As Time Goes By

by BouncingKappa

Sequel to Songbirds and Bombshells! Sadie Reid disappeared in 1949, never to be seen again until she resurfaces in 2016 with no memory of how she got there and one clue: the dog tags of her supposedly dead fiance, Bucky Barnes. Bucky is in Wakanda hoping for a chance at the freshest start he can get. Love found them once in the unlikeliest place, can it bring them together again?

19. Another One Bites the Dust

A/N: It's not a regular update but it's an update closer together than my usual updates! Y'all, I am exhausted. I started a new job that actually requires me to like…work…and oof. It's really great, and I'm glad I made the change but talk about a radical shift in my already limited free time. I'm doing the best I can to write this story though!

Thank you to everyone for the follows, favorites, and reviews! Extra thanks to my lovely beta Not Enough Answers for helping me solve the logistics of the chapter – which took a while to completely iron out.

Warnings for language, violence, you know…the usual for me. Disclaimer – I don't own Marvel. I think you know that by now.

Chapter 19 – Another One Bites the Dust

Sadie snuck a surreptitious glance over the top of her menu at her lunch companion. Since she saw him striding down the street in the watery afternoon sun, Doctor Emmanuel Greyson had commanded her attention. The chilly snap in the October air afforded him an opportunity to wind a handsome cashmere scarf around his neck that, coupled with his tailored jacket and charcoal slacks, gave him a strange air, like a throwback to her previous life. If someone popped a fedora on his head he might not have looked that different from the businessmen she often saw in New York during her brief stint there. Of course, the hat would distract from his thick head of espresso-colored hair, so fastidious in style that Sadie wouldn't be surprised if his barber used a slide rule to cut it. He was the sort of man that her friends would have fawned over, hunting for clever ways to get his attention and, if they were lucky, squeeze a dance and a drink out of the deal.

She wasn't the only one taken by Doctor Greyson's classic looks. The hostess at the cafe turned a rather bright shade of pink when he turned the full force of his genial smile on her. Despite her fumbling for the menus and casting Sadie a furtive glance, the young woman knew him by name and she somehow managed to turn even pinker when he called her by hers. Sadie understood the impulse: by any standards Doctor Greyson was a tall drink of water, even if he ultimately wasn't to her taste.

For the moment, he remained engrossed in the menu, stroking his freshly-shaven chin while he considered his options.

"The roasted duck breast is sensational," he counseled her though he didn't glance up. "Their specialty is the beef tatar, I thought I would order a plate to share."

"Sounds lovely."

A different woman might have been filled with butterflies upon receiving his fleeting smile. Sadie, on the other hand, couldn't help but dwell on the unidentifiable feeling that accompanied Greyson's every appearance in her life. Far from imposing or threatening, he was affable, engaging, brilliant and funny, all things that made for an excellent conversational partner. But for every little fact he shared of himself, Sadie was always left with the distinct impression that there was more he wasn't telling. She knew he went to medical school but not where. He ran an expanding genetics institute but she didn't know how he landed in that position. He was English but she didn't know where from. He had excellent taste in books, but where did he get that love for reading?

Despite his recommendation for the duck, she settled on the roasted trout. Folding her menu, she rested her hands atop the handsome cranberry leather and waited for him to make his selection. More than once, the corner of his mouth twitched and she couldn't identify the cause. Random twitches weren't uncommon; at one point or another they happened to everyone. But his particular tic hit him with almost predictable consistency and she could tell by the way he pursed his lips that he was fighting this particular movement. Why was he trying to hide a facial tic? The tips of his fingers were white, pressing into his menu as though he were fighting to hold his hands still enough to read the menu.

Somewhere, stuffed in an already overstuffed filing cabinet in Sadie's head, a laundry list of conditions existed, each one causing muscle tics, tremors, and stiffness between attacks. There was no shame in having any sort of condition, though Sadie understood why he might not reveal that information at first blush. Men were strange that way, often determined to put on the bravest face even when they failed miserably at hiding their pains.

Though she tried not to think about him, Sadie detoured from Doctor Greyson to Bucky and his uncanny habit for pretending like he wasn't when he clearly was. Even when they were in a good place he still blew hot and cold with his emotions, often quiet and dour the morning after a bad nightmare or withdrawn and sullen while he grappled with the magnitude of his sins and the weight of a burden he still refused to share. Sadie couldn't make him tell her anything, nor would she ever attempt to, but she wished that he could see how willing she was to help shoulder the load. Perhaps Bucky wouldn't be so hesitant to completely open himself up to her if he understood that he had her unwavering support and unconditional love. Only that morning he'd been so gentle with her it was as though he was afraid she'd shatter from his touch alone, somehow managing to keep her close and at arms' length at the same time. All Sadie wanted was to love him. If only he would let her!

Across from her, Greyson folded his menu, laying it to the side to place the full force of his attention on her. The tic, previously jumping at the corner of his mouth, was gone now and Sadie chalked it up to a fleeting spasm and a proud man's unwillingness to let any imperfection show.

"I have to admit, when I invited you to lunch I didn't think you'd say yes."

"Why?"

He shrugged one of his straight, proud shoulders. "I suppose I imagined there would be a line of far more important people jostling for your attention."

Sadie almost rolled her eyes. Instead she folded her hands neatly together, her wine-colored nail polish shining in the light. "I'm afraid I don't have much use for most world leaders or their politicians. I have no desire to play their games or allow them to treat me like their latest shiny toy to pass around."

"You're someone who knows her mind and her preferred place in the world," he surmised.
"Well," the corner of her mouth rose in a half-smile. "I don't know if I'd go that far. I'm not sure I'll ever truly know my place in this world. Too much has changed and I could spend a lifetime trying to play catch-up and it would never be enough."

Greyson settled into his chair, crossing one long leg over the other. He was supremely comfortable in his own skin and in the space he inhabited. Sadie envied the way he owned his presence, intentionally oblivious to every other person in the restaurant but her and how he commanded her attention. His ability was innate, an unteachable quality that he certainly shared with Tony, though in a vastly different way.

"From where I'm sitting, you hold your own just fine."

"It's not without tremendous effort, I assure you."

Sadie didn't know why, but his encouraging smile, like so much of his other expressions and habits felt vaguely familiar, like she'd seen the same actions before. "You are making headway, though. The entire purpose of this conversation is your decision to attend medical school. Learning twenty-first century medicine is no small task and yet here you are, preparing to leap into the unknown."

"When you say it like that it sounds a little crazy."

Greyson's laughter was low and smooth, velvet to her ears. "I never said there wasn't an element of madness to your plan but that isn't necessarily a bad thing. Devoting yourself to such a cause requires a certain amount of mental abandon, I think."

Mental abandon. Who went around saying things like that? If they weren't sitting in the middle of a Viennese bistro in the twenty-first century, she would have sworn he'd come from a different time. Too many of his behaviors and wording of things reminded Sadie of her father and his friends, puffing away at their cigars, discussing 'business' over their brandy after dinner and treating her with fleeting gentility, as though she existed purely for the entertainment and amusement of men. Greyson certainly wasn't as archaic and sexist as many of her father's friends but he was oddly affected, like one piece of him was stuck out of time even while the rest of him was as modern as any other man walking the earth.

Rather than try to solve the puzzle over beef tatar and roasted trout, Sadie chose to let him shift the topic of conversation, discussing his broader experience in medical school before opening the floor to her questions. Greyson was right about one thing: she was preparing to leap into a largely unknown adventure and she would be lying if she said she didn't want all the help she could get. The prospect of picking someone's brain, of having some of the mystery unshrouded proved too great and over the course of their meal, Sadie pressed him for as many answers to as many questions as she could conjure. Greyson took her curiosity in great stride, freely sharing his story until at last, the conversation eventually rounded back to her.

"You know you're not nearly as far behind as you think. After all, you have the kind of field experience that few can claim and moreover, if what I saw in Washington is true, you'll never need to wait for MRI results."

Sadie shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She'd forgotten that Greyson was present when she healed Representative Greene at the Kennedy Center. At the time, she hadn't given much thought to all the witnesses and afterwards, T'Challa and his staff took such thorough care of covering her tracks, nothing public ever came to light regarding her dramatic show of power. By and large, she'd filed the incident away as a learning experience and put it behind her. Now, with a witness sitting across from her, she could appreciate how lucky she was that the details never became public and that she'd skated by with minimal issue. Sadie also found that, when confronted by someone other than Tony, she was even more inclined to shut her mouth. Though she couldn't fully explain why, except perhaps her own desire to stay out of the limelight, but Sadie flat-out didn't want to talk about her powers with Greyson. Sadie didn't particularly want to talk about her powers with anyone.

Rather than draw attention to that fact, she took advantage of his observations and latched onto the other half.

Pressing the tips of her fingers together in front of her mouth, she used the shift of power in the conversation to buy another moment to compose her thoughts.

"I'm not sure repurposing old churches as field hospitals and administering plasma from glass bottles qualifies as applicable field experience."

Greyson waved her off. "The technology may have changed but the practical application hasn't. Don't sell yourself short, Miss Reid. You know the human body. Anyone can learn the anatomical names for the muscles and tendons and bones and anyone can memorize symptoms from a textbook full of diseases but books are no substitute for the real thing. Having hands-on experience and a well-developed bedside manner are crucial for patient treatment."

Sadie snorted. "I bet if you could ask my former patients their responses to my bedside manner run the gamut."

"Based on what?"

"Whether or not I was pulling shrapnel out of them."

She joined in his laughter. "I can't say I've had the pleasure."

Sadie pushed her plate away and sank back into her chair, finally relaxed. "Having had an experience of my own, I can't say I recommend it."

Their check came and over Sadie's objection, Greyson picked up the tab. While they waited for their waitress to return, he glanced over his shoulder, out the windows and onto the grey, drizzly afternoon. "I mentioned I was here overseeing the startup operations of a new branch of the Institute. It's a short walk from here. Perhaps I can give you a tour of the newly-functioning branches and show you the renovations in progress for the rest of the building? I have some researchers who would love an opportunity to meet you. I believe a couple of them previously did tours with IHAP."

Sadie would never get over the fact that anyone would want to meet her but Greyson and his employees weren't the first. In Washington she'd faced a carousel of people, each one eager to put their hand to hers and stake their claim on meeting a piece of living history. Personally, she thought all the hoopla was stupid but if playing nice with everyone else kept T'Challa happy then she would gladly do it. Bucky was going to have six fits having to go with the flow and keep tabs on her from afar but that just couldn't be helped. After Greyson was so polite with his time and treated her to lunch, she couldn't very well say no.

Besides, she thought as he pulled out her chair and showed her out of the bistro, they were going out into the public and to his place of work, to meet other people.

What was the worst that could happen?

X X X

"You know, if you stare at their table any harder it might burst into flames."

Bucky fought his natural impulse to scowl, muscles in his lips straining to hold his passive expression.

"I'm just doing my job."

Shuri's derisive snort in his ear was the equivalent of nails on a chalkboard. He'd never known anyone so liberal with her opinions and censure. If Shuri thought it, she had no qualms sharing it with the world, even if her thoughts brought on a significant amount of embarrassment to the mere mortals surrounding her. Of course Bucky was staring too much at the table in the bistro across the street. Keeping an eagle eye on Sadie's every movement was, in fact, part of his job though, as Shuri had correctly identified, even he was taking that job just a smidge too seriously. Anyone passing him by might think he'd slipped into some kind of stupor, shoulders unnaturally rigid and blue eyes far away even while he tried to wrestle his volatile emotions into submission, stuffing them back into their cage where they belonged.

He lost a tiny bit of ground every time Doctor Greyson gestured towards Sadie or laughed at something she said. He lost more ground still every time she tucked her hair behind her ears or smiled at her companion. Those little signs betrayed her nerves and subtle desperation to impress. She'd done the same thing on their first real date, practically jumping out of her skin when he'd reached across the table to take her hand in his. And despite the fact that Sadie held no romantic inclination towards Doctor Greyson, Bucky couldn't help the green-eyed monster of jealousy that clawed the insides of his ribcage.

It wasn't that he worried Greyson would come in and sweep Sadie off her feet or that she would suddenly and inexplicably change her mind. It was the fact that Greyson could do something and give Sadie something that Bucky flat-out couldn't. There they sat, in public, without the need for a disguise, not constantly checking over his shoulder or awash with worry that he might get caught at any moment. Bucky envied Doctor Greyson for his ability to flag the waitress down to order another bottle of wine or accept Sadie's arguments to split the check with good humor before paying for the entire bill anyway. There wasn't anything Bucky wouldn't give to be able to take Sadie out for lunch, walking hand in hand on the drizzly streets, losing themselves down a dozen avenues with no regard for where the road might take them.

If Bucky was staring too hard at Sadie and Greyson, it was because he was jealous and there was very little he could do to curb it.

He tensed up every time someone walked just a little too close to him in the cafe. Concerns, each one more outlandish than the next, plagued him from the second he peered through the windows to see the tables set almost impossibly close together and patrons packed in like sardines. What if someone bumped his metal shoulder? Would anyone find it odd that he'd been sitting at a table with an unopened book for the better part of an hour and a half? If someone tripped and fell into him how catastrophic would the fallout be if they accidentally pulled his nanocover off? Right now he looked like just another nondescript blonde-haired, blue-eyed European man, sipping his recently refilled coffee while Shuri interrupted his thoughts every few minutes with her color commentary. Though he couldn't see her, he knew she was somewhere close enough to see him.

Sure enough, less than a minute later, the door opened and two women came in from the rain. Bucky almost had to do a double-take because Bishara looked so radically unlike herself in a pair of skin-tight jeans and a black sweater. He was so accustomed to the traditional red of the Dora Milaje that seeing her wearing civilian clothing was akin to watching a dog walk down the street balanced on its front paws. Shuri, however, looked perfectly content, using her relative anonymity to her advantage. She slipped through the cafe with ease, coming to settle at his table in the chair next to his, braids hanging behind her shoulders to reveal the eye-watering shade of green she wore beneath a patterned black jacket.

"I thought you were supposed to be low key?" he grumbled.

Shuri's grin widened a tic. "Yeah, lowkey for my generation, gramps."

Bucky rolled his eyes. Lately, Shuri had taken to ribbing him incessantly about the veritable gulf between his understanding of the world and hers.

Silent and graceful beyond measure, Bishara sank into the other free chair, lips playing towards a frown. "They're still not finished?"

Bucky shook his head once. Through the window, he watched the waitress take a thin rectangular object from Greyson. "Almost, the waitress just took the tab."

"Good. I'm not interested in being here all afternoon."

Neither was Bucky. The sooner they got out of the city, the sooner they could get back to Wakanda. Though he dreaded the conversation waiting for him when they returned, Bucky was filled with fresh determination to get the truth out in the open and accept the consequences, whatever they might be. He'd already delayed too long and every minute, hour, and day that passed only served to increase the chances she would take the news poorly.

A waitress stopped by to take orders. Bishara settled for black coffee while Shuri ordered something so complicated that Bucky lost track of her order midway through. Knowing her it was some expensive latte made with strange milk and a shocking amount of sugar. Bucky didn't care about her coffee order or the fact that his was steadily growing cold.

While Shuri and Bishara chatted idly about their morning touring the city, Bucky watched Greyson make polite small talk while he signed the check. Before Sadie could get to her feet he was behind her, pulling out her chair. The monster in Bucky's chest sank its claws a little deeper when Greyson placed a hand at the small of her back, guiding her to the entrance where someone was already waiting with their coats.

"They're on the move."

Greyson moved to help Sadie into her pale grey, fine wool coat. Shuri cackled loudly at something Bishara said. A shadow passed across Bucky's eyes and out of the foot traffic on the street outside of the cafe, a familiar face emerged.

"Ow! What are you doing?" Shuri yelped in surprise when Bucky's metal hand closed a fraction too tight over her elbow. More than one patron shifted in their seats to get a look at the commotion.

The corner of Brock Rumlow's scarred mouth rose in a merciless smirk, eyes glued not on Bucky's disguised visage, but on Shuri instead. Without thinking, he let go of Shuri's elbow and carefully stretched his arm across her body, moving to step in front of her. Bishara read his motions a mile away, at his side and voice in his ear at once. As soon as he appeared, Rumlow disappeared into the crowd, like the snake that he was.

"It's Rumlow," Bucky muttered in a voice so low, only Bishara could hear him. At once she tensed. "Get back to the embassy, make sure everyone's safe."

"What are you doing?" she asked but he didn't answer her. His immediate, silent departure from the cafe was answer enough. Reassured that Bishara wouldn't let anything happen to Shuri or to Sadie, he slipped out of the door and into the flow of traffic, pulling the hood of his jacket over his head and shoving his hands in his pockets.

Bucky knew the likelihood that he was walking into a trap of some kind. Rumlow wouldn't rear his ugly face for no reason but, traps aside, he couldn't ignore the opportunity to get a hand around the bastard's throat and get the truth out of him. Was he causing trouble for a little payback? Did he have plans to disrupt Wakanda's entrance onto the world stage? Or was this purely about Sadie having some of the most valuable DNA in the world? Bucky suspected the answer was all three but the prospect of confirmation was worth the risk to himself. He peered into the gaps in the crowd, searching for a tell-tale sign of Rumlow, a drawn hood, a burly figure amidst the sharp-dressed business types, an affected gait that gave him away.

He approached the end of the block, coming onto an intersection that could take him one of three directions. Bucky paused when the lights changed, looking in all directions for a glimpse of Rumlow. In one direction two young mothers walked together, pushing strollers. In another, a trio of businessmen greeted each other as they met outside the entrance of a sleek office building, in another a man and a woman greeted each other with swift kisses to the cheek. When they parted, Bucky caught a flash of movement between them and–there!

Ignoring the indignant sounds from the teenagers he cut between, Bucky paused long enough for a couple of cars to go before he darted into the intersection. Rumlow's scarred, garish face split into a grin before he kept on walking, setting the chase for Bucky. Yes, he thought as he broke into a jog, leaving the cafe and bistro behind, Rumlow was setting the trap.

What Bucky didn't know was that he wasn't the one blithely wandering into it.

X X X

The interior of Greyson's new laboratories couldn't be further removed from the handsome architecture outside. Although the lobby of the building presented with the same classic style, with intricately carved columns, rich carpet and enormous bowl chandeliers, the operation behind the facade was sleek and almost as modern as any of Shuri's labs. Sadie followed Greyson in slight awe, drinking in the sights of his scientists, so many of them women, hard at work doing research into such a dizzying array of things that Sadie couldn't hope to keep them all straight as he listed them off. There were words she made mental notes to look up later, applications that went straight over her head and that was nothing to say of the machinery involved in the study of genetics. The field itself was so young that she predated the majority of it and it could take her an entire lifetime to learn it all and that still wouldn't be enough.

While Sadie's head spun, Greyson was completely in his element. He was an adept tour guide, delighting in showing his guest around the facility. As any good director would, he knew everything that was happening with his researchers, what projects they were working on, what breakthroughs they may be on the verge of, and the desired outcome for each study. Every scientist Sadie met carried with them some impressive combination of credentials, a veritable alphabet soup of M.D.s, PhDs, and masters degrees from a list of schools each one more prestigious than the next.

"When I took over the institute it was largely a white, male-dominated group but I quickly learned that the keys to success on so many of our projects has been in diversifying our talent pool. We've hired doctors and scientists from thirty countries and just as many different races, religions, genders and sexual orientations. I'm proud to say that we were recently given an award from the International LGBTQ Alliance for our hiring practices and also received recognition from the UN for our commitment to not only diverse hiring but expanding the diversity of our research, committing ourselves to solving global problems for an increasingly shrinking world."

It sounded like a pitch he would have made to his investors and Sadie would have been tempted to roll her eyes if he didn't have the direct evidence to back his assertions. Everywhere she looked there were different faces, ages ranging from women in their twenties to a handful of people in their sixties. Greyson continued his discussion on how his wide-ranging employee pool had produced some of the most interesting research questions and merited funding from unlikely sources that led to breakthroughs on all manner of things. Sadie wished she better understood the nitty-gritty science behind his work but, while she was charmed by everyone she met, she was painfully out of her depth and aware of it.

She thought about how Shuri always spun off into wild explanations that soared way over her head but she always found a way to pull herself back in and dumb it down so Sadie could follow along. Perhaps Greyson thought more of Sadie's abilities than was wise or he simply didn't care that she couldn't keep up, but he never paused to give her a chance to breathe nor did he offer any layman's explanations. He was too deep into his world to notice that Sadie's whole body exhaled in relief when they exited the last lab and into the main hallway that bisected the facility.

"We're in the process of completing renovations on the top three floors. My office will be up there along with meeting rooms, a lecture hall, and more laboratories. The goal is for the top three floors to serve as a meeting place for great minds, so we can host summits and conferences with our peers."

"And show off just a little bit?" Sadie suggested, feeling a little less overwhelmed now that they were out of the labs.

Greyson chuckled. "Yes, you get the picture. That's the way of the world, after all."

Sadie wanted to point out that the Wakandans had successfully built the most technologically and scientifically advanced nation in the history of the world and never once bothered to show it off until recently, but she bit her tongue. They paused at the elevators. "Would you like to see the top floors?"

She hesitated. Greyson's casual, handsome smile beckoned her to come with him. Somewhere outside of the building, she was assuming that Bucky was pacing the block, fuming at her for taking off without much warning. He'd already been hesitant about Sadie's whole lunch meeting though she wasn't totally sure if that was owing to jealousy or his paranoia. Either way, she knew the right thing would be to decline Greyson and return to the Embassy to prepare for their flight out back to Wakanda.

"It won't take long," he promised, as if reading her mind. "The view of the city is quite spectacular, you see down one of the main avenues right to the UN and the atrium is almost finished. You'd be the first person to get to see outside of myself."

A little voice in the back of her head, likely that of her mother, reminded Sadie that he'd gone out of his way to be so obliging, giving up his lunch hours to let her pick his brain, to answer all of her questions, and to give her VIP access to his life's work. That was a lot of effort and it took very little from her to take an extra ten minutes to look around the unfinished floors. She would go up, admire the view, dole out a handful of polite compliments about the space and then take her leave. Another ten minutes wouldn't kill Bucky and he was already going to be irritated with her so in the end, it didn't really matter.

"Of course, Doctor Greyson. I'd love to see your progress."

She did not see him clench his fist to get his tremors under control before he pressed the button to take them up. The elevator doors closed behind them and the silence that fell was heavy, pregnant with some expectation but what, Sadie couldn't identify. She couldn't imagine that her opinion was of much consequence to him. Although Greyson was kind and enthusiastic about their acquaintance, he was the type of man who didn't need anyone's validation but his own. This was more about him showing off and less about her opinions and that suited Sadie just fine. She wasn't a woman easily swayed by much and no matter his ulterior motives, if he had any, there wasn't much of anything he could offer that she wanted.

All that aside, she did have to swallow an impressed whistle when the doors opened into an enormous atrium that yawned open, rising up three floors to a stained glass ceiling. Watery sunlight tried its hardest to break through the colored panes, casting weak rainbows across the plastic-covered marble floor. A large unfinished fountain hugged the staircase that spiraled all the way up to the top floor, the walls poured but the base unfinished, revealing a grid pattern of rebar meant to protect the piping and reinforce the bottom once it was poured. She caught her reflection in so many windows that by the time she reached the top of the staircase she was slightly dizzy.

"It's an odd layout, I'll be the first to admit. But with the main floors taking up all of our research space, we had to get creative. Ultimately, I think it will suit our needs well considering these floors are meant to be more public-facing than the rest of the facility."

Sadie wasn't really listening to Greyson. Thick sheets of semi-opaque plastic hung over otherwise open walls, only framed out to make the outlines of offices, conference rooms and meeting spaces. Through the gaps she could see out of the windows. Little glimpses of the city, the dreary afternoon, and the raindrops carving tracks down the glass peered out in the occasional opening. Greyson ambled two steps ahead of her, his hands clasped together while he admired the general splendor of his space.

"Right through here is my office."

He held a sheet of plastic aside and Sadie walked into a massive corner space.

"You're right," she remarked, half-aware of her surroundings. "The view is quite spectacular."

The way the building was positioned, Greyson's office looked almost straight down the avenue and at the terminal end she could see one of the unmistakable UN buildings. She opened her mouth to say more but a loud crash startled her out of her thoughts and away from the view.

Greyson collapsed near a pair of sawhorses holding a sheet of plywood and tools. The pieces scattered across the floor, making a loud clatter that echoed through the open office. Abandoning her post at the windows, she hurried across the room, crouching low to assist him.

"Are you alright?"

Her question answered itself in short order. Tremors rolled through Greyson's frame, releasing spasms so strong that Sadie felt the muscles in his arm jerk into her hands. Strips of his normally styled hair fell across his forehead but she could still see his face, contorted by involuntary muscle tics, as if he'd lost control of his entire body. Sadie didn't even really notice she'd tapped into her powers until she blinked and stumbled back in surprise. Scrambling to her feet, she took a few steps back, hands flying to cover her mouth as it fell open in abject horror.

Every place she looked at Greyson he was mottled in shades of rust. Sadie expected to see perhaps spots of red buried in the normal thousand shades of green that typically comprised a person. But the green was sparse, almost entirely drowned out by the sickness that riddled his body. She'd seen injuries gruesome enough to turn the strongest man's stomach, sifted through mass graves and yet the sight of the extent of Greyson's illness, the way it sank into every part of him, affected her on a visceral level, turning her stomach as though she could feel him through her powers. There wasn't a disease she knew of that could destroy a body so thoroughly; not even cancer consumed a body so completely before death.

"How are you–" she breathed. The question died on her lips because she just couldn't fathom it. How was Greyson alive? How could anyone in his condition be upright, much less so well composed?

A low, strained laugh bubbled up from his lungs, coupled with a slight wheeze. "I was hoping to get through this meeting without showing my whole hand," he said and, holding onto the steel framing for his office, pulled himself upright. Half of his face continued to twitch uncontrollably, contorting his handsome features as he froze and released.

"Your whole hand?"

The pit of Sadie's stomach soured like curdled milk. There was no way. There was simply no way she'd inadvertently walked into a trap like this a second time. Everything had been so above board! Even Bishara had done her research on Greyson and considered him a low security risk. And yet the way he stared at her now wasn't the same as before. The genial, gracious light in his eyes was gone, replaced with a hardness and, now that she was really looking, a sickliness she couldn't believe she never noticed before. What did he want from her? Sadie was positive she didn't have enough power to heal him from whatever it was that plagued him.

Greyson wiped his face with a shaking hand, cleaning the spittle at the corners of his mouth. One side had a definite pull to it now. "You know, when I heard you'd been found I couldn't believe it. In all the years since your disappearance, the world just assumed you were dead, myself included. At first I didn't know what to do. So I used my connections to get little pieces of information, asked innocent questions of my diplomat friends and sifted for tidbits of gossip. Then, when I heard you didn't remember anything about what happened to you I thought there was no way. You disappeared into Wakanda and I waited, getting my hands on anything about you I could until finally, I decided the only way to know for sure was to see you for myself. When we met at that cocktail reception here in Vienna a few months ago you looked right through me, as though I were just another face in the crowd."

Sadie's heart lodged itself in her throat. The little flashes of her prior discomfort came screaming to the forefront of her mind. Every instinct she possessed was telling her to turn on heel and run, run as fast and far as she possibly could. But no matter how many red lights were flashing and no matter how much her body was telling her to flee, her brain foolishly kept her rooted to the floor. There were just too many tantalizing clues buried in Greyson's words. Her brows furrowed and lips pursed in confusion. When he staggered towards her, she slid back a step and then another until he deviated to the only other object in the space, a tall tool chest.

"I don't understand what you're talking about. Of course you were just another face in the crowd. I barely know you."

"That, Miss Reid, is where you're wrong."

The word 'impossible' sprang to the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back. 'Impossible' was a relative term these days. Bucky fell down a mountainside and lived to tell the tale. She'd spent seven decades in cryo sleep and woke up in a new millennium. Steve could lift a motorcycle over his head without breaking a sweat. The rules she once thought absolute no longer applied.

Greyson pulled the top drawer of the tool chest open and from within it revealed a manila folder. Sadie didn't move. She couldn't. Her feet were practically nailed to the floor and her gaze locked on the folder in his hand with focus so intense she was amazed it didn't spontaneously combust. All she knew was that the very real danger she faced just might be worth it if the folder contained the answers she thought that it did.

"Go on, take it," he held the folder out for her. "You've been searching for answers to far too many questions and though I wished I could keep you in the dark for as long as possible, I simply do not have the time. You're not maximizing the potential of your powers and in order to do so, you need to know where they came from."

Sadie spied the stamp on the front of the file. She'd seen it other places, on other file folders, on intelligence reports and surveillance pictures in the SSR bunker, and on shrapnel recovered from a bomb in Italy. The skull and six tentacles ringed by a circle awakened a feeling in the pit of her stomach that she hadn't felt for decades. Fear, more real, more visceral than any she'd ever felt before closed itself over her, a fist bearing down and squeezing her from all directions. It hurt to breathe just looking at that folder, making out the letters of her name on the side tab. Curiosity and logic fought a bitter battle in her brain. Whatever was in that folder, it surely held the answers to all of her questions but at what cost? Sadie already knew that whatever happened to her had been brutal, the kind of experience that cracked better men than her, sending them to early graves or screaming to the asylum. Was she really ready to learn the truth? To know how she'd disappeared and landed in the future? A not insignificant part of her was screaming to let sleeping dogs lie, to run and keep running until she collided with Bucky and to let him take her away to the most remote, safest corner of the world and stay there the rest of her days.

But in the end, curiosity won out.

Her fingers slipped over the soft cover, well-worn from age and use. Her fingers visibly trembled, flipping the file open to the first page and the picture paper-clipped to the inside.

The folder fell from her hands to land on the floor with a light smack.

Once, shortly after she woke up, Sadie allowed Wanda Maximoff into her mind, to try and coax her lost memories to the surface. She'd described a barrier in Sadie's brain, keeping her out and shielding her from the parade of horribles on the other side. That barrier, impenetrable though it seemed, shattered, flecks of green passing behind her eyes like shards of glass and in their reflection a hundred memories, each one slicing through her like a sword through butter.

Sadie blinked at Doctor Emmanuel Greyson and remembered. She remembered everything. From her first harrowing moments, fighting like a wild animal through the doors into Arnim Zola's lab to the fire that ignited her veins when he exposed her to the tesseract. And there, tucked away in between the torture, in between the soul-crushing agony, between laying broken on the floor, begging for a swift end, was him. A seemingly uninteresting, mild-mannered doctor that made his rounds, that tended to her bedside between when she broke her arm, that treated her burns, and watched her vital signs after Zola's serum ripped her apart cell-by-cell only to put her back together, a completely different woman.

"Hello, Sadie. It's been a long, long time."

There at her feet was a black and white picture of Sadie, emaciated, bruised and sunken-eyed, asleep and handcuffed to a hospital bed. And there, standing over her bed dressed in a white coat was Doctor Emmanuel Greyson.

X X X

Bucky followed Rumlow's trail several blocks more until the character of the buildings changed and the crowds around him started to diminish. Rumlow took multiple twists and turns, trusting Bucky to be smart enough to follow him. Although Bucky certainly wasn't afraid of the impending fight, he didn't particularly relish it. One-on-one without any enhanced suits or aids, Bucky could best Rumlow without breaking a sweat. He might be an elite soldier but he was still an ordinary elite soldier and without that extra boost from the serum he just didn't stand a chance against Bucky and his metal arm. But what Rumlow lacked in sheer power he made up for in clever little turns of strategy and access to technology to meet his strength.

Paying too little mind to his surroundings, Bucky took the bait, eventually following the bastard down a narrow alley where he seemingly disappeared. Pausing, Bucky looked before him and behind him, half-expecting Rumlow to appear in his street clothes, throwing punches like an alleyway brawl in his pre-war days. But that wasn't Rumlow's style and he wouldn't risk a fight out in the open. If he'd desired that then there was little point in luring him away from the city. There was a specific reason for this specific place at this specific time and Bucky knew he might not get another chance to get close like this.

Both buildings had doors that led inside but upon closer inspection, the ground outside of the door on the right gave Rumlow away. The bottom edge had scraped along the concrete, sweeping through the water clinging to the pavement and leaving a neat swipe mark. Bucky reached for the door and found it unlocked. Steeling himself for the worst, he opened it and entered, taking care to look in all directions.

From what he could tell, the building was long abandoned. The interior furnishing of the old office space were long gone. The old wallpaper hung down the wall in certain places and the air was thick with dust. Sections of the walls were littered with spraypaint and there were signs of squatters, food wrappers and cans and other odds and ends left behind littered a couple of the corners as Bucky tread deeper into the room, searching for any sign of Rumlow. He was there, lurking and watching, luring Bucky into his trap. With his guard all the way up, he made for the door that would take him deeper into the building. It opened into a long hallway decorated with framed photos of posters all bearing some sort of corporate logo. Bucky ignored all of that in favor of making his way down the hall, pausing to check doorways that led to more empty office spaces.

He reached the end of the hall and opened the door to a massive inner office space, holding abandoned and dilapidated cubicle furniture. Crumbling ceiling tiles littered the desktops and hung precariously from the flimsy metal grid, spreading even more dust that hurt Bucky's chest to inhale. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out why Rumlow led him here.

Bucky barely registered the flash of movement in his peripheral. Swinging out of the way, he narrowly avoided the fist that lunged for him, encased in metal and packing a wallop on the doorframe so hard it splintered the wood. Swinging around and pulling up short, Bucky deflected the next three hits Rumlow tried to land on him, armored up with his special suit that did half the fighting for him. The attack was ferocious, with Rumlow doing the most to land blow after blow on Bucky, forcing him on the defensive, taking steps backwards. Blindly, Bucky reached out and grabbed the first thing he could. Swinging the awkward deskchair with all his might did just enough. The black metal struck Rumlow, pushing him a half-step off balance. Bucky hauled his weight onto one of the desks, ignoring the way the particle board groaned under his weight.

"I knew it was you."

Of course Rumlow knew it was Bucky. Chances were he'd been trying to keep close tabs on him ever since the fight at the Kennedy Center. Getting to Sadie meant he had to go through some extraordinarily powerful people and he'd overplayed his hand by fighting Rumlow during the attack, inadvertently revealing his identity.

"What the fuck do you want?"

Rumlow answered Bucky's question by worming through his defenses and landing a solid left hook, connecting with Bucky's jaw and sending him reeling backwards. He crashed into one of the partitions separating desks, the foam-covered fabric collapsing beneath his weight. Rolling off to his knees, he raised his metal arm to deflect the next blow: the shock of Rumlow's downward hit reverberated through him, rattling his chest and almost forcing him back down to the floor. Bucky swung out, putting all of his force into his arm. The metal hit Rumlow's chestplate with a deafening clang and he went flying. The painted cinder block wall cracked, sending pieces of concrete and flecks of paint everywhere. Bucky darted to finish the job but Rumlow was too fast. He dodged the shots fired from one of the fancy toys hidden in his suit and side-stepped the next attack, letting it glance off his metal shoulder.

Rumlow was breathing hard, panting from beneath the considerable bulk of his armor and Bucky felt ragged already, from the chase and the unexpected ferocity with which Rumlow fought.

"What's the matter, old man? Can't keep up?"

"Can you?"

It was hard to tell if Rumlow was smiling or not through all that scar tissue. Bucky's memories of him were hazy, limited to clandestine meetings though he remembered the look on Rumlow's face the first time he saw the ghost of Hydra. The awe that struck him upon first seeing Bucky strapped in leather, blank-faced and at the mercy of Alexander Pierce swiftly faded to something else, perhaps disappointment or even disgust upon realizing that the infamous, feared Winter Soldier was little more than a mere man, brainwashed, confused, and terrified. For his part, Bucky didn't disagree with Rumlow's assessment of his conditions as the Winter Soldier but if he thought Bucky gave up a fight easily, he had another think coming.

"You know the last time I saw you–actually saw you–you were," Rumlow chuckled, shaking his head. "You were a goddamned mess. And then you had to get all soft about your butt buddy and this happened." Rumlow gestured to his ruined face. Bucky fought the urge to roll his eyes. In the wake of Hydra's fall, Rumlow had taken to running his mouth, letting go of the tight leash he held on his disposition. Bucky was never one for trash talk or insults. It was a waste of breath and largely a waste of time because in the end the person with the sharpest tongue but the weakest punch stood little to gain except a moral victory and what good were those?

"That's on you, Brock," Bucky said.

For the moment they were in a holding pattern, squaring up to try and kill each other again but Rumlow didn't make a move and Bucky wasn't going to go on the attack just yet. There were answers he wanted and he couldn't get them if the bastard was a puddle on the floor.

Rumlow chuckled. "Well, I guess we'll agree to disagree."

Oh, there was plenty to disagree over but that was besides the point.

"I didn't come here for a debate club meeting," he snapped. Rumlow's mouth stretched into what was now an unmistakeable grin. "What are you up to?"

"You know, nobody told me you were funny. Well, I guess they wouldn't have known when you were all–" he made a funny face, eyes wide and fingers drawing circles next to his head to indicate Bucky's mental lapses during his Winter Soldier period. Bucky rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm a real crack-up."

"I bet you have all the girls in Wakanda rolling. Or is it still just one you care about?"

Bucky's hackles rose. Setting aside Rumlow's accurate guess at Bucky's whereabouts, there was a larger, scarier accusation pointed at him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Look, I know I'm not gonna be Mr. July of any calendar but I don't think I look stupid…do I look stupid to you? You wouldn't be in Vienna if Sadie wasn't, just like you wouldn't have saved her from that fall in D.C. We both know where you've been or…well…who you've been in–"

An involuntary growl issued from somewhere in the pit of Bucky's stomach, boiling over with anger. He hated the casual way that Rumlow talked about Sadie, as if she existed merely for Bucky's pleasure, there for a fuck and not much else. The urge to protect Sadie was so visceral he couldn't have kept up his poker face if he tried and the tips of his fingers itched to put the bastard back in his place. But Rumlow made a salient point. Between the two of them there was no need to pretend. Both of them knew perfectly well Bucky had been in D.C. and both of them knew perfectly well why Bucky was in Vienna.

"What is Sadie to you?" Bucky asked, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat.

"Nothing."

That was the last thing Bucky ever expected to hear. His foot slid back half a step in surprise. He thought he'd mapped the board out in his head, placing all the key players, anticipating the moves and prepared for whatever Rumlow might have said connected Sadie's powers and invaluable DNA. Rumlow held his hands up in mock defense. Sarcasm dripped from his every pore, evidenced in the little loll of his head and the looseness of his steps when he sauntered closer. Bucky retreated in response, rigid in comparison, uncertain of what to make of this twist in the story.

"Seriously, I don't give a shit about your girl."

"Then why did you try to kill her?"

Rumlow wagged a finger, tsking Bucky like a mother chiding her misbehaving child. "Not so fast, Barnes. You didn't think it'd be that easy, did you?"

When he lunged, Bucky was ready. He caught Rumlow's fist in his left hand, digging his heels into the floor and bracing his weight, holding him at bay. Rumlow's eyes widened in surprise. Bucky clenched his fingers down, five vibranium vices pushing and pushing until the metal faltered and buckled. Rumlow reared back but the piece of his suit that Bucky had a hold on stayed put, breaking off and wrenching itself free of Rumlow's arm with a sickening twist. He shouted in pain and stumbled back. Almost as soon as he hit the wall, Bucky was there, right hand sliding up to cage his throat.

"I will take this goddamned suit apart piece by piece if I have to." The menace laced through his voice was about as far from the Winter Soldier as he could have gotten, but just as chilling. The Winter Soldier was an emotionless dummy, doing his handler's bidding with zero regard to the consequences. Now, Bucky felt everything acutely, his anger at being toyed with, his confusion over Rumlow's role, his fear for Sadie, it all converged together to push him into acting drastically. He'd sworn off hurting other people, but that was before Sadie returned to his life, before her safety became jeopardized, before the safety of unknown thousands, maybe even millions became compromised upon the possibility of her DNA being taken and bastardized into serums for God-only-knew what nefarious purposes. Rumlow moved to retaliate and Bucky closed his hand tighter. "Who are you working for?"

A laugh spluttered off his lips, spraying flecks of saliva in Bucky's face that he pointedly ignored. He only eased his grip enough to let Rumlow choke out a few words. "You're ask–" he coughed when Bucky let up even further. "You're asking the wrong question, Barnes."

"Oh yeah?" Rumlow gasped when Bucky bore down on him again. "What the fuck should I be asking?"

The bottom of his stomach dropped out when Rumlow's gnarled mouth stretched into a broad, fearless grin. "Where's your girlfriend right now?"

For one hair-raising, hellacious second, the entire world stood still. Bucky heard a single beat of his heart slam against his eardrums, a powerful stroke that threatened to crack his ribs. Rumlow's question was the answer, confirming Steve's suspicions, giving a face to the previously unknown danger. Bucky thought of Doctor Emmanuel Greyson's hand at the small of Sadie's back and the way he leaned forward when she talked, rapt with interest, hanging off her every word.

They'd left the restaurant together and Bucky, in his haste to go after Rumlow, gave Bishara a rushed, vaguely worded directive to take care of them…but he never specified her to keep an eye on Sadie. Bishara's sole role and directive was to protect Princess Shuri. What if–oh God–what if Bishara took Shuri to the embassy and just assumed that he had taken care of Sadie? There was no way of knowing if Sadie was with the Wakandans or if she was alone, having unwittingly walked into the lion's den without a sword or a shield to defend herself?

He thought he was going to be sick. In his lapse of attention, he'd exposed himself to further attack and Rumlow capitalized on it. Bucky never saw his offensive coming, a series of hard punches that sent him off his balance. One strong uppercut knocked him off his feet and he flew backwards, landing on one of the desks strong enough to break it beneath him. Pain shot down the entire length of Bucky's spine, wrapping around his neck to his jaw where he was amazed he still had all his teeth. The hit incapacitated him for too long and he didn't get out of the way in time before Rumlow raised the non-damaged arm of his armor and fired a tiny missile towards the ceiling. It gave in the blast, bringing down a large wooden support beam. Bucky raised his hands to catch it but the impact was so hard he lost his grip and it hit him in the side of the head.

Bucky heard and saw no more.

X X X

Every beat of Sadie's heart seemed to stretch out for a lifetime, playing a painful staccato on her breastbone. Her ankles and knees felt weak and rubbery under the weight of the revelations still unfolding within her mind. Somewhere in a little patch of clarity, Sadie realized that her powers had been protecting her this entire time, forming the wall in her mind that held back the deluge and for good reason. As each heartbeat fell like a hammerstroke in her chest, the sequence of horrors fell into place such that she didn't even need her Hydra file to remember what had happened to her. It had all been locked away in her mind the entire time, preserved and just waiting for the right trigger to fire the bullet that shattered the glass. And the man holding the metaphorical gun stood several feet away from her still, hands still twitching from his illness.

Now that Sadie looked upon Emmanuel Greyson's face with clear eyes, she couldn't believe she didn't recognize him this entire time. Was this how Bucky felt when he first came out of the fog of being the Winter Soldier? Did he ever look at Steve in disbelief that he didn't know him right away?

Remembering Bucky took her breath away. Her ankles really did become rubber and she stumbled back a few steps, falling against the exposed wooden framework for the office.

Bucky.

Everywhere she looked in the catalogue of revealed images, there he was, right up until the bitter end.

When he.

When she.

A soft cry fell from her lips and she clapped her hands over her ears as if the action could hold her head together and stifle the voices and sounds in her head. Her throat felt tight, recalling the uncomfortable, excruciating sensation of his metal fingers twisting against her delicate skin, a vice grip squeezing down until–

"It's quite a stunning history, isn't it?"

If Sadie didn't possess the visceral memories and the accompanying scars to prove it, she would never believe the story. And she certainly would never have guessed that handsome, silver-tongued, wealthy and refined Emmanuel Greyson once spent his days shuffling between Zola's science experiments, locked in a dank lab in God-only-knew-where Eastern Europe. He'd overseen her every stint in the infirmary, whether from malnutrition, exhaustion, or injuries sustained from a torture session intended to break Zola's most prized experiment of all. That begged an important question in and of itself but Sadie didn't have the time or forethought to ask. The fact was, focusing on Emmanuel Greyson and the scientific impossibilities of his presence and appearance was enough of a handhold for Sadie to pull herself out of the spiral threatening to drag her into a hole of depression and despair she might never climb out of.

Straightening up, she started towards him, face screwed up in concentration. "How is it possible? I knew you in '49. You should be–"

"A miserable, wrinkled old man?" Sadie nodded. Her innards squirmed when he shrugged. "I suppose I am well-preserved for my age." There was no trace of good humor in his smile, only menace. Sadie didn't know why she couldn't move when he stalked closer to her, a big cat moving in on its unwitting prey. "If it makes you feel better, I often feel one hundred and twelve."

"But how?" Sadie asked. "How are you so–after all these years?"

When Greyson's hands closed over her upper arms she understood immediately. His grip was stronger than it should have been and when he bore himself down upon her, forcing her backwards against the framing once more she swore she felt it creak under the force of his thrust. Every place her body hit the steel exploded with pain, blurring her vision white for a split second and when she finally came to, he was so close she could see the tiny veins jumping out just beneath his skin, repetitive tics that belied his disease, whatever it was. He was strong. Much stronger than any one normal man should be, especially one in his condition.

"Surely you didn't think Barnes and you were Zola's only attempts at perfecting his serum, did you?" A shiver ripped down her spine. Menace. That was the only way she could think to describe his tone, low and chilling and utterly dangerous.

Sadie gasped when he released her, retreating back to rip a hand through his hair, displacing the perfect strands.

"You were my doctor–" she argued.

"I didn't start out that way." Greyson started to pace, slowly unraveling before her very eyes. He was a man apart from how he'd been at lunch. Armed with the truth, Sadie saw the manic light in his eyes, the disheveled appearance that betrayed the madness he so carefully hid from the world. "I started out as Doctor Emmanuel Greyson, a Lieutenant in the Royal Air Force. At least until I was captured in France and transferred to a rather special POW camp."

"A Hydra factory," Sadie surmised, far too familiar with those for comfort.

His grin was as haphazard as it was threatening, causing Sadie's innards to squirm. "Once there, it didn't take long for my true nature and profession to come out. Rather than work me to death on the factory floor, the guards used me as their personal physician until word got around to Zola. When he began his first round of experiments he needed an assistant and there I was, tailor-made for the job. You can't imagine the things I saw," he whispered, so cold and so faraway he may as well have been back in an overlooked corner of Europe, trapped in a concrete prison tucked between the endless stretches of firs reaching towards the expanses of Russia.
"I can imagine quite a bit," she countered and immediately regretted it when he turned the ferocity of his glare on her once more. Then he relaxed, relenting to her shared life experience and the acknowledgement that few people got out of the war without seeing the worst of humanity, splattered across a battlefield in viscera.

"I believe it, Nurse." Sadie frowned. "Only I'm not nearly so principled as you. I know what they offered you, Sadie. I know that Zola told you it could all be over if you got off the floor and helped him. That you could have your life and your freedom."

"We both know that was a lie," she snapped. Somewhere amidst the fear that held her in a vice grip, little flashes of anger reasserted themselves, blink-and-you'll-miss-it surges that slipped along her nerves, warning her the longer she stood here, the more danger she was in. This time, Sadie pushed it all down with the sheer force of her willpower. She was beginning to suspect there was very little Greyson could do to actually permanently damage her and he clearly wanted her alive for something. If this was her only chance to get answers then she wasn't going to stop now. "Zola would have killed me before letting me back into the world. That's the only reason he put me on ice in the first place, isn't it? Because I was a liability to Bucky."

"One of his biggest mistakes, I wager. He certainly would have used you to cure his cancer." Sadie didn't doubt that. "You could have had a life though, you know, maybe not one you intended but working for Hydra…it wasn't all bad."

"So that's what you did," she surmised. "Eat or be eaten?"

Greyson rubbed his chin and eventually nodded. When he paced along the wall to the outside, the grey light fell across half his face, highlighting the unhealthy hollow in his cheeks and giving his skin a sickly color. "Arnim Zola offered me a similar deal. Either I outlive my usefulness and consequently my life. Or I allow him to test one of his serums on me. If I lived, I could use whatever those enhancements were to forge my path forward in Hydra."

"The serum could have killed you," she countered.

"As it did so many others, yes. But I was a dead man either way. So I chose to take the serum and it worked–to a degree. You see, I wasn't so lucky as Captain Rogers, or Bucky, or you. I didn't have the perfected serum or exposure to radiation or the tesseract or whatever Arnim did to Bucky in that lab. Although my variant didn't kill me, the effects presented themselves in unusual ways. I am barely stronger than the average man, but my mind? Sharpened and primed for digging into the most complicated medical mysteries of our age. And as for my body? Well, you can see the results," he gestured to his face where, though his sickness appeared more prominent now, he was still handsome and shockingly young for his age.

Sadie frowned. Greyson's story made sense. The will to survive, to do whatever it took to claw one's way through the darkness and towards some semblance of a life made sense to her. Had she not been fighting so hard to save Bucky, she might have been tempted to take the very same deal and, if she was being brutally honest with herself, she had been tempted to take Zola's offer in the deepest moment of her despair. But the enduring difference between Greyson and herself was that she hadn't. When it came down to it, she chose Bucky, as she would do every single time.

Thinking more on Greyson, on his experimental variant of the serum and its minimal effects compared to hers and Bucky's answered at least one question: why Greyson was one enormous walking disease when Sadie looked at him with her powers. Hadn't Shuri been consistently testing Sadie's blood? Looking for any changes at the cellular level?

"Your variant is degrading."

"Beautiful and smart. I never understood what was so special about Barnes that he won you over. You're the type of woman meant for kings."

Sadie's temper got the better of her now. "I'm not an object designed for anyone's pleasure. Certainly not yours."

"You mistake me, Sadie. The truth now is much the same as it was back then. You, like every other woman in this world, is simply not my type."

"And yet you need me," she surmised and he frowned. "You need me to heal what's happening to you."

Blinking once, she brought her powers back to the forefront of her mind, seeing him now, more in shades of rust, some spots so dark they were almost black. There was nowhere for her to go when he advanced. She tried to side step him, a figure lumbering towards her, like one giant walking mass of cancer. He stopped just short where she watched the muscles in his face twitching, tugging towards an ugly frown. The nerves there pulsed in time with the muscular tics and she could practically feel his pain.

"Yes, I do need you. But not just your quick fix. I've cobbled together every scrap on you I can and have seen with my own eyes what you can do, but to heal what ails me requires more than a little hand-waving and some green light. I need healing from within, to remove what is most diseased and replace it with the one serum that will carry itself everywhere and heal the rest of me."

Sadie's eyes fluttered in surprise, bringing her back to reality. "A blood transfusion?"

"Not just a simple blood transfusion, my dear girl. A total body transfusion. Taking that part of you, the essence of you, would not only bring your enhanced DNA within my body and heal me but would likely transfer your powers to me as well."

"That's insane." She literally couldn't think of anything else to say. "You're mad."

"Sadie," she hated the way he said her name. "We live in a world where one of the smartest men in the world can turn into a massive green monster at will. Aliens came from a portal ripped in the sky to attack New York. Your own lover survived falling down a mountainside and walks around with a prosthetic that defies the laws of physics. Speaking of lovers, yours murdered you in cold blood and yet, here you stand, perfectly well. We live in a world where insanity is the benchmark for innovation. And if I am mad, it is simply because you have been bestowed this incredible gift and you're using it for what? To heal shitstains like that Congressman? To play doctor locked away in Wakanda?"

Sadie didn't want to imagine those final moments, though she would be replaying them in her mind over and over. Gritting her teeth, she used every remaining ounce of her willpower to stay focused on the man before her.

"So why not take it now? You're clearly stronger than me and you've got the upper hand."

"Because you're not ready yet."

He lunged before she could even blink, showing off another enhanced trick up his sleeve. Both of his hands locked around her biceps once more, squeezing so hard her fingers started to tingle. The impulse to fight back kicked in and she tried to lash out, moving to sweep his legs from beneath him but he was too strong.

"If you tried to heal me now you'd likely kill yourself. You're not strong enough yet and to do this, I need you at your strongest. You know the only way to grow your power is to heal."

And then he was marching, forcing her off her feet, through the sheet plastic and out into the open. Sadie tried to dig her heels in, to gain some kind of purchase to fight back but it was no use. She was outmatched on every level by Greyson and even if she could break his iron hold on her, there was nowhere she could run in the building that he wouldn't find her. Her throat hardened into a lump that choked off her steady stream of air until she was holding her breath.

"And quite frankly, my dear, I've grown tired of you taking your sweet fucking time."

Greyson shoved her away with all of his force. Sadie screamed when her lower back hit the railing, her heels shattering the glass and the hollow metal bending. The force upended her body and she was falling. This time there was no Bucky to catch her and the atrium spun, rushing past her as she plummeted to the floor below.

The impact rocked her body from head to toe, a solid mass hitting her with the power of a charging train. Her skull fractured, splitting her skin and releasing a rush of blood. The shock reverberated through her, ripples that cracked her ribs, broke pieces of her vertebra and blew outwards, pushing the air from her lungs and threatening to send her lunch up. The worst pain the came with the fall didn't come from her head or her chest or her limbs. It was a white-hot, sharp lance that sliced clean through her back and burst through her front. Her head spun and blood trickled down her neck when she tried to bend her neck only to cry out, her voice breaking in a sob.

She'd fallen into the unfinished pool onto the half-finished floor, impaling her abdomen on the rebar lattice. Thick and unyielding, the corrugated metal bar stuck out of her lower abdomen, torn through her pale grey dress where blood now seeped into the cashmere, staining it dark red as it spread. Every gasp for air dislodged her abdomen and though she moved maybe mere centimeters on the bar, each tiny increment felt like she was dragging her exposed nerves along a mile-long stretch of burning coals.

The fall took mere seconds but it felt like a lifetime. The stained-glass ceiling spun in vicious circles, changing directions and blurring the colors as she gasped for air. Footsteps echoed through the hall, each one belonging to a man's Italian leather dress shoe until a dark figure emerged into her peripheral. Greyson sat on the edge of the fountain, looking up on her with a curious expression of fascination and pity mixed with unbridled excitement. She was, more than ever, entirely at his mercy. He didn't say a single word as he unbuttoned his coat and reached for the inner pocket, withdrawing a glass vial with a rubber stopper. Sadie moaned and her limbs jerked uselessly in an instinctual drive to get away. Greyson knelt next to her prone, broken body and popped the stopper out, prepared to take a small sample of her blood for his.

Sadie coughed, back arching as her ruptured intestines and ragged skin dragged along the rebar. Green light exploded out of her chest, a solid wall of power that unseated Greyson before he could collect his precious sample. He flew up and over the wall, disappearing from sight. Sadie stilled, losing the impulse to be afraid in the face of the unimaginable pain that throbbed and stung and stabbed her body. Part of her power retreated to her body, flying in all directions without her volition to do damage control. But, curiously, a portion of it continued to radiate outwards, creating a shield much like the wall it constructed in her mind.

Somewhere in the distance, she heard a door open and slam.

Greyson had abandoned her.

Slowly, the swelling and pounding ache in her brain receded, her skull fused back together and her skin sealed itself shut. Pieces of her vertebrae reattached themselves and her broken bones mended. But until Sadie could get herself off the rebar, there was no healing the worst of her injuries. She could feel her powers waning, struggling to address the magnitude of her wound. As the green light faded, she felt darkness encroach from all sides.

Sleep. It sounded so lovely, to just descend into oblivion. Perhaps this was all just a bad dream and when she woke up things would be as they were. Sadie's eyes fluttered shut, under the gentle nudging of her powers trying everything to put her out of her misery.

The last thought Sadie had was that sooner or later Bucky would find her. And when he did, everything would be okay.

A/N: You didn't think I was going to go easy on my lovebirds, did you? I've been sitting on these twists for the better part of…probably four years now. I remember all the conversations I had with writer friends trying to come up with my villains and their backstories and how to tie the past with the present and it's all led to this. Next chapter picks up right where we leave off.

Liked it? Loved it? Want to throw your phone at me? (Tbh…I get it…) I'd love to know any and all thoughts…even if you're just shouting at me lol. Much love – Kappa.