Chapter 29
I don't know how long I sat there in the snow beside my double's body. It felt like hours, but it was probably only minutes in reality before the wail of emergency vehicle sirens cut through the cold air and people began to emerge from the two buildings.
Natasha pushed her way through the crowd and hurried towards me. Her cheekbone was bruised and she had a split lip, but otherwise she looked okay. She slowed as she saw my clone's body. "Did you…?" she began hesitantly.
"Rogan did," I said, looking down at my bleeding hand.
"Oh."
"He's dead too," I added.
"I tried to get him," she said. "Then some Molniya joined the fight and nearly laid me out. The security chief was bought out by Rogan too," she added. "The rest of security didn't know any of this was coming."
I nodded my understanding. "How's Stark?"
"Alive. The EMTs say he'll be fine. How are you?"
I looked up at her concerned face. "I…" I began, but I didn't know what I was. I didn't know what to think or feel. All I knew was that I was sitting in the snow beside the man who had tried to kill me and then saved my life, and he had my face. I didn't think anyone could describe, let alone understand, the mix of emotions that caused. I certainly couldn't.
Natasha simply nodded. She stayed there until the EMTs and police arrived and pronounced my clone dead, and stood beside me as they loaded his body into an ambulance.
I obeyed quietly as the medics tended to my injuries. They said I'd need to go to the hospital for stitches, and Natasha was quick to inform the police that they would get a full statement from her in the morning so that she could come with me. I hadn't asked her to come, but I couldn't help but feel relieved that there was a familiar presence right beside me the entire time the doctors tended to my wounds in the ER.
The doctors decided I should spend the night at the hospital, and I went along with it, my ability and desire to make decisions rapidly dwindling. When I lay down on the hospital bed, surrounded by the sights and smells of Rogan's medical ward, Natasha was right there, a silent reassurance that this was okay and I was safe.
And she was still there when I woke up the next morning.
Three days later Natasha and I stood on the forested slope overlooking Rogan's base. It was silent now, devoid of life and stripped of everything of importance by ISID. Wind-borne snow drifted past the empty watchtowers and outbuildings.
Hendricks himself had arrived in Berlin the day after our final fight with Rogan. Natasha and I had been fully debriefed. Our testimonies had been backed up by everything ISID uncovered when they took control of the base, and now it was up to Hendricks to tie up the loose ends with the Iranian, American, Russian and German authorities.
"You know, there are certain advantages to working for a government-approved agency," Hendricks had said yesterday as we'd exchanged farewells. "If you two and Barton ever want full time employment…" He left the sentence hanging.
Natasha had smiled. "Thanks, Mike, but I don't think I'm ready to sign that paperwork."
I'd nodded in agreement. "We've finished what we set out to achieve."
Now there was only one thing left to do.
I pulled a small black box from the pocket of my jacket and opened the lid. Inside were the cremated ashes of my clone. I knew most people would say a few words at this point, but I didn't have any that could be said aloud.
My clone had been the epitome of the Winter Soldier – devoid of any memory of Steve or of how I used to be to influence his actions or compromise his obedience. The perfect Asset. And yet, in the end, he had still broken free of Rogan's control and made the decision to save my life twice over.
His last moments gave me hope for myself.
With that thought, and with a last silent thank you, I held the little box up and turned it over.
Natasha and I watched as the cold wind caught the ashes and carried them out over the valley. Then I put the box back in my pocket and Natasha slipped her hand into mine. Together we walked back through the trees and snow to where our car waited at the road.
It was time to go home.
A thick sleet was falling when Natasha and I got out of a taxi at the foot of Avengers Tower. Though it was well past sunset, the streets were bright with lights of all descriptions, and filled with people and vehicles.
I took a deep breath as we walked to the Tower's front doors, breathing in the familiar smells of the city. The fact that those smells mostly consisted of car exhaust fumes didn't bother me. This was the place where I'd grown up.
We took the elevator to the living area floor of the tower. The doors opened with a soft chime to reveal Sam Wilson on the living room sofa, a bag of chips in one hand and the TV remote in the other. He clicked off the screen and stood up as we entered the room.
He smiled. "Hey. Long time, no see. How was Iran?"
I shrugged my jacket off with my one usable hand. "Hot."
"And Russia?"
"Cold." Natasha chucked her bag onto the bench of Stark's minibar.
Sam nodded with a grin. "No surprises there. Can I get you guys coffee?"
"Please." Natasha sank onto the sofa with a groan. "I hate air travel. I'm sure it's making me age faster."
"You still look fine," I noted, sitting beside her.
She flashed me a grin.
There was a low whistle from the bar. I looked up to see Sam paused with three mugs held in one hand. "Are you two…?" He gestured between Natasha and I.
"What?" Natasha seemed as surprised by the idea as I felt. "No," she said. "This is just what happens when you go on a mission together and save each other's lives and stuff. We're just, you know, friends."
I liked the way she said that word – after everything we'd been through together, Natasha had definitely earned the title – but I liked the look Natasha sent me covertly even more. A look that said something along the lines of, Now there's an idea.
I sent back a look that said, Agreed.
"Okay." Sam made a placating gesture as he spooned coffee into the cups, chuckling, oblivious to our silent conversation. "Either of you two got any plans for tomorrow?" he asked as he brought over the drinks.
"How about a shamefully long sleep in?" Natasha said as she accepted her cup and I hummed in agreement. "What about you?"
Sam took a sip of his coffee. "I thought I'd visit Zara in the morning."
I sat down my drink. "Zara? The Molniya we caught?"
"Yep." Sam reached for the chip bag. "Only her real name's Yasmeen. She spilled everything to me once she heard that Rogan's operation had been shut down, and I gotta say, she had some good arguments for why they were doing the right thing. Not that it stopped her from being sent to jail with the rest of the Molniya," he added. "That's where I'll be visiting. Hopefully the courts will take those women's full stories into account before they make a ruling."
"I'll talk to Stark about it when he gets back," Natasha promised. "His lawyers will be able to make sure they get a fair trial."
"Thanks." Sam took another drink. "Anyways, how's Clint doing?"
"He's getting transferred to NYC next week," Natasha replied. "It'll give me time to buy him a seriously-belated Christmas present hopefully, as long as nothing else comes up."
Sam chuckled. "The life of a superhero, huh?"
"I wouldn't have it any other way." She looked at me. "You?"
I shook my head. "Nope." And I meant it – regardless of what the future held.
I woke up late eight days after arriving back in New York and just lay in bed for several minutes, enjoying the feel of my own pillow beneath my head and the warmth of my blankets. They were a luxury I'd seriously underappreciated a few months ago.
I dragged myself out of bed with some reluctance and had a shower. I'd completely disconnected the wires in my left arm a few days ago when a previous shower had caused it to spark disconcertingly.
Shaving was rather more difficult with one hand. When I finally set the electric razor down and looked at myself in the mirror, my gaze went first to my hair. While I resented the fact that it had been cut without my consent, I had to admit that Rogan's man had known what he was doing. It was going to take some getting used to after so many years of shoulder-length stuff, but I'd decided the style could stay.
I looked further down my reflection, and the red star on my bionic shoulder drew my attention. It seemed like a lifetime ago that I'd tried to remove it.
Now seemed like as good a time as any to finish the job.
I dressed and descended the stairs to the lab. Once again, JARVIS turned on the lights as I walked in.
"Good morning, James," he said as I moved across to the chemicals shelf. "Mr. Stark was here late last night and he told me to inform you that there is a package on the lab bench for you."
Stark had arrived from Berlin a few days back, but between visits to Clint in hospital and catching up on sleep, I hadn't seen him yet. I moved across to the slim rectangular case on the bench and found a handwritten note stuck to the top.
I owe you this. – T.S.
I opened the case and looked down at the perfectly formed cybernetic arm lying inside. It was jet black, with lines of silver woven between the interlocking plates – beautiful in a subtle way, and far more finely crafted than anything HYDRA had made me.
I smiled as I saw the symbol etched into the shoulder: A silver Avengers 'A'.
"Shall I help you attach it now, sir?" JARVIS asked.
I looked at my dead arm with its red star, symbol of everything I'd once been. Then I looked again at the small 'A', the symbol of everything I now was and always hoped to be. I was still going to have a metal arm, and I was still a super-soldier trained as an assassin with a lot of pain and a lot of death behind me.
In short, I was still the Winter Soldier.
But I was also a guy who just wanted to do the right thing and protect the people I loved.
And that made all the difference.
"Why not?" I said.
