D.C. Hospital…
"I know who killed Fury."
Those five words made Steve pause. When he saw the row of gum in the hospital vending machine gone, he'd momentarily gone into a panic. Without the USB drive Fury gave him before his death, there wouldn't be a chance of finding out just what the hell was going on. Romanoff's sudden appearance, blowing bubbles, had withered what remained of his patience as he dragged her into an empty room. The S.T.R.I.K.E. teams, men he'd faced danger with countless times –men he trusted and depended on– had attacked him. Along with an unknown number of S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives.
The worst part was, he had no idea why. Did Ellen know anything? And if she did, would that make her a target, too?
Romanoff's admission caused him to loosen his grip on her arms. Her breathing slowed, and she explained, "Most of the intelligence community doesn't believe he exists. The ones that do call him the Winter Soldier. He's credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last 50 years."
"So he's a ghost story," Steve said, remembering the unnatural speed and focus of the man he'd chased last night. That, and the metal arm.
"Five years ago, I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran. Somebody shot out my tires near Odessa. We lost control, went straight over a cliff. I pulled us out. But the Winter Soldier was there. I was covering my engineer so he shot him straight through me." She lifted her jacket and shirt, showing the healed, but angry bullet scar on her stomach. "Soviet slug. No rifling." With an arched eyebrow, she added, "Bye-bye, bikinis."
Steve stared at her, not in the mood for jokes. "Yeah, I bet you look terrible in them now."
"And then there's another wrinkle."
"Another suspect?"
She nodded. Taking out a tablet from inside her jacket, she pulled up a video file. "Searched the surveillance feeds around your apartment after Fury died. Found this." She tapped the screen. On a grainy black and white screen, Steve recognized one of the streets adjacent to his building.
The Winter Soldier appeared at the edge of the roof, caught his shield, then threw it back. He leaped off the roof, using his metal arm to slide down the building, then ran over to a motorcycle parked at the curb. Sitting on it was a woman with long hair and dressed in some sort of catsuit just like Romanoff wore. The Winter Soldier sat behind her, and the two raced off down the street.
Romanoff rewound, paused, and zoomed in on the stranger's face. "Who's the woman?" Steve asked.
"Ophelia Sarkissian, Hungarian national," she replied. "Orphaned at six, she went on to become an international assassin for hire. Goes by Viper, since she coats all her weapons in snake venom and other poisons."
"You and this Viper have any run-ins?"
Romanoff nodded. "A few over the years. She's good, almost as good as me. Intel's attributed fifteen political assassinations to her name, along with numerous bombings and other terrorist acts. Never been seen with the Winter Soldier before now. So far the only thing they have in common is they both vanish after making their kills. When either of them show up, people die."
"So she either planned the hit on Fury, or she's just an accomplice," Steve surmised.
"Going after them is a dead end. I know, I've tried." She held up the USB drive. "Like you said, a ghost story."
He took the drive, then sighed. "Well, let's find out what the ghost wants."
Ellen got into the passenger seat of the black SUV, while Rumlow and Jack Rollins sat in the back. "Let's get going," she spoke into her radio. They drove out of the Triskelion garage, three other SUVs behind them with the rest of the S.T.R.I.K.E. unit. Rumlow opened a laptop connected to every available satellite feed of the D.C. area.
As they passed the exit gate, the laptop pinged.
"Got 'em," he said. "They've plugged in the drive."
"Where are they?" she asked.
"Apple store."
Ellen nodded to the driver, who turned at the nearest intersection. Her phone vibrated in her pocket, and she saw a text from her father. Reading it gave her a small smile. "Looks like the Council voted to push through Project Insight." They were almost across the finish line.
New Jersey…
"Where did Captain America learn how to steal a car?" Romanoff asked, feet propped on the dash. Despite the life-or-death situation they both found themselves in, she seemed to thrive on it. The danger, the cloak-and-dagger. Steve knew precious little of her past, but somehow it had prepared her for this. Shaped her for it.
"Nazi Germany," he replied, keeping his eyes on the road. The drive had led them to a set of coordinates, ones that were quite familiar.
"Mm."
He glanced at her feet. "And we're borrowing. Take your feet off the dash."
She gave him a slightly exasperated look, complying. After a moment, she said, "Alright, I have a question for you. Which you do not have to answer. I feel like, if you don't answer it though, you're kind of answering it, you know?"
"What?" he asked.
"Was that your first kiss since 1945?"
He fell silent, words forming and falling apart in his mind. Their kiss on the mall escalator to avoid notice from Rumlow and the other agents hunting them still felt fresh. The memory also brought a pang of guilt, as he remembered another time not so long ago. Music, a dance floor, and a beautiful face framed by blonde locks with deep blue eyes. Finally, he said, "It was not my first kiss since 1945. I'm 95, I'm not dead."
Romanoff looked at him, a playful smirk tugging the corner of her lip. "Someone special?" she teased.
"I…" he started to say. Why was this so hard? "It's complicated."
"Well, if it's any consolation, Pierce feels the same way."
Steve looked at her, shocked, then turned his eyes back to the road. She chuckled.
"Hey, it's not like it's a state secret or anything. She had it bad for you from the start. Plus, I've seen all those looks you gave each other the last few months. The smiles you both try to hide."
Steve remembered the last time he saw Peggy in the care home. The woman who'd fought by his side through the war, the woman he'd grown to love. Finding out she still lived, after all this time, gave him an anchor against the storm of the new century he'd woken up in. The other one was Ellen.
"I have lived a life. My only regret is that you didn't get to live yours." He'd told her about Ellen, how close they became during their time together on missions or afterwards. What he remembered most about that conversation was Peggy, smiling, telling him to move on. "You deserve to be happy, Steve. After everything that's happened, you deserve to love someone who loves you back."
He stared out at the road, watching cars drive past on the other side. "That obvious, huh?"
"I'm not judging. If anything, I'm happy for you."
He tapped his finger on the wheel. "I just hope she's okay."
Romanoff's expression sobered. "Whatever's going on with S.H.I.E.L.D., I'm sure we'll figure it out. And Pierce is a survivor. She'll be fine."
"So far, she's the only one who's told me the truth since I met her."
Romanoff shrugged. "The truth is a matter of circumstance. It's not all things to all people, all the time. Neither am I."
He looked at her. "That's a tough way to live."
"It's a good way not to die, though."
"You know, it's kind of hard to trust someone when you don't know who that someone really is," he pointed out.
"Yeah. Who do you want me to be?"
"How about a friend?"
She snorted. "Well, there's a chance you might be in the wrong business, Rogers."
Ellen sat in the security office, going over footage. She'd stopped at a particular frame of the escalator, while Rumlow and his people searched the mall. She and the others had combed the parking garage. On the screen, she saw Steve and Romanoff, dressed in casual civilian clothes.
Kissing.
Ellen tapped a key on the keyboard, zooming in a bit. The image remained the same, just a bit grainier. She tapped again, zoomed in. Still the same. Again. Still the same. She tapped three more times, zooming in the maximum amount. This close, the pixels distorted the image, but nevertheless it remained crystal clear in her mind. She shook her head, silently fuming in the chair.
'I am going to cut that bitch's throat open.'
She zoomed out, then stood up. Rumlow, Jack Rollins, and the other S.T.R.I.K.E. agents all stood in the hallway behind her, lined up like school children brought before the principal after getting caught making mischief. "Explain to me," she said in a calm tone that belied just how furious she felt, "how you lot, our most elite operatives, manage to let one of the most recognizable men in history slip past you. When his disguise is nothing but a goddamned ballcap."
Perkins, Michelsen, and the rest of Team 2 had the decency to look guilty as they avoided her gaze. They'd worked with her the most out of the whole unit. In contrast, Rumlow and the rest didn't bother masking their glares. A lot of men felt defensive when being scolded by a woman much smaller than them, especially thugs like these.
"Look," Rumlow said, agitated, "the mall was crowded. We didn't have enough people on-site to cordon off the building."
Ellen gestured to the monitors. The zoomed out image showed Rumlow on the up escalator, while Steve and Natasha –the image of their kiss continuing to enflame her rage– were on the down escalator. "They were right there in front of you! You were looking right at them, you idiot!"
"Hey, don't start giving me grief, Princess. It's not like I–"
She slapped him hard across the cheek. The sound rang out in the hall, and everyone else froze. Rumlow glared down at her. Jaw set. Nostrils flared. Ellen took a half step forward, staring into his eyes with an expression forged from steel. "Don't. Test. Me," she said in a low tone. His eyes flicked down to her hand, which had started to draw a dagger hidden in her sleeve.
For a long moment, they stood in place, each silently daring the other to make the first move. The other S.T.R.I.K.E. agents nervously stared at them, but Ellen never took her eyes off Rumlow. The man who'd helped shape her into Madame Hydra, the man who had devoted nearly every moment of his life to insult, tease, and annoy her. Would this finally be the end of the twisted story they started all those years ago?
Her phone started ringing in her pocket, shattering the coiled tension snaking through the air. Ellen pushed her dagger back into her sleeve, then stepped to the side as she answered the call. Rumlow eased his stance, though he didn't stop glaring.
"It's me," her father said.
"We had a trace on the drive, but they slipped past us at the mall. We don't know where they're going."
"Fortunately, I do."
She blinked in surprise. "Where?"
"Camp Lehigh," he replied.
"Why would…" she started to say, then paused as the pieces fit together in her mind. "Zola."
"Looks like they traced the code stored on the drive to his servers. He just sent us an alert. They're in the bunker right now. I'm authorizing a missile strike on the camp."
Ellen froze.
"We need to be sure on this one, sweetheart," he said. "We'll need confirmation of target elimination after the strike."
Clearing her throat, she nodded. "Okay. I'll send the team."
"Keep me apprised."
"I will. Love you."
"Love you, too." With that, the call ended, and she shoved the phone into her pocket. To the others, she said, "We got a lock on their location. Camp Lehigh. Zola's keeping them occupied, and my dad just called in a missile strike. Rumlow, take the unit there ASAP and confirm whether the targets have been killed or if they managed to survive."
"You're not coming with?" he asked.
She shook her head. "You lot have already proven you can't handle a threat like this. If Captain America and the Widow do get away, I'd better handle this personally. Now get going; I'll call in a pair of Quinjets to provide overwatch when you reach the camp."
He growled in annoyance, but nonetheless said, "You heard the lady. S.T.R.I.K.E., move out."
Ellen watched them leave, balling her hands into fists over and over.
Camp Lehigh, New Jersey…
"Accessing archive," the high-pitched, simulated voice said.
Steve stared at the computer abomination, feeling sick to his stomach. Arnim Zola, his brain maintained by all these databanks. Not only that, but he'd revealed the worst possible news. HYDRA, thought destroyed in the war, had survived. Survived and thrived into the modern era. All his battles, all his sacrifices, all the friends he'd lost along the way. All of it seemed pointless, now.
On one of the ancient screens, Steve saw the image of Johann Schmidt, legions of soldiers and the Nazi flag behind him. Video footage played after that, some of it of him and the Howling Commandos fighting across Europe. "HYDRA was founded on the belief that humanity could not be trusted with its own freedom. What we did not realize was that if you try to take that freedom, they resist. The war taught us much. Humanity needed to surrender its freedom willingly. After the war, S.H.I.E.L.D. was founded, and I was recruited. The new HYDRA grew, a beautiful parasite inside S.H.I.E.L.D."
An image appeared of Arnim Zola standing with other German scientists. The crimson HYDRA logo became superimposed over his face.
"For 70 years, HYDRA has been secretly feeding crisis, reaping war, and when history did not cooperate, history was changed." A metal arm with a red star appeared, then an old, grainy photo of a figure taking aim with a sniper rifle from a metal walkway.
"That's impossible," Romanoff said, breathless. "S.H.I.E.L.D. would have stopped you."
"Accidents will happen," Zola countered coldly.
A new image appeared, one that froze Steve's blood in his veins. Howard, his old friend, the man who helped make him Captain America, on a news headline. 'Howard and Maria Stark Die in Car Accident'. A black redacted mark covered Howard's eyes, and Steve let out a shuddering, agonized breath. Everything he'd ever fought for, everything he'd stood for, all for nothing.
An image of Fury from his official file came up next, the word DECEASED stamped over it. Then came a pair of images. On the left was a woman dressed in a trench coat on a sidewalk, phone pressed to her ear. Steve recognized her as Ophelia Sarkissian, the assassin in league with the Winter Soldier. Next to that was a newspaper headline, written in some variation of Hungarian. A balding man in a suit, the name 'Dominik Lazar' written below the picture. The HYDRA logo superimposed over his face.
Romanoff let out a small gasp when she saw the two paired images.
"HYDRA created a world so chaotic that humanity is finally ready to sacrifice its freedom to gain its security." Video clips, much more modern, showed state of the art satellites in low orbit, then red dots growing across a world map, then the three Helicarriers of Project Insight lifting off in a simulation. "Once the purification process is complete, HYDRA's new world order will arise. We won, Captain. Your death amounts to the same as your life. A zero sum."
Steve, his rage bubbling over inside of him, finally had enough. With a grunt, he punched the main screen, which cracked as the unnerving green outline of Zola's face disappeared. His hand ached from the strike, but he barely registered the pain.
The face reappeared on another screen. "As I was saying," Zola continued, resembling a cockroach that just wouldn't die.
"What's on this drive?" Steve demanded, gesturing to the object which started all this madness.
"Project Insight requires insight," Zola explained. "So I wrote an algorithm."
Romanoff stepped towards the screen, her face tight with anger and confusion. "What kind of algorithm? What does it do?"
"The answer to your question is fascinating. Unfortunately, you will be too dead to hear it." Just then, the doors leading to the elevator started closing. Steve hurled his shield, but it bounced off the doors the second they sealed shut.
Romanoff's phone beeped. Her expression dropped when she looked at it. "Steve, we got a bogey. Short-range ballistic. Thirty seconds tops."
"Who fired it?" he asked, though he already knew.
"S.H.I.E.L.D."
"I am afraid I have been stalling, Captain," Zola admitted. As Steve and Romanoff madly scrambled to collect the drive and find a safe spot, he said, "Admit it. It's better this way. We are, both of us, out of time."
The pair jumped down into the open grate as the missile struck, and their world became consumed in fire.
Rumlow waded through the smoking rubble, the rest of the STRIKE unit spread out with their flashlights shining in the night. The two Quinjets hovered overhead, spotlights combing the rest of the camp.
There, he saw it. A footprint, fresh. It led away from the bunker. Turning on his mic, he said, "Call in the asset."
Alexander Pierce's Residence…
Dressed in a comfortable pair of sweatpants and a light hoodie, Alexander Pierce strode into his kitchen for a late-night snack. Taking a carton of milk out of the fridge, he stopped when he noticed the shrouded figure sitting at the table. Even in such darkness, the man's metal arm glinted.
Pierce stared at him, closing the fridge. "I'm going to go, Mr. Pierce," his housekeeper called from the front hallway. "You need anything before I leave?"
"No…Uh, it's fine, Renata, you can go home."
"Okay. Night-night."
"Good night." Pierce waited until he heard the door close, then asked to the Soldier, "Want some milk?" Of course, the assassin said nothing, so he got himself a glass and started pouring. "The timetable has moved," he said. "Our window is limited. Two targets, Level Six." He sat down across from the Soldier. "They already cost me Zola. I want confirmed death in ten hours. You'll be working under Madame Hydra, my top agent. You've worked with her before."
"Sorry, Mr. Pierce, I…" a voice cut into the silence. Pierce whirled around to see his housekeeper standing there. "I forgot my…phone…" she said, her voice trailing off as she laid eyes on the Soldier.
Pierce sighed. "Oh, Renata, I wish you would've knocked." He held out a hand, and the Soldier gave him one of his handguns. Pierce shot her in the abdomen twice, and she dropped to the floor.
"Clean this up," he told the Soldier. "Then report to the Waystation."
January 11th; D.C. Causeway…
The situation was evolving rapidly.
Steve and Romanoff had survived the missile strike, just as Ellen thought they might. Zola's databanks had all been destroyed, which meant he'd suffered a second, final death. While she didn't mourn the string of code, she did remember how he, her father, and Rumlow had brought her into HYDRA 12 years ago. In a way, that was the beginning of her story. But to create a better future, she had to shed the past.
Rumlow had called in the Winter Soldier, who'd gotten his orders personally from her father. After that, she'd met the assassin at the Waystation, equipping her green catsuit and Photostatic Veil with black wig to mask her appearance. In addition to arming themselves with impressive arsenals, Ellen had called in a hit squad of former Spetsnaz commandos to provide assistance. They only needed coordinates, and they could finish the whole mess.
This was the mission.
The call came shortly after from the Triskelion. Apparently, Agent Sitwell had never returned from his lunch with Senator Stern. Ellen threw up in her mouth a little at the mention of that pig's name. Sitwell had likely been abducted for interrogation. Facial recognition from around the area found a match, a man spotted near the restaurant. Sam Wilson, formerly of the US Air Force's experimental wingsuit task force. On a hunch, Ellen told the analysts to keep tabs on Wilson and any activity related to him or his service.
An hour later, a break-in was reported at Fort Meade, where the last remaining wingsuit happened to be the only item stolen. Ellen could think of one reason why a retired soldier would risk arrest like that. Steve tended to inspire that kind of boldness and loyalty in others. Besides, Wilson didn't have the skillset to infiltrate a military installation without getting caught. Not on his own. Once Wilson's car had been spotted on a street cam, the analysts had fed the location to Ellen. With the Winter Soldier sitting behind her on her motorcycle and the hit squad in an armoured transport, they departed the Waystation.
Now, Ellen found herself on a busy D.C. freeway. Weaving through traffic, she spotted Wilson's car up ahead. When she'd reported Sitwell's abduction to her father, he gave the order to have the agent eliminated. By now, he might have given up information on Project Insight, making himself a threat to the organization. Ellen wanted to protest, but ultimately agreed. The project launched in just under 16 hours.
This was the mission.
They closed in on the car. Ellen could see Sitwell in the back, sitting next to Romanoff, while Wilson drove and Steve sat in the passenger seat. As much as she wanted to murder the redhead, she also remembered her orders. Glancing at the Soldier, she said, "Snachala ustranite Sitwell. Potom ostal'nyye." ["Eliminate Sitwell first. Then the others."]
He nodded.
She moved in close, her front tire nearly touching the car's bumper. The Soldier leaped onto the roof of the car, and she veered off. He smashed his metal arm through the rear driver's side window, grabbed Sitwell, and hurled him across the freeway to the other side where a truck collided with him at high speed. One leak down. Three to go. The Soldier drew a pistol and shot at each of the remaining targets. At the last second, Romanoff moved out of the way, then pushed and kicked Steve and Wilson out of the way.
Ellen moved in close, keeping one hand to control her motorcycle while drawing a machine pistol with the other. Taking aim at Romanoff, she let loose a brief spray of bullets. Steve, noticing her, hastily moved his shield up to block. She saw him grimace as a bullet grazed his arm. The car veered to the right, threatening to crush her against the concrete divide. She sped up just in time to avoid getting hit.
The car came to a sudden, violent stop, accompanied by the sound of screeching tires. The Soldier was sent flying, tumbling down the road. He righted himself, using the fingers of his metal arm to slow his momentum. They carved lines into the asphalt, while the metal itself remained untarnished. Ellen stopped her motorcycle, then got off and stood beside the Soldier.
The two of them stood there, staring at Steve and his friends with cold precision and deadly focus. Tapping her earpiece, Ellen contacted the hit squad in the armoured jeep. "Ram them."
The jeep came flying down the freeway, smashing into the car and crumpling its rear bumper like cardboard. Wilson tried to apply the brakes, but that only created smoke. Too much weight being applied to force them forward. Ellen and the Soldier ran, leaping onto the car's roof.
Ellen flipped down onto the passenger side, holding onto the door for balance as she stuck her machine pistol through the open window at Romanoff's head. Her finger squeezed the trigger at the same instant the other woman grabbed her arm and aimed it at the windshield, away from her face. The pistol sprayed bullets into the glass, shattering and perforating it. Steve grabbed it and crushed it in one hand, rendering it useless. That gave Romanoff the opening to elbow Ellen in the face. She grunted, ducked to avoid the next strike, then managed to land a few punches to the Widow's pretty face.
Realizing they needed to put their opponents on the backfoot, she called out to the Soldier, "Vyvesti iz stroya ikh avtomobil!" ["Disable their vehicle!"]
Without a word, the Soldier punched his metal arm through the car's roof and ripped out the steering wheel. "Shit!" she heard Wilson cry out.
Ellen pulled herself back onto the roof just as Romanoff retrieved a pistol. She and the Soldier leaped onto the jeep's hood as bullets were fired after them. Up ahead, the car wobbled in its course, now absent driver control. They just needed a little push. Pounding on the jeep's windshield, she looked at the driver and jerked her thumb at the car. The driver nodded, accelerating and ramming into the car once more.
That proved to be the tipping point, as it veered left, then right, smashing into the concrete divide as they came to a narrower causeway. After another impact, the car tumbled into the air. The passenger door tore free with Steve, Romanoff, and Wilson slumped against it, braced by the shield. They landed on the ground the same instant the car did, rolling and crumpling into a wreck.
The jeep drove past, coming to a hard stop. Ellen and the Soldier hopped down as the hit squad exited. She held out her hand, and one of the squad handed her a rifle while the Soldier was handed a grenade launcher.
He took aim at Steve and fired. Steve shoved Romanoff out of the way, holding his shield up. The impact sent him hurling down to the street below. Ellen's heart lurched in her chest, and she heard a bus horn a split second before something crashed. She and the rest of the hit squad started shooting at Romanoff and Wilson, who dove for cover behind stopped cars. Romanoff tried to shoot back with her pistol, but the Soldier fired another grenade.
She leaped over the concrete divide at the last second, avoiding the explosion. Then she rolled out of the way of a speeding car. Ellen tracked her movement, squeezing the trigger of her rifle and trying to squash the elusive Widow. The other woman took cover behind a car, which the Soldier destroyed with a grenade. It, and Romanoff, were thrown off the edge of the causeway to the road below.
Ellen decided to focus on the immediate problem of Wilson as the Soldier switched his grenade launcher for a rifle of his own. She saw a hint of Wilson's green shirt and shot at it, but only hit a car engine. Peering down the lane, she stepped to the left in search of her quarry. Something clattered beside her, and she turned to see a hubcap spinning before it bumped into a piece of concrete.
A large weight slammed into her from behind, driving her into the side of a four by four that had flipped over. Wilson had managed to get behind her. Not bad. Gritting her teeth, she pressed one leg against the four by four and pushed with all her might, shoving her opponent into another wrecked car. He grunted, then landed a savage punch to her mid-back. Ellen grimaced as the blow sent a spike of agony through her gut. Driving her elbow into his side, she jerked her head back into his face. Enough for him to loosen his grip. Twisting around, she wrapped her legs around his chest and contorted herself until she sat on his shoulders.
Extending the whip from her right gauntlet, she wrapped it around Wilson's neck and squeezed as hard as she could. He struggled, clawing at her arms and trying to dislodge her any way he could. He slammed her into a wreck once, twice, three times. He reached up and drove his fist into her side. Ellen grunted, at a disadvantage for strength against a former soldier. But after several seconds, Wilson's reactions slowed, and he finally went limp. He collapsed onto the ground, and Ellen, panting, left him there.
She rejoined the others just as the Soldier hopped over the edge of the causeway, smashing a car roof before sauntering down the street. "Vniz," ["Down"] she ordered. Four of the hit squad drew picks at the end of cables attached to their belts. They stabbed the picks into vehicles behind them, then rappelled down to the street while the fifth remained to provide overwatch.
Ellen decided to take her own way down. Taking notice of a street light nearby, she leaped off the causeway and threw her whip. It wrapped around the light, going taut as she swung down and landed with perfect grace.
The hit squad, one of whom held a portable chaingun, started shooting into a rolled-over bus where Steve must have been. Ellen retracted the whip into her gauntlet, watching the bus get torn apart as sparks flew. The rear windshield shattered as Steve came barreling out. He grabbed his shield on the ground and held it up just in time to block the next volley of bullets. Ellen felt her jaw clench tight, unable to draw a weapon. She couldn't do it.
No. This was the mission.
Drawing a machine pistol from her thigh holster, she ran around to Steve's side and aimed at his head. The crack of a rifle tore through the air as one of the hit squad collapsed, blood leaking from a hole in his chest. She looked up and stared in amazement as she noticed Wilson with one of her men's weapons in hand. The stubborn bastard had overcome strangulation, and now opened another front.
Ellen aimed at him with her machine pistol and shot a burst of bullets. He ducked, then returned fire, forcing her to hide behind an overturned SUV. Steve, meanwhile, was angling his shield to redirect the bullets shot by the hit squad back at them. Within moments, only the man with the chaingun remained standing, and he got his head smashed through a car window for his trouble.
Ellen traded fire with Wilson, ducking in and out of cover, and she heard him call out, "Go! I got this!"
Steve ran off.
Even by restricting herself to short, contained bursts, she soon ran out of ammo. Tossing the pistol aside with a hiss, she peered around the back of the SUV. The hit squad and their weapons were still directly below the causeway. The only trouble was the open ground between her and them, which would give Wilson more than enough opportunity to gun her down. Fortunately, she had other options.
Extending the whip from her gauntlet, she threw it at the nearest weapon, a high-powered assault rifle. The whip managed to wrap around the weapon's shoulder stock, and Ellen smirked. She yanked her arm back, pulling it towards her so it landed by her feet. Checking the magazine, she stood up and aimed at Wilson. Years worth of marksman training came flooding into her conscious mind. Bottles, metal targets, even a few robotic drones. She'd devoted a significant portion of her life to becoming a master marksman. While men like Ward or the Soldier were artisans at long range, she still had some of the finest skills on the planet.
Exhaling, she fired a single shot into Wilson's right hand. He cried out in pain, dropping his weapon. Ellen smirked, giving him a mock salute before running down the street towards Steve, Romanoff, and the Soldier.
Something exploded in the distance, and she followed the resulting sounds of screaming and glass breaking.
Through the maze of cars, debris, and fleeing civilians, she spotted Romanoff charging down the street while waving people away from the battle. Hopping up onto the roof of a station wagon, Ellen took aim with her rifle. One eye on the scope, she tracked the redhead with the focus of hawk. Exhaling, she squeezed the trigger. Crack! The glass window of a Sedan shattered as the bullet caught Romanoff square in the shoulder, and she fell to her knees with an agonized expression.
Tapping her earpiece, she said, "Soldat, ubey etu suku." ["Soldier, kill that bitch."]
The Soldier came around the Sedan's rear, preparing to take the killing shot. Like a cannonball, Steve came bolting at him from behind. The Soldier turned to face him and launched a devastating punch with his metal arm. It connected with the shield full-force, creating a resounding clang that vibrated Ellen's teeth and shook the nearby street lights.
The two men engaged each other, and she tossed the rifle aside. If you want something done right, do it yourself. Hopping down to the ground, she sprinted towards Romanoff, who stood with a grimace. Ellen slid across the Sedan's hood and landed a kick to the other woman's chest, knocking her back. Drawing a pair of venom-coated knives from her belt, she twirled them in her hands then lunged.
Romanoff ducked under a knife slash, twisting low and striking out with one foot. Ellen caught the kick in her stomach, causing her to stumble back a few steps. She growled, launching forward in a spinning, diagonal kick that struck Romanoff in the face. The redhead grunted as blood dripped from her broken nose. Ellen lashed out with a stab aimed at her throat. Romanoff caught the arm and twisted it hard. Ellen hissed, then aimed a stab at her chest. The redhead caught her by the wrist. It became a test of strength as they struggled against each other.
Unfortunately for the infamous Widow, the bullet she'd taken to the shoulder and the earlier fighting had weakened her. Slowly but surely, the tip of the knife inched closer to her sternum.
From nearby came scattered gunshots and the mechanical whirring of the Soldier's arm.
Romanoff wrapped one foot around Ellen's, kicking her feet out from under her. They tumbled back, and she snatched one of the knives from Ellen's hands as she rolled forward and out of the way.
Ellen rolled backwards onto her feet, drew her last pistol from the other thigh holster, and whirled around to shoot at Romanoff. The redhead hid behind the other side of the Sedan, so she ran around the front in pursuit. Ellen saw nothing, and crept forward with her pistol raised. She flipped the knife in her left hand so the blade hid behind her wrist, ready to slash or throw it as needed.
Her stolen knife came flying at her from the right, knocking the pistol out of her hand. Ellen hissed as the blade nicked her fingers. Romanoff stood on the other side of the Sedan, probably having slid underneath to get the drop on her. The more immediate concern was the Inland Taipan venom that had just entered her bloodstream.
It just so happened to be the deadliest snake venom in the world.
She reached into one of her belt pouches and took out a syringe filled with anti-venom. Removing the cap with her teeth, she jammed the needle into her right arm. Even though most of the venom would be neutralized, the fingers of her right hand had already gone numb, since one of the principal effects was muscle paralysis.
In the intervening seconds, Romanoff had leaped over the hood of the Sedan and wrapped both legs around her torso. The redhead corkscrewed and used the momentum to throw her to the ground. Ellen retaliated by leaning back and kicking with both legs. Romanoff blocked the attack with her arms, but it gave Ellen enough of an opening to stand up. She charged forward, and they traded blows with each other like grandmaster chess players trading moves on a board. Both of them were the best, two opposing forces of equal ferocity and capability.
Ellen blocked a punch, then drove her fist into Romanoff's bloody bullet wound. The redhead grunted, and she hit the wound again, eliciting another agonized cry. Then, Romanoff shoved her back before drop-kicking her, creating distance between the two of them. Ellen responded by extending the whip from her right gauntlet. She activated the electricity, letting it crackle and spark an angry shade of bluish-white.
Romanoff's eyes widened in shock at the sight, no doubt remembering the technology from Ivan Vanko's rampage at the Stark Expo four years prior. Ellen cocked her arm back, then cracked the whip at her opponent, who sidestepped at the last second. The whip let out a spine-tingling snap-hiss, scoring the asphalt with a long black line. A few hundred feet away, she could see Steve and the Soldier locked in a high-speed death match.
Ellen crouched and threw the whip from a different angle. This time, it wrapped around Romanoff's left arm as she brough it up to block. Ellen smiled, then cranked up the electricity. Romanoff screamed as it arced over her arm, causing the jacket sleeve to blacken and smoke.
Ahead, Steve caught the Soldier in an iron grip then threw him. The Soldier landed hard, his black half-mask falling off his face. He stood, turning to glare at Steve.
For the first time she could remember, Ellen saw the Soldier's face, without any goggles or masks. He was handsome, with a square-cut jaw, five o'clock shadow, and piercing blue eyes. His expression was machine cold, brow furrowed with intense concentration. Something about him seemed terribly familiar, though Ellen couldn't place it.
A moment later, Steve solved her conundrum by asking, breathless, "Bucky?"
Then it clicked. Bucky Barnes, otherwise known as second-in-command of the Howling Commandos and Captain America's childhood friend. But…he'd died in World War II. How the hell was he still alive? And how had he been the Winter Soldier this entire time without her knowing?
Her moment of distraction cost her. Romanoff, fighting through her immense agony, reached into her jacket for a small metal disc. She threw it at Ellen's chest. Sticking in place, it delivered a localized, massive electric shock. Every muscle in Ellen's body spasmed, and as she lost control of the whip, the electric current ceased. She collapsed onto the ground, writhing as she tried –and failed– to regain control of her body.
Romanoff, having disentangled the whip from her scorched arm, ran over and delivered a savage kick to Ellen's face. Then she ran off.
Gritting her teeth so hard she feared some might crack, Ellen forced her left arm to reach up. Fumbling over the disc with her fingers, she took hold of the damned thing and pried it loose. At once, the shocks ended, and she let out a pained breath. Her body felt like old Jello, loose and useless. She tasted blood. Touching a finger to her lip, she felt the split from Romanoff's kick. Her jaw started to ache as well, though nothing felt broken.
Craning her neck, she saw Wilson flying down to the street on gunmetal grey wings extending from a backpack. He kicked the Soldier –actually Bucky Barnes– in the back, knocking him aside. Wilson landed, one sleeve of his shirt missing. Ellen spotted the cloth wrapped around the hand she'd shot earlier.
The Soldier looked back at Steve, raising his pistol to fire. From further down the street, Romanoff fired a grenade from the launcher she'd grabbed. The truck beside the Soldier exploded, and he disappeared in the flames and smoke.
As Ellen gingerly rose to her feet, retracting the whip into her gauntlet, she heard numerous sirens approaching. 'Finally,' she thought as half a dozen black S.H.I.E.L.D. SUVs, an armoured transport, and nearly a dozen motorcycles surrounded the battle zone. She saw Rumlow and the rest of the S.T.R.I.K.E. unit exit the vehicles, weapons aimed at Steve and his friends as they shouted orders to get on their knees.
Steve, for his part, offered no resistance. He stared blankly at the ground, reeling from the revelation about his friend's miraculous survival. Ellen could barely comprehend it herself. Above the questions of Barnes' survival and youthful appearance after 70 years, she wondered:
'Why wasn't I told?'
The whirring of helicopter rotors broke her concentration, and she looked up to see a news chopper overhead. Rumlow had put Steve in heavy duty magnetic restraints, while Jack Rollins pointed the muzzle of his M4 at the back of his head.
Tapping into the unit's radio frequency, she said in her simulated Slavic accent, "Stand down, dammit! There's too many eyes here."
Rumlow saw the chopper, then talked Rollins down.
"Get them in the transport, then take us somewhere quiet."
"Copy that."
Once Steve, Romanoff, and Wilson were properly restrained, they were loaded into the back of the armoured transport. Everyone got back in their vehicles and drove off. The transport stopped in front of Ellen, and the passenger door opened. She climbed in and closed the door as they got underway.
The adrenaline and chaos of the battle began wearing off, and she realized just how sore and tired she felt. Ellen groaned, resting her head back and closing her eyes. The fingers of her right hand tingled in the aftermath of her own venom, so she clenched that hand into a fist.
"I like you better as a blonde," Rumlow said from the driver's seat.
"No one asked you, asshole," she bit back, in no mood for his smartass comments. After a few minutes, she asked, "Did we lose that chopper?"
"Yeah. I had the convoy disperse in three different groups to throw off the scent. Looks like it worked. Now we just gotta find a nice, quiet alley to bury the bodies."
Ellen's eyes shot open, and she looked over at him. "Wilson and Romanoff, sure. But not Rogers."
He compressed his lips. "Yes, Rogers. This comes from the top."
"As far as you're concerned, Rumlow, I am the top. We aren't going to kill Captain America, not when we can recruit him to the cause."
"You just want to keep your boyfriend around," he said, scoffing.
"I don't like repeating myself. We aren't going to–"
"Forget it. Your old man gave me specific orders. Those three gotta die, no exceptions."
Ellen stared out the tinted window, tapping her left index finger and thumb together. Steve just needed to hear the truth. From her and no one else. Once he did, he'd come around to their way of thinking. She knew he would. She hoped he would. Thinking of him brought to mind his petrified, confused expression in the aftermath of the battle.
Regarding Rumlow, she asked, "Why wasn't I told?"
"Told what?"
"Don't bullshit me! Why wasn't I told the Winter Soldier was really Bucky Barnes this whole time?"
He gave her a mocking smirk. "You know the old line, don't you? 'Need to know situation, and you don't need to know'."
Ellen narrowed her eyes. "I am second-in-command of the most powerful man on the planet. My security clearance and privileges are the highest known to mankind. Why. Wasn't. I. Told?"
"Look, I just work here. I don't make policy. You want answers? Ask your old man."
She returned to staring out the window. Her father wouldn't keep secrets from her. Not after he'd inducted her into HYDRA and made her his right hand. They told each other everything, every little secret. She'd been by his side for years, working tirelessly to make the organization's goals come to pass. The thought that he had secrets he kept from her, especially of this magnitude…
It disturbed her.
After 12 more minutes of driving, they entered an industrial area. The five SUVs of their group followed them through a tunnel into a grass-covered factory yard. After shutting off their engine, Ellen and Rumlow exited the transport while the others stepped out of their vehicles. "Three holes, start digging," Rumlow ordered.
"Look, for the last time, we are not executing Captain America, so I am ordering you–"
"Not this time, Princess!" he cut her off. "I've already got my orders."
They gathered by the rear of the armoured transport, everyone raising their weapons apart from Ellen. Steve wouldn't recognize her in her disguise, so at least she could control when and how she told him the truth. She braced herself as they opened the doors…
And found the rear empty.
They stood there, staring, at the spots their prisoners should have been. Instead, they found one of the two agents guarding them unconscious on the floor. The magnetic restraints were unlocked on the benches, and the edges of a roughly hewn hole in the floor glowed and simmered. The same type of hole Fury used to escape them in yesterday's ambush.
The others lowered their weapons. Ellen looked at the ground and shook her head, unable to help the chuckle that escaped her lips. She turned and strode back towards the front of the transport.
"Let me guess," Rumlow said. "You want me to give your old man the bad news?"
"What do you think?" she called, climbing back inside and closing her eyes.
Ideal Federal Savings Bank…
Ellen paced outside the underground bank vault, questions and doubts flying around her mind like shrapnel. Team 1 stood inside the vault, guarding the Soldier. Though it felt to her as if they were watching a dangerous animal that could snap at any moment. As long as she'd known him –from the first time they met in that abandoned mining town– the Soldier had always been focused. Committed. Lethal. But never unhinged or dangerous.
She combed through every memory of him, every mission they ever ran together. Searching for any moment that hinted his true identity. Ellen happened to look through the open door into the vault. The Soldiers' techs and handlers had always insisted on privacy for their work, but now she got a clear picture. The Soldier sat on a hard bench, staring blankly at the wall. One of the bowtie-wearing techs made repairs to his metal arm with a micro tool, while another examined readouts on the machine behind him.
Ellen stared at the machine, then realized she'd seen design specs for it. A Memory Suppressing Machine, designed to wipe a subject's memories. Arnim Zola conceptualized the first iteration in the '50s, originally meant to scan and retrieve memories from uncooperative interrogation subjects. The retrieval function never worked, so he redirected his efforts to making it wipe memories entirely. He'd never perfected it before his physical death in 1972, and no one had advanced the technology any further.
She felt unsettled looking at the contraption. Being in the same vicinity of it almost made her physically ill. Such methods were cruel, even by HYDRA standards. They were better than that. Ellen hoped all versions had been destroyed when she first learned of them, but here it was, looming over the Soldier like a nest of serpents about to devour helpless prey. Ellen breathed through her nose, struggling not to vomit as she rubbed her wrists.
The Soldier stiffened, his eyes widening. With a mechanical whir, he punched the tech working on his arm in the chest, knocking him back. The other one stumbled back in fright, while Team 1 aimed their weapons at him.
"Easy," Ellen ordered, stepping inside. The others lowered their weapons, but still looked ready for a fight. She cautiously approached the Soldier, holding one hand out to show she meant no harm. His sculpted chest gleaned with sweat, rising and falling with every laboured breath. Ellen crouched in front of him, staring into his eyes. "Soldat?"
He didn't respond, still possessed by whatever episode he was caught in.
"Sergeant Barnes?"
He sharply inhaled and looked at her. His eyes were wide and questioning. His mouth opened, but he didn't say anything. The uninjured tech took a half step forward and said, "Ma'am, I don't think–"
"Wait outside."
He and the other tech looked at each other. "Standard procedure is to be at his side at all times."
She gave the two men a firm stare. "Wait. Outside."
They shared a nervous glance, then nodded and walked out of the vault.
Ellen returned her gaze to the Soldier. He didn't look a day over 30, yet remained perfectly healthy into his 90s. Something about him stirred something deep inside her, though she didn't know what. He was attractive, to be sure, but she only had eyes for another. He stared back, brow furrowed as he licked his dry lips. They had gone on dozens of missions together, killed countless people around the world. Only now was she seeing past the cold, ruthless exterior.
A number of footsteps echoed from the stairs leading to the main floor. Ellen stood, watching through the gate as Rumlow and Team 2 escorted her father. One of the techs approached him. "Sir. He's-he's unstable. Erratic."
Her father ignored the man, removing his glasses as he entered. Ellen stepped in close and whispered into his ear. "Why didn't you tell me the Winter Soldier was Bucky Barnes?"
"Not now," he said curtly. In the corner of the room, the techs shared an enigmatic look as they nervously wrung their hands.
"Yes, now. Dad, this is fucking huge! Why did no one tell me?"
He regarded her for a moment, his expression unreadable. "You have to understand something, sweetheart. When I told you all those years ago that he is HYDRA's greatest asset, I meant it. He is singlehandedly responsible for more of our victories than any agent in our history. He's molded governments, charted the course of whole countries. I wasn't even read into who he was until after you joined. His identity is among the most carefully guarded secrets we have. Only a few people in HYDRA know it."
"I guess that makes sense," she said, trying to rationalize the whole thing. A voice in the back of her head quashed any protests.
'This is the mission.'
He put a hand on her shoulder. "Remember, this is all for the greater good. Everything we do has a higher purpose."
Ellen said nothing, then nodded. He gave her a brief smile, then moved in front of the Soldier.
"Mission report," he said. The Soldier didn't respond, continuing to stare at the wall with a haunted look. "Mission report, now." Her father bent over so he looked the other man in the eye. Sighing, he raised his fist and backhanded the Soldier across the cheek. Ellen's eyes widened, her mouth hanging open in shock. She'd seen him angry plenty of times before, but this felt different. He displayed a ferocity she had never seen in him before, a cold ruthlessness that outstripped any of the bastards she'd worked with.
Glancing at Rumlow, she saw even he seemed uncomfortable.
The Soldier opened his mouth a few times. Then, "The man on the bridge. Who was he?"
He didn't even remember his oldest friend, she realized. One of the overhead lights reflected off the Memory Suppressing Machine's twin arms. As if it taunted her with its perverted function. She avoided looking at it, a pit forming in her stomach. Her father explained, "You met him earlier this week on another assignment."
"I knew him."
He pulled up a stool and sat down. His demeanor softened, becoming almost paternal. "Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped the century. And I need you to do it one more time. Society's at a tipping point between order and chaos. And tomorrow morning, we're gonna give it a push. But, if you don't do your part, I can't do mine. And HYDRA can't give the world the freedom it deserves."
"But I knew him." The Soldier sounded small and afraid, like a child lost in a dark wood with no way to escape. Ellen pitied him, realizing that the deadliest assassin she'd ever known had been broken, perhaps beyond repair.
Her father sighed, then stood. "Prep him."
"He's been out of cryo freeze too long," one of the techs said. So that was how they did it, how they kept him alive and healthy all these decades. They'd literally put him on ice for years, only to wake him up when they had an assignment for him.
Why did all this feel familiar?
"Then wipe him and start over," her father ordered. He put a hand on Ellen's back and guided her towards the exit. "Come on, we have a lot to do tomorrow."
"But I–" Ellen said quietly, pointing to the Soldier as the techs gave him a mouthguard and strapped him into the hard seat. The Memory Suppressing Machine thrummed to life like thunderclaps preceding a lightning storm.
"Come on," he repeated, urging her forward. She complied, following him out of the vault as the S.T.R.I.K.E. agents escorted them. Partway up the stairs, she heard horrible, bone-chilling screams coming from the vault. She stopped and looked down the stairs.
Rumlow grabbed her by the arm. "Keep moving, Princess," he whispered into her ear. "The Hydra pays no heed to the lamb."
Ellen felt herself relax, her previous concerns melting away like snow in spring. Her mind became blank, absent thought or emotion as her pupils dilated. Nodding, she replied in a low monotone, "Hail HYDRA."
"Hail HYDRA," Rumlow echoed, releasing her arm as they walked out of the stairwell.
This was the mission.
This was a really fun chapter to write! I love high-intensity battles, especially when the stakes are so personal as they are here.
I read someone online describe Madame Hydra as 'an evil Black Widow', and thought that'd be a fun idea to explore. Natasha was forced to endure brutal training from hell as a child, Ellen chose to go through that kind of training as an adult. Natasha is a former assassin trying to redeem herself by becoming a SHIELD agent, Ellen is masquerading as a SHIELD agent while being an assassin. Natasha prefers electric shocks, Ellen prefers poisons. Natasha is a love interest to Steve for a bit but is limited to flirtatious banter and they become friends, Ellen is a love interest with deep romantic feelings for him. Natasha is a redhead, Ellen is a blonde. And so on and so forth.
It was inevitable they'd clash, and it gave me the chance to add something to the intense, memorable highway fight from TWS that is among the top fight scenes in the whole MCU.
Please leave a review to let me know what you think, and I'll see y'all next week!
kahless21: Thank you so much! Hope you enjoyed this chapter.