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.
Year From Hell: Season 3, in progress. Please stand by…
Note: Please continue to pray for my sister and her medical issues. The family is highly stressed at this time making it difficult to concentrate on mundane issues.
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 81
Undisclosed Location
"She's on the move, partner. Get ready," Natasha murmured into the walkie-talkie.
"Everyone's in place," was Clint's contribution, "and ready to go on your mark."
Grinning to herself, she reached for the mesh-like material with her free hand, eyes glued to the screen. Clint had attached a tracker to the car pulling out of the secure parking area in the back of the building. The vehicle turned at the light, eased into the right lane, going faster than was safe for the conditions. At least that's how it would read when the driver was pulled over for speeding.
Touching her temple activated the nano mask, changing Natasha's features to that of a stern-faced woman. She placed a police officer's cap on her head, checked her look in the mirror, adjusting at a jaunty angle. Shifting into gear, she whispered the word that would set their plan into motion, "Mark."
Queens, New York
With the wind rushing at her, May clamped her lips together to keep from screaming in Peter's ear as they swung through the streets of Queens. Each time they neared the bottom of the arc, she was certain they'd end up as a pair of bright red smears on the sidewalk. But then, the sky would come into sight once more. They did this over and over until she'd lost count.
Then, to her dismay, Peter let go of the web. The scream she'd been holding in cut off when they landed in the grass of a micro park without even a stumble. Still, her arms stayed wrapped around his neck. His arm around her waist let go, silently urging her to do the same.
"May? You okay?"
The air rasped in and out of her lungs so fast, May became lightheaded. No, that wasn't the right word. Euphoric? Yeah, that was it! She gripped Peter's arms tight, grinning though he couldn't see, giving him a shake. "That was freakin' awesome! We're gonna do it again!"
Peter chuckled and pulled her into a quick hug. "Sure, if you want."
"Oh, I want!" She stood tall, fists jammed into her hips, taking in their surroundings. "Let's get those bad guys."
She'd only taken a single step when Peter grabbed her arm, holding her in place. She tugged, but couldn't get free. "Whoa there, May. You can't just burst in on a crime in progress. We gotta scope it out. Find out if they're armed."
Karen's calm voice spoke to them, "They are unarmed, Peter. However, there is a more urgent situation developing one block to the west. A carjacking in progress."
Avengers Compound
Tony's Lab
Holding the rolled canvass in one hand, Steve entered the lab through the open door. That in itself was odd because Tony had a habit of locking the doors to keep Steve and the rest of the Avengers from bothering him at a crucial moment. Was Tony expecting company or was his mind so focused on the work that he'd neglected security?
Steve felt the first scenario the most likely seeing as most of the computers had gone into power save. There was a sound behind him and then he was looking into Dum-E's hand-like appendage. Feeling silly, Steve addressed the robot, "Is, uh, Tony here?"
For an answer, Dum-E trundled away and stopped to look back, making a questioning sound. Belatedly, Steve followed the robot to the balcony that encircled the lab, providing a panoramic view of the landscape. Friday's hologram appeared on the holotable. "Good evening, Captain Rogers. How can I help you?"
"Looking for Tony."
Tonight, Friday was wearing a rust-colored sweater with the cuffs rolled above her wrists, oddly patterned slacks in shades that complimented the sweater, and brown leather ankle boots with heels. A gold pendant hung around her neck. "The boss is in the lounge playing pool, if you'd like to join him."
~~O~~
The strident sound of balls clacking together reached Steve before the lift doors opened. He jogged down the stairs and waited for Tony to acknowledge him.
Tony chalked his cue as he examined the lay of the balls. He lined up his shot and took it, knocking a grouping of balls in all directions, and one into the nearest pocket. "Why're you here, Old Man? Can't you see I'm busy working on the next big thing in tech?"
Steve moved where Tony could see him. Upon seeing his grave expression, Tony set the cue aside and picked up a glass. From here, it appeared to be iced tea instead of the billionaire's usual poison. "We have to talk."
"So talk."
The two men locked eyes for a moment then Tony replaced the cue in the rack and took a seat. Steve passed the canvass to Tony, who took it gingerly, as if it might be booby trapped. "I found this while helping Darcy clear out her mother's studio."
The glass thumped on the table, Tony sat up, removed the rubberband securing the tube, and got to his feet. He paced the perimeter of the room, examining the unfinished painting, then carried it to the pool table, using balls to hold it flat. Gently, reverently, he touched first baby Darcy's face, then his mother's. There, standing next to him, barely noticeable, was an outline that was unmistakably Joni, her lips turned up in an affectionate smile as she leaned into him. What Darcy, and now Tony, would never know, is that Steve added Joni into the painting himself. It just seemed right.
Remembering he wasn't alone, Tony cleared his throat and stepped back, shooting a quick glance over his shoulder, and back to the painting. "You knew she was my daughter before I did," he said quietly, as if to himself.
In Steve's experience, the tight control Tony held on his emotions wouldn't last long. If he wanted to punch him out, so be it.
Tony swung around, his body language and expression radiating anger that was on the verge of exploding. "Why didn't you say something sooner? You've had plenty of opportunities."
"I did," Steve interrupted gently. "To Darcy." Holding up a hand to forestall Tony's outburst, he moved a few steps closer. "Joni was her mother, the only parent she knew. At the time, she was an emotional wreck. This," he nodded at the canvass that Tony still held in one hand, "would only have made it worse. She didn't need that."
Holding himself ready should Tony attack him physically as an outlet for his emotional pain, Steve waited and watched. The lift doors opened before his friend could put action to his thoughts. They turned as one, and Steve let out the breath he'd been holding as Pepper and another came into the lab.
Pepper looked from one to the other with an unreadable expression, indicating her companion, "Darcy and I had a long talk." Her intense gaze locked on and held Tony's. "Now it's your turn."
The tension in the air was so thick Darcy seemed to have trouble breathing. Tony too. At Pepper's urging, they moved toward each other, unsure if they should hug or shake, opting for the former, letting go almost immediately.
"We should talk, Fontana, uh, Darcy. A little one-on-one father-daughter discourse, if you want," Tony met each set of wary eyes. "We promise to keep the bloodshed to a minimum."
Steve joined Pepper and together, they quietly left Tony and Darcy alone.
~~O~~
The lift doors closed as Tony motioned for Darcy to follow him to a small lounge area off the lab. She took a seat while he brought them bottles of root beer and an assortment of fresh vegetables and dip. At her unspoken inquiry, he explained, "Promised Pepper and my doctor I'd try to eat healthier."
Darcy helped herself to a selection, spooned dip onto the plate and sat back, attempting to relax, or at least give the appearance of ease. She swiped a baby carrot through the dip. "As the guest, I'll get us started." When Tony didn't object, not that she expected him to, she continued, "You said found out about me by accident. Tell me about it."
Annoyed at his ironic laughter, Darcy waited for Tony to speak, biting her tongue to keep from make some smartass remark that would only increase the tension.
"My memories of that time are," he waggled his hand, "iffy at best. You see, I wasn't exactly circumspect about my non-educational activities. Wasn't twenty-one yet, but when you have money and lots of it, you can get almost anything any time you want it." Darcy opened her mouth and closed it again when he held up a hand to forestall her remarks. "The night before, my frat brothers and I had an alcohol fueled soirée at an infamous Boston party spot and had to be escorted from the property by the local constabulary. Used my one phone call to wake Dad, who had 'a guy' in Boston. However, he chose to let me spend the night in jail rather than bail me out to teach me a lesson." One side of his mouth turned up in a wry smile. "Like that ever worked.
"In the morning, after our arraignment, we checked into a hotel for some shut eye. Around dinner time, we picked up where we left off, but in the penthouse suite. Around three in the morning, security shut us down. Noonish, I got my shi-, uh, stuff together and went out for coffee. I saw your mom coming out of the shop with a guy. The barista told me your name." He chuckled, took a swig of his drink, and picked up a celery stick, looking at it as if someone might be using it to poison him. "Well, once I turned on the ol' Stark charm." The smile went away and he finally looked her in the eye, completely serious. "That's when I knew."
"And didn't confront her?" Shaking her head, Darcy set the plate on the table. "From what the gossip mongers and personal experience tell me, that's not like you at all."
He rolled to his feet, going to the window, gazing at the fantastic scenery without really seeing it. "It's not everyday someone like me discovers he has a child." One hand came up to rub the back of his head. "At first, I thought maybe Joni had contacted Dad and was paid off. But subtle questioning of Mom said otherwise. The hope that Joni would come to me one day sent me to a store where I bought an insane amount of toys," he turned around, "including the bear I left at your door."
Against her will, Darcy smiled. "You still have them?"
"Donated them to an orphanage. The last in Boston. It closed a few years later." Tony returned to his seat. "So the boys wouldn't feel deprived, I bought them some as well."
"I didn't find any mention of such a donation when I did research." The man who was seldom caught off-guard seemed startled at her revelation. "My computer skills aren't too shabby. And I like to know who I'm working for."
"It's not my usual MO, I know, but the donation was made anonymously."
Darcy got up and roamed around the room, stopping here and there to examine the artwork. It was all original and quite genuine. "Tell me about Mom. What was she like when you knew her?"
Queens, New York
Pointing to an alley opening, Peter drew May across the street with him. "On it, Karen."
"The police are on their way, Peter."
They crept to the mouth of the alley on the next street where a thug was alternately pounding on the hood and kicking at the door of a nearly new four-door sedan, using them as punctuation for his demands. "Get… out of… the car!" The driver was an elderly man who was clearly too frightened to comply. "Out of the ******* car, old man!" He hit the window with his fist, his anger increasing with every punch. "Get the **** out now!"
Peter motioned May back from the entrance. "Stay out of sight, just in case."
From her silence, Peter knew his aunt didn't like being sidelined during the action, but there was no way he'd chance her being injured on his watch.
The driver fumbled with the keys and the lock, finally opening the door. He had one foot out, but wasn't moving fast enough for the thug's liking. The mid-twenties man wearing saggy pants, an oversized Mets t-shirt, and high-tops with the laces untied, grabbed a fistful of the driver's shirt and dragged him the rest of the way out. The thug drew back a fist, but didn't get a chance to follow through. Peter hit him with a web and yanked, knocking the younger man off balance. He pushed the old man to the ground and he turned to confront this new threat, rage twisting his features into a grotesque mask and highlighting the tattoos on his neck. "What the-"
Peter shot several webs in a row, pinning the thug to the side of the car. In a last-ditch effort to come out on top, the thug lashed out with his foot, catching his victim in the ribs.
In the blink of an eye, Peter was in the guy's face. "Why don't you pick on someone your own age, pal?" Thwip! Thwip! Now his feet were stuck to the road. A situation that didn't set well.
"You're messin' with the wrong man, asshole! Ima get loose and ******* take you down so bad your own momma won't be able to identify your ******* body!"
Shaking a finger, Peter webbed up his mouth, further angering him. "Whoa! You talk to your mother and your boyfriend with that mouth?"
Thug obviously didn't care for Peter's insinuation that he was gay, but there wasn't much he could do about it, now that he'd webbed his mouth too. The webs were unbreakable, except by him. Ignoring the thug for now, he knelt next to the man on the ground and tapped the side of his head. "Karen, call the paramedics."
"Already done," she responded in her low-key, placid voice.
~~O~~
May was vexed at being relegated to observer. She understood why, but she didn't have to like it.
Movement in the shadows of the doorway of a shop alerted her that there was another player in this little game of cops and robbers. Peter's attention, however, was on keeping the victim calm until the paramedics arrived.
He'd told her to keep watch and stay out of the way, but she couldn't stand here and do nothing. She dug frantically through the trash until she located what she needed. Grinning inside her mask, May hefted the board over her shoulder like a Louisville Slugger and crept toward the second thug sneaking up on Peter while his back was turned.
~~O~~
Peter's spider sense tingled a split second before hearing a hard cra-a-ack and a heavy thump. He spun on his knees, arms outstretched, preparing to web up another perp. Eyes wide with awe, he got to his feet and lowered his arms at seeing his sweet, kind, and compassionate aunt holding a board, standing over a semi-conscious man.
The man shook his head and put his hands flat on the ground to help himself stand, but wasn't allowed to complete the action. May wound up and hit him with the board she was holding in both hands like a bat.
The man slumped to the ground as sirens shrieked in the distance, coming closer with every second.
Breathing hard, May pointed at the guy, who was dressed similarly to the other, her voice overly loud and high-pitched with excitement, "No one messes with Spider-Man on my watch, pal!"
At this moment, Peter had never been prouder of his surrogate mother. "Way to go, May!"
"Well, when killing them with kindness doesn't work, try a hockey stick." She looked at the board still in her hand and tossed it back into the alley, "or a board. Results may vary." Bright lights hit them as police cars, a fire truck, and an ambulance turned onto their street. May aimed a thumb over her shoulder. "I'll just go wait out of sight while you, um…"
She disappeared into the dark, dank alley as the vehicles skidded to a stop, disgorging men and women infused with a sense of urgency, all talking at once. Peeking around the side, she watched the paramedics load the victim onto a stretcher and wheel him over to the ambulance. Peter saluted them, shot a web, and swung away from the scene.
Heaving a relieved sigh, May turned around and jumped back. Her bony fist punched him on the arm. "Don't sneak up on me," she hissed.
"Wasn't sneaking," he reminded her. Peter shot a web into the air, put his arm around her waist, and they were off again.
Undisclosed Location
A woman in a white lab coat stepped out of the hospital room. Natasha was waiting, and together, they walked down the hall, passing into another part of the complex that bore a remarkable resemblance to the backstage of a movie or television set.
"She bought it." Natasha made her inquiry a statement, having watched the scene play out on the CCTV.
"Every last word," Maria Hill agreed with a half-grin. "All the info our resident hypnotist Fincher crammed into her head is ready and waiting to be utilized." Hill glanced at her watch.
Natasha pressed her hand to the scanner. "She will see and feel injuries where there are none and act accordingly."
"Which means Ms. Veronica Lovejoy, former ballet diva and current instructor at Evolve Academy for the Performing Arts in Joliet, Illinois, should be frantically buzzing for pain medication in roughly two hours."
The door opened and the women entered a moderately sized room filled to the rafters with monitoring equipment, all state-of-the-art. One monitor showed Veronica restlessly flipping through the television channels, but because she couldn't see, nothing held her interest. She shut it off, adjusted her pillow and covers, and appeared to go to sleep. This acceptance of her condition fit with her pragmatic personality. In Natasha's experience, people who held in their anger, frustration, annoyance, pick an adjective, would eventually become so filled with raging emotions they've kept under wraps for too long that they'd one day release a stream of verbal or physical abuse on a convenient target for some minor infraction. They'd have to keep an eye on her down the road.
Hill stood behind the man at the controls. His eyes didn't linger on any one monitor for long, meaning there was nothing worrisome showing there. Occasionally, one finger would stroke a touchpad, zooming in on one or more scenes, and back out again. Only a few involved Veronica Lovejoy. The rest were internal and external views of the ballet academy Natasha would be infiltrating.
Budapest, Hungary
As he'd done every day since coming into contact with his target, Bucky watched and waited, keeping his eyes and ears open, and his mouth shut. Not difficult. Habits programmed into his personality during his time as the Winter Soldier weren't easy to break. Most people ignored him, and again, that was a situation easy to achieve when he seldom spent time in places other than his apartment, on the docks working, or the market.
He had only one hobby of sorts, unless one counted his little side project of following the elderly man sitting at a table in front of the diner. Like himself, the man did everything he could to go mostly unnoticed, from the way he dressed to the food he ate. With patience and persistence, he'd found out the man's name: Kerekes István. Rather, that was the name he was known by here in Hungary. He had everyone fooled, certain that he was just as he appeared, an old man living out his later years alone after the passing of his wife.
But then, István hadn't counted on the Winter Soldier also taking up residence in Budapest. The man's arrogance didn't surprise him at all. Well, maybe a little, considering what Bucky knew of his past, for the old man's name wasn't Kerekes István at all. He was actually Dimitry Caramitru, a former member of the ruling political party under the second and last Communist leader of Romania, Nicolae Ceaușescu, and he intended to see to it that the man paid for his crimes against humanity.
Evolve Academy for the Performing Arts
Joliet, Illinois
Seth in security had drawn Dinah's attention to a strange vehicle that was now parked under the porte-cochère. The driver was likewise unknown to her or Klaus, both glued to the monitor in their private quarters.
The man, mid-thirties, with a few extra pounds around the middle and wearing a Dallas Cowboy's cap, opened the back door on the side closest to the building. A pair of crutches were passed to him, which he held in one hand while helping the occupant out with the other.
The woman was well known at the academy, the red hair cut in a short bob identifying her as one of their most distinguished instructors, Veronica Lovejoy. She seldom talked about herself, kept to her own counsel in and out of business hours, didn't date, that Dinah had been able to discover, ate alone in her room, unless specifically requested to join the staff, and drove a boring four-door sedan that looked just like millions of others on the road these days.
"Klaus, call security to assist Frau Lovejoy to her room." Her husband had already picked up the internal line, pausing when she added, "Tell him to find out what happened."
Dinah listened with only a small percentage of attention to her husband's voice speaking softly into the cordless handset of the landline.
On the monitor, Veronica hobbled to the door, the driver staying a half step behind her, carrying several reusable bags. A member of the security team opened the door, took the bags, and locked up again. On another monitor, Dinah watched the guard and Veronica make their way slowly down the hall to the lift.
She touched the remote, changing the scene to the third floor. Within moments, Veronica opened the door to her room. The guard set the bags inside the door, tipped his hat, and disappeared out of sight in the direction of the stairs.
The landline rang. Klaus answered, again spoke softly to the person on the other end, and hung up. "That was the guard. Miss Lovejoy apparently experienced a flat tire while running errands. Instead of calling for assistance, she elected to change it herself. This proved her undoing. Another vehicle ran into the back of her car. She managed to jump out of the way and sustained a sprained ankle."
"That's unfortunate. We're to leave in a few days. With the injury, she won't be able to perform her duties. We cannot allow her to slow us down. She will have to stay behind." A smirk turned up one corner of her mouth. "Yet another at whom we can point a finger as being involved in barbarous behavior that will turn DHS toward her and the others as the fomenter of our plans."
Klaus roamed around the room, eventually coming to stand behind Dinah, watching the monitor as well. "It's just as well. One less that will have to be, what is the word?"
"Sanctioned," she supplied, turning from the view of an empty hallway.
"Ja. Not that I am averse to it. It will lend credence to the story that's been spun," he reminded her.
Dinah put her hands on Klaus's shoulders and his came to rest on her waist. "All that are left behind will immediately fall under suspicion. They will be relentlessly questioned by the authorities, and will not be believed when they claim ignorance. I've seen to it."
Smiling, Klaus pulled her closer. "What is it the French say?"
"C'est la vie," she said, smirking as she stepped out of his arms, taking off her earrings as she went through the hidden door into their suite, Klaus following like an eager puppy. "Such is life."
Queens, New York
On the roof of what Peter thought of as his and Cat's place, he held up a finger, admonishing May, "Stay here. No arguments." He tapped the headset. "Karen, how far away are the police?"
"It could be a while, Peter. Except for those tending to the man you rescued, most of the first responders are on their way to a five-alarm fire at the junction of highways 495 and 295. It could be morning before they arrive."
Peter's spine straightened and shoulders squared. "Then it's up to me."
He turned to May again, holding up the same finger without saying a word. She sighed and nodded. A web shot out, Peter grabbed hold, and swung through the air toward the electronic store.
May watched the fight from the high perch where Peter had left her, but wasn't able to see everything. Unfortunately, the roof access was locked. She'd have to wait for Peter to get down.
Or would she?
She made her way around the roof until she came to a maintenance ladder that went down to within, she guessed, ten feet of the ground. On this side, she could better see what was going on inside the shop, though still couldn't see everything.
With great care, she climbed onto the parapet, turned around, and began her descent. Halfway down, she clung to the ladder to watch the fight between the bad guys and Peter, swelling with pride that Peter was giving the robbers the beatdown without even breathing hard. "Not much of a challenge."
The fight moved out of sight and May climbed down a few more rungs to keep them in view, startled at the voice in her ear. She'd forgotten all about Karen.
"Ms. Parker, where are you going?"
One foot slipped, and May frantically hugged the ladder as she found her footing. "Aaah!" She made a concerted effort to slow her breathing and heart rate. "Announce yourself next time, Karen."
"My apologies. However, I strongly advise against this course of action. Peter ordered you to stay on the roof so you wouldn't be harmed." The woman's voice held a barely there note of scolding, though she sounded genuinely sorry for nearly scaring her into falling. "Please go back up and wait for Peter on the roof."
Under her breath, May muttered, "He's not the boss of me." Out loud, she said, "The angle's too sharp. He brought me so I could understand why and how he does what he does, and I really want to, but that won't happen if I can't see what's going on."
She continued down until she reached the bottom rung. Her calculations from above had been woefully inaccurate as to the distance to the ground. It was closer to twenty feet, with nothing for her to land on if she jumped or fell. Her sigh ended in a growl as she reversed directions and headed back up.
By her estimation, May had reached the sixth floor when a shot rang out, hitting the brick to her right. Bits of brick and mortar flew in all directions, hitting her mask and suit. One part of her brain registered the fact that she hardly felt the impacts, while the part responsible for fight or flight took over. She climbed faster, hoping to outrun the bullets, until her luck ran out.
A direct hit on one of the anchors bent the ladder away from the wall, shaking it so hard, May's feet lost traction and she was left dangling by one hand. The metal groaned and bent, nearly sending her plummeting to the ground. She looked down. The shooter moved into the alley until he was just below her. Even from this far up she could see the unpleasant grin as he steadied the gun with both hands. At this distance, there was no way he would miss.
As if from very far away, May thought she heard Karen's voice telling her to keep moving, but couldn't be sure with the blood pounding in time with her ramped up heart rate.
Rapid popping sounds came through the white noise, echoing in the night air. The small percentage of reasoning remaining took refuge in the academic, listing the difference between gunshots, fireworks, and a car backfiring, identifying what she was hearing as gunfire.
Fully believing her life was about to end, May gave in to instincts built into the human psyche since the beginning of time. She screamed.
TBC
Nicolae Ceaușescu (26 January 1918 – 25 December 1989) was a Romanian communist politician and leader. He was the general secretary of the Romanian Communist Party from 1965 to 1989 and hence the second and last Communist leader of Romania. He was also the country's head of state from 1967, serving as President of the State Council and from 1974 concurrently as President of the Republic until his overthrow and execution in the Romanian Revolution in December 1989, part of a series of anti-Communist and anti-Soviet Union uprisings in Eastern Europe that year.