A/N: Spoiler alert for Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Avengers: Age of Ultron, Captain America: Civil War, Ant-Man, Spiderman: Homecoming, and more.
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…
For my family and I, yes, it's season 3 of the Year From Hell, on its way to season 4. For the world, it's season 1. Let's all pray that the finale to 2020 "jumps the shark" and the researchers create a vaccine for Covid-19 before too many more people are lost.
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 86
The Parker Apartment
Queens, New York
Sunday Afternoon
Having sequestered himself in his room after dinner with May and Sam, Peter booted up his computer and connected his gaming headset. Before logging in, he listened at the door, but didn't hear any "funny business" going on, so he padded down the hall to the kitchen for a cold drink.
As he was closing the door, Peter heard a familiar name, and though he knew better than to eavesdrop, he dialed up his hearing at the subject matter. Damn! It's all my fault. I gotta fix this. Out loud, he said, "May, I'm going on patrol!"
"Don't stay out too late!"
"I won't!" He sent Ned a text letting him know he wouldn't be playing tonight and got into the suit. "Karen?"
"Here, Peter. Where would you like to take me tonight?"
"I need an address and the fastest way to get there." Peter gave her the info as he opened the window, climbed out, and closed it again. By the time he'd crawled up the wall to the roof, the AI had completed the search.
"The person you wish to visit lives in a suburb of Rochester. It will take some time to traverse the distance by conventional means."
A web shot out and he leaped off the building. "Unconventional it is."
~~O~~
"Thirty seconds. Get ready, Peter," Karen told him in her stoic, calm voice.
Panting from exertion and the enormous amounts of adrenaline coursing through his veins, Peter was sure he'd hyperventilate, if they didn't get there soon. Not to mention that he'd spent most of the flight at fourteen thousand feet, dangling from the underside of the unconventional mode of transportation Karen had insisted would get them to their destination the quickest.
"On three. One… two… three…"
Peter let go of the web, spinning and hurtling toward the earth at a rate guaranteed to kill him on impact. "Whoa-oa-oa!"
Wings expanded under his arms, slowing his descent to a looping spiral. As he neared the ground, the wings retracted, he rolled into a ball, flipping over and over, uncurling in time to land behind an apartment building, out of view of cameras and, hopefully, security guards with big dogs.
"FYI, Karen, when I said unconventional, hanging from the landing struts of a helicopter wasn't what I had in mind." The words came out more harsh than he meant, but Karen didn't seem to mind.
"Then, in the future, perhaps you should be more specific." If asked, Peter would swear on a bible that Karen was laughing at him. That is until she said, "Your arrival was seen by one of the residents. I've scrambled the video. I suggest you proceed with your mission, Peter, before others take notice as well."
She was right, but he didn't want to say it out loud. "Which one is it again?"
~~O~~
Taking a deep breath at the knock, Darcy tugged her top into place, checked her hair in the mirror, and opened the door, saying, "That was fast. What'd you do? Fly?"
She blinked at the person leaning casually against the railing, ankles crossed, giving Darcy the feeling he was smiling under the mask.
"As a matter of fact, yeah, I did fly," he quipped as he pushed off the railing, hand extended. "Spider-Man." The mask's features didn't change, yet he gave the impression of a charming lopsided smile. "We need to talk."
Momentarily at a loss for words, Darcy just stared while continuing to hold onto his hand. He gently pulled free, bringing her back to earth. "Don't recall a recent event or situation that would require the assistance of Spider-Man."
He shifted his feet and crossed his arms. "I'm here to correct a misunderstanding that occurred between you and Captain Rogers."
"Um…"
The black eyes narrowed, or rather, that was her impression at his next question.
"Are you Darcy Lewis?" She nodded and his stance relaxed. "Then I'm in the right place. Could I come in please, just for a few minutes?"
~~O~~
Steve pulled into visitor's parking, shut down the engine, and just sat there for a few minutes, thinking about the message he'd gotten from Darcy requesting an audience. What he didn't expect was for her to already have company and especially not this company.
He watched as Peter, in his Spider-Man persona, took his leave of Darcy. She shut the door, telling Steve she hadn't noticed him standing in the shadows.
The boy headed around the side of the building, stopped, and changed direction, not at all surprised to see Steve. "Oh, hey, Mr. Rogers, sir. I-I, uh…"
"What're you doing here, Peter?" Steve scowled and crossed his arms, showing his displeasure at the interference in his personal life.
The boy looked over his shoulder guiltily and moved a half-step closer. "Um, well, I, uh, heard about what happened with the you know on your phone. Wanted to set the record straight that it was mine and not yours. We talked it over and it's all cool now with you and your, uh, girl."
Touched and annoyed at the same time, Steve gripped his shoulder and looked into his eyes with a smile. "That wasn't necessary, but thanks." He looked around. "How'd you get here? Did your aunt drive you?"
"Helicopter," he said with a self-deprecating shrug. "Karen's idea."
Because it would be late by the time Peter got home, Steve made an offer, "Stay the night at the compound. It's not far, and I'll take you home in the morning."
Peter's back straightened and Steve could feel excitement coming from him. "The Avengers compound? For real?"
Chuckling, Steve took out his phone and sent a text. "Tell the guards you're my guest." He pointed a finger at Peter, "And don't forget to call your aunt."
"I won't. Thanks, Mr. Rogers, sir!" Peter tapped the side of his head. "Karen, what's the quickest way to the Avengers compound? And please don't say helicopter. Oh, and text Aunt May to let her know I'll be home in the morning."
~~O~~
Peeking through the curtains, Darcy watched Steve and Spider-Man talking like old friends. Not much of a surprise, considering the conversation they just had. She didn't bother to tell him the situation would be resolved tonight, letting him ramble on and on in between sips of tea and bites of cookies, his mask rolled up to his nose.
Steve headed her way and she met him at the door, rushing to speak first, "Sorry I jumped to conclusions. Forgive me?"
His broad shoulders sagged a little as he moved into her personal space. "Nothing to forgive. Do you forgive me?"
"Instead of all this he said, she said crap, how about we forget it ever happened and pick up where we left off?" Grinning, Darcy dragged him inside, and kicked the door shut.
In a heartbeat, they were in each other's arms, hugging tight, her head pressed to his chest where she could hear his firm and steady heartbeat. They jumped apart when the kettle whistled, sharing sheepish smiles. Darcy pressed her forehead against his chest, hands on his shoulders. He eased her away, turned her toward the sofa, and gave a small push to get her started. "Relax. I'll get it."
"I was thinking…" she called out over the clatter of dishes and cabinet doors.
"About what this time?"
One side of Darcy's mouth turned up. "That I should resign. If the staff finds out about, you know, Tony and me, they'll think I'm receiving preferential treatment 'cause I'm the boss's daughter."
Steve came into the living room carrying a tray, which he set on the table before taking a seat next to her. "Don't. You were the right person for the job or Erik wouldn't have hired you in the first place." He took her hand. "You're one of the smartest people I know."
Darcy pretended to think it over then smiled. "Yes, I am."
The Home of Kerekes István
Budapest, Hungary
At István's grudging invitation, his compatriots stayed the night to assist with guarding the prisoner. Not that there'd been any indication that he'd tried to escape, but it was better to be safe than killed in your sleep by a not-so-mythical assassin.
By the time István had completed his morning ritual and come downstairs, the enticing scent of food cooking wafted through the air of the home, making his stomach grumble. Zsofia, Bence, and Elizabet were already seated. Endre set the table, while Miklos assisted Roland with dishing up the food.
I'll be expected to do the washing up alone, no doubt. Out loud, he greeted his guests in a flat tone, letting them know he was neither pleased or displeased with their presence. It was simply a fact. "Good morning." He seated himself and draped a napkin over his lap. "Any problems during the night?"
There was a moment of silence as the group exchanged unreadable glances, Zsofia answering in a disinterested voice, "Nothing of note, aside from Roland dozing off during his watch."
The big man huffed as he set plates in front of those already seated. "It was only for a few moments. There was no need to get physical over it, Elena…" he winked, "I mean Zsofia."
Miklos went around the table pouring coffee, one eyebrow arched, "In the days of the old regime, such sloppiness would have cost the offender anything from a reduction in rations to a death sentence, depending on the severity. "Be glad all you got was a black eye."
Roland fingered the slight bruise on the outside corner of the right eye. "If you haven't noticed, we're no longer a part of the old regime, as you call it." He took out a pill case, withdrew two white tablets, and swallowed them with coffee, slanting his eyes to his left. "As you seem to have instated yourself as the new leader, Zsofia, care to give us a brief discourse on what activities you have planned for today?"
The look Zsofia shot Roland could have fried an egg a mile away. "First and foremost, we must move the prisoner to a more secure and private location." She scooped up a forkful of scrambled eggs. "Endre, the property you purchased outside of town as a rental home would be ideal. No neighbors for over a mile in any direction, protected by dense forest. And, of course, there's the soundproofed the cellar. Provided, of course, that it is currently unoccupied."
The small man fussed with his napkin, realized what he was doing, and used it to wipe the corners of his mouth before speaking. "My home is yours to use as you see fit, naturally. However, as no one has stayed in quite some time, it will need cleaning, as well as restocking of the pantry."
Thankfully, Bence and Elizabet refrained from smoking during meals. The couple glanced at each other, Bence giving voice to their thoughts, "We would be happy to take care of preparing the house for occupancy, while the rest of you make arrangements for transportation."
István felt it was time to add his voice and thoughts. This was his home, after all, and he, a man whose job in the regime had been more bureaucratically oriented than his colleagues', had been the one to capture the Winter Solder when others, including SHIELD, HYDRA, and INTERPOL, had failed. "We should wait until nightfall to move the prisoner to avoid detection by the politie."
Zsofia had taken her hair down, the braid hanging over one shoulder. "That will do nicely except the prisoner should be transported now. I have something to ensure that he will remain unconscious." She placed a vial and syringe on the table near her plate. At the startled looks she received, she smirked and picked up her fork. "I was well trained to anticipate. You will thank me later for my foresight."
~~O~~
The smell of food cooking made Bucky's mouth water. His first night as a "prisoner", he'd snuck up the stairs while his captor was sleeping to eat, drink, and make use of the bathroom. With the man's cohorts keeping watch, he'd had to keep up the falsehood that they were in command of the situation.
The woman called Zsofia would not be as easy to fool as István. But this is what he was designed for, had been trained for, fooling the enemy and the innocent, those far away and those within arm's reach. Somehow, he had to convince these people that he was less than the myths had indicated. He had to be slower, less strong, less intelligent, less whatever the rumors had lead them to believe.
Footsteps thumped at the top of the stairs. Time for the next act to begin.
Avengers Compound
Upstate New York
Natasha removed the pot from the stove, turned the burner off, and poured the hot milk into cups. Clint stirred while she opened a cabinet and took out a bag of marshmallows, dropping several into the hot cocoa.
"My apologies for interrupting, Agent Romanoff."
Sam took the cup Clint handed him, giving the hot drink a quick stir, speaking for the group as they each took a seat around the holotable above which floated Friday's favored holographic image. "What's up, Friday?"
"I have a possible location on Sergeant Barnes. Captain Rogers requested that he be read into any dissemination of such information before anyone else. However, he hasn't replied to any of my attempts at contact."
The languid and soporific atmosphere turned electric in less than a heartbeat. "His loss. Hit us with your best shot, Friday," Clint ordered. "Where's Barnes been hiding out?"
"Budapest."
Sharing a smirk with Clint, Natasha set her spoon on the table. "You know the drill, Friday."
A mischievous smile turned up the corners of the redhead's mouth. "A quinjet is being prepared as we speak, along with Mr. Wilson's wingpack." The smile widened slightly. "Wheels up in ten minutes."
Avengers Compound Cafeteria
The Next Morning
As Peter carried his tray to an out of the way table, being overlooked by the majority of the staff, the fact that he was being watched went unnoticed. He poured syrup over the giant stack of pancakes, cut a huge bite, jabbed it with a fork, stopping with his mouth open, and the fork hovering in midair when a familiar voice startled him.
"Good Morning. I'm Dr. Selvig's assistant. Mind if we share?"
Peter's eyes met Darcy's over the tray in her hands. He looked away, fumbling with wiping his mouth with the napkin, hoping she wouldn't recognize him. "Er…"
Taking that as an invitation, she placed a cup of hot tea and a plate on the table, added the silverware, set the tray on the empty table next to them, and took a seat. "I hate eating alone, don't you? Though, sometimes, I'd rather be by myself than with someone who won't stop talking. Know what I mean?" She placed the napkin in her lap, opened the package of cream cheese, and used a knife to smear some on half the bagel. "With some people, it's just yak, yak, yak. Blah, blah, blah. Am I right?"
Peter opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it.
"So, tell me a little more about yourself," Darcy looked him in the eye, "Spider-Man."
In the process of taking a drink, Peter choked, and Darcy was there, raising his arms over his head. To his relief, he didn't do a spit-take, and the choking stopped. She passed him a napkin and returned to her seat.
"Um, who?" Peter rolled his eyes at himself. Way to go with the snappy comeback, Parker.
"I had ample opportunity to observe Spider-Man up close and personal last night. Same when you came into the cafeteria just now." She looked at him over her glasses, a slight smirk playing at her lips. "My hearing isn't super, like yours, but sounds carry at night. I heard you and Steve talking. You're the only stranger I've seen in the compound today. So, let's skip the part where you continue to deny it and I insist and tell me your real name."
Peter shoved a mouthful of pancakes in his mouth, chewing over the food and her words, and grudgingly agreed. He swallowed, took a drink of milk, wiped his mouth and hands, and offered his right over the table. "Peter Parker."
"Darcy Lewis. But you already knew that." She stirred a spoonful of honey into the tea. "So, Peter, where're you from?"
Queens, New York
School Hallway
Before First Bell
Peter slammed and locked his locker door, hitched the backpack higher on his shoulder, and smiled at the tingling of his spider sense. A moment later, her lips brushed a kiss over his cheek. "Hey, Felicia."
"Morning." Her warm breath made the hairs on his nape stand up. She leaned close and lowered her voice. "Didn't see you on patrol this weekend."
He draped an arm over her shoulders and they started walking. "I, uh, had to go see a friend Upstate." A cringe of embarrassment heated his face and he averted his eyes, hoping she wouldn't notice, or mention it, if she did.
She poked him in the ribs with a smile, "Hauled your adorable cookies all the way to the lake? For what?"
"Nothing important. I-I mean, it was important to, you know, them, but, well, it was…" Peter really didn't want her to know that she was the ultimate reason for the entire situation.
"Supersecret Spider-Man business?"
The AP history teacher, a hunched balding man who peered over, never through his glasses, tapped them on the shoulders with a pointed stare, "Six inches, Mr. Parker, Ms. Hardy. Six inches."
He moved on, and when he was out of earshot, Felicia whispered, "Does he have any idea how obscene that sounds?"
"Doubt it." Felicia's phone rang. She took it out, sent a quick message, silenced it, and put it away. "New phone?"
She flipped her long braid over her shoulder with a sigh. "Yeah. My old one didn't survive the fall from a twelve story building, and it was time to upgrade."
The hairs on Peter's neck tingled and he rubbed the area absently. "I, uh," he glanced around, leaning fractionally closer, "the night May and I went on patrol, the electronic store over on Browder was robbed. Yours looks like the ones they got away with."
"Oh?" Her expression was as unreadable as was the side eye with which she pierced him. "Well, it's a popular brand."
Felicia smiled, squeezed his hand, and just like that, his mind's suspicions evaporated, though the tingle remained. Peter didn't know what it meant, nor did he care. They went their separate ways with the promise to meet up again at lunch.
Rental Home of Endre Barna
Outside Budapest, Hungary
A puddle of drool dribbled out the corner of Bucky's mouth where the side of his face was pressed against the cold concrete of the home's basement, adding to the appearance of being totally at the mercy of his captors.
Behind him, he picked up the labored breathing and moaning of the man Zsofia had shot without a single glimmer of remorse. The woman knew what she was doing when she aimed for the lower abdomen, the area of the body which is the most painful when injured. She wanted the man to die slowly and painfully.
Her boot clad feet came into view and he knew that what came next for him would be the worst yet. For one of the few times since landing in Zola's laboratory of horrors before Steve rescued him, Bucky counted himself lucky to be able to withstand Zsofia's numerous and highly creative attempts to extract information from him. Had he been an average Joe, he'd have told them anything they wanted to know and then some, anything to make them stop.
Bucky looked forward to seeing their stunned expressions when the tables were turned.
Budai Tájvédelmi Körzet
Buda Landscape Protection Area
Relaxing his muscles to get a little more wiggle room didn't work as well as Bucky hoped. Not that it mattered. He could've gotten himself free at any moment, but it had to be at a time that would be most advantageous to himself.
It had taken much longer than he'd anticipated for Zsofia to lose her temper during their "chat", but when she did finally employ the stun rod, God help him, he would have screamed had she not stuffed a rag in his mouth. His consciousness had winked out as planned, allowing his captors a somewhat small victory before dropping the hammer.
Now, here he was, bound and still gagged, in the back of van with dark windows, lying next to one of their own, who, he gathered from overheard whisperings, was the weak link in their chain. As such, Zsofia had ordered that the man be sacrificed for the good of the many.
Bucky scooted around until his hands, tied behind his back, could grip the other's wrist. There was a pulse, slow and erratic. If he weren't treated soon, he would die.
The van bounced and jerked down the rough unpaved road, accompanied by conversation between the driver and his passenger, interspersed with swearing, both at the travel conditions and the person whose idea it was for them being here in the first place.
Before long, the van came to a stop. The two men in front got out and Bucky could hear them conversing with the rest of the group, then a double set of footsteps moving through the underbrush. Likely gone to dig graves for he and his companion. Graves that would never be used.
Bucky worked the gag loose and gripped the other man's hand. "Try to hold on." There was no response, not even a finger twitch. He could still feel a pulse, but didn't know how much longer he would last. They had to get out of here and soon, or the man the others called by turns Endre and Remus, the owner of the home they'd just left and would be burned to the ground once their current task was complete, would die, and it would be his fault again.
They would not be happy when the Winter Soldier rewrote the ending of their life's stories. The victims of Nicolae Ceaușescu and his communist regime would be avenged. Bucky would've killed them, but seeing them spend what little time they have left locked in a Romanian prison, provided Hungary approved their extradition, would give him the greatest pleasure.
Angry voices and footsteps crunching on the undergrowth approached the van. Bucky rolled over and wiggled the gag back into place just as the back doors opened.
"It's too small," the woman called Elizabet insisted.
A growl came from the man called Miklos. "This is not the first time I've dug someone's grave," he told her with annoyance. From the tone, they'd been at the argument for a while. "The middle is deeper than the sides so it will take less time to refill. The remainder of the dirt we will spread throughout the surrounding area. Then, we will recover the grave with grass, leaves and the like. When the rain comes later tonight, it will settle everything, making it nearly impossible for someone to stumble across by accident."
"Enough! This bickering amongst ourselves will not complete the task," Zsofia's clipped, angry tone growled.
The van rocked as Zsofia climbed inside. She wore no perfume or cologne, but he could tell it was her by scent. She touched the pulse at his neck then, presumably, did the same to Endre. She climbed back out, issuing a sharp order, "Take them."
Hands grabbed Bucky by the ankles, dragging him out the back of the van with his legs hanging out. Those same hands sat him up and, with one on either side, dragged him into the woods, taking him back to the times he'd been taken out of cryofreeze to perform yet another assassination. His rage surged, but he kept it in, ready to let it loose when the time was right.
They stopped, and Bucky readied himself to take control. He could've ended this much sooner, but waiting made the revenge he would exact all the sweeter. That he hadn't caught onto Zsofia's plan to dispense with one of their own would add yet another name to the lengthy list of sins for which he had to atone.
"Put the Winter Soldier in first," Zsofia ordered. "We wouldn't want him to dig himself out after we've gone."
Dutifully, her companions laughed at her poor attempt at a joke.
At the edge of the dark hole, Bucky pulled his bound hands in opposite directions, breaking the metal cable they'd used in place of ropes. He pushed both men into the pit and spun around. In the dark, he could see Zsofia holding a submachine gun.
She gestured with the weapon for him to back up until he was at the very edge of the grave, curling her lip in a sneer. "I knew you were playing games with us this entire time. How else could someone as physically ineffectual as István have been able to take you prisoner?" Her other hand came up to steady the weapon, reminding him of Steve's first love, Peggy Carter. "Now, we shall end the charade."
"Let's not and say we did," Bucky quipped, enjoying the slight widening of her eyes at hearing his voice for the first time and that he was speaking Romanian. "Frectie la piciorul de lemn."
Ignoring the insult, Zsofia shifted her feet shoulder width apart, one foot in front of the other for balance, and pointed the barrel at his forehead. "Esti varza," she spat at him in the same language, her finger tightening on the trigger.
TBC
Romanian:
Frectie la piciorul de lemn = Rubbing the wooden leg. Just like the expression itself sounds, rubbing somebody's wooden leg is absolutely pointless. So, whenever you're doing something that makes no sense or can't help your situation in any way, it's like rubbing a wooden leg.
Esti varza = You are a cabbage. Being a cabbage is really bad. Like really, really bad. A person either doesn't know anything about a topic, or are plain stupid.