the mission's target, confirming the person's identity.
He got to his feet, pushed through the bushes, darting from shadow to shadow, arriving outside the building in just a few short moments. He scanned for security cameras, motion-activated lights, and other precautions that might have been put in place to keep out unwanted visitors. The scanner lay in his palm, the screen showing the placement of cameras and motion-activated lights. Nothing else. He tapped the screen, not to disable the cameras, but to send false information that all was well. To anyone watching the security footage, the yard and surrounding area would appear normal, empty of threats. The lights were reprogrammed as well. They would not come on when he came into range.
His head came up when all lights but one went out in his destination, signaling that his target would soon appear. The scanner went into his pants pocket as he moved stealthily through the yard.
The door opened and the target stood before him, watching with eyes narrowed, not in fear, but as if her were a minor annoyance.
"Why are you here, subject?" the woman asked, her eyes turning a flinty grey that his programming told him indicated anger.
She spoke in English and he did as well, despite his orders to the contrary. "To send a message… Dr. Bennett."
TBC
Greek:
O fílos mou = My friend (according to Google Translate)
Russian:
Shila v meske ne utaish = Time discloses the truth
In Russia, the gesture Nat makes with her thumb pushed between her index and middle finger, known as "got your nose", is the same as flipping the bird is in English-speaking countries.