A/N: I have to admit I was seriously taken aback by your tremendous response to the previous chapter. I'd like to give my warm thanks to ym4yum1, muggledad and guest for their reviews as well as to those who faved and followed. Keep 'em up!
Now, let's take a deep breath and dive into the past of a certain spy and a particular super-soldier.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. All rights to Marvel Cinematic Universe, etc.
Chapter 2
EXTRACTION
"The present changes the past. Looking back you do not find what you left behind." – Kiran Desai
1
A few years prior
Phone quietly beeped, though it was enough for her to wake up, instinctively grabbing a tactical knife from below her pillow. Reflexes once acquired in the ranks of Red Room and KGB were carved deep within her being and though no enemy agent attempted to assassinate her in almost a year, she still was on full alert. Had to.
After all maybe that was the reason she survived for so long? This temporary peace was, to say the least, volatile and she was well aware of the fact that her former superiors wanted her dead, even though she was the last of the Black Widow Ops Program. And wanted her dead badly.
Yet there she was, sitting on a disarrayed bed, a long serrated blade in her right hand, carefully scanning the room she was in. Having realized no-one was trying to kill her this night, she turned her attention to almost inaudible signal coming from the phone. She put the knife away and glanced at the bright screen with tired eyes.
Fury. Who would have guessed?
"What?" She asked harshly, her voice strained from lack of sleep.
"Agent Romanoff I need your presence in my office as soon as possible." Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. said skipping the pleasantries.
"It's middle of the night, Nick. What could have been so important right now?" Natasha muttered angrily looking at her nightstand. Clock's phosphorescent numbers showed it was 3:17 in the morning. Unlike Fury she didn't dismiss the fact she had just returned from two missions straight, the second one almost costing her own life. Black Widow or not, she seriously needed to rest.
"We cannot discuss it until you report personally at the Headquarters. Agent Barton has already been informed, so you will not work solo this time." Fury responded in matter-of-fact tone. "Oh, and Agent Romanoff, pack warm clothing. You will need it." Having added, then hung up.
Why does he always need to call just before the mission? Considering the fact she was to pack something warm, she deduced this assignment would be far more time-consuming then the last ones.
Also, Clint. Her best friend was involved in this mess too. And where Strike Team Delta is needed – it has to mean that there's some serious shit going on.
"I'm not liking this, one fucking bit." She thought, while dressing up.
Natasha turned the lights on and grabbed her black sport bags, starting to pack warm clothes, including several pairs of thick socks, gloves, windproof and water-resistant trousers as well as S.H.I.E.L.D. issued jacket designed to work in extreme conditions.
She walked over to her cupboard, behind which was a secret weapon stash. She armed herself with favourite set of combat knives and pistols, including Heckler & Koch VP9 and a pair of modified Glocks 26. Widow bites were already on her wrists so she just had to pack a few personal belongings and was ready to leave.
In the distant future, when Natasha was reminiscing on her career in ranks of S.H.I.E.L.D., she always remembered that one mission in the Arctic, where they did not use weapon at all but instead witnessed something simply impossible.
But before that happened, she glanced over her small apartment, unmade bed and uncleaned kitchen. Then she turned and walked out.
2
"Hey, Nat. You look terrible you know?" Clint Barton yawned, when they met in one of the countless corridors of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s HQ.
"Oh, shut the hell up, Hawkeye." She growled, but pecked him on his cheek. Each and every one of her colleagues knew that Clint was undoubtedly the only person whom she would greet in such affectionate way. And for Black Widow it certainly meant something.
They headed for the lift, ascended a dozen or so floors, looking through the glass at the nightscape of New York City. Soon were knocking on Fury's door.
"Come in." They heard his characteristic voice.
"Agent Romanoff, Agent Barton. I called you, because we have a serious situation on our hands." Fury said, switching on giant screens behind his back.
"And when don't we?" Natasha asked sarcastically, which earned her a glare from the director.
"This mission is unlike any other I have ever sent you on." He displayed extensive data behind his back. "Our team of experts ran experiments in the North Polar Circle and we believe we have finally found possible crash site of Johann Schmidt's aircraft."
Both Clint and Natasha went wide-eyed, instantly forgetting about their exhaustion.
"Is this confirmed, sir?" The archer asked looking at the screen. Just as every S.H.I.E.L.D. agent with clearance level 6 or higher he had access to the old archives, dating back to World War II conflict and so-called First Hydra Crisis. Johann Schmidt's genocidal ideology had a prominent place in possible destruction of the civilization at the time.
"The data seems to match our laboratory simulations, so we are almost positive this is a place where HYDRA's most dangerous weapon is buried. After all those years, the abandoned project started all the way back by Howard Stark is being reactivated." Fury replied, smiling under his nose. He knew that these two agents wouldn't miss an opportunity to see such thing with their own eyes. "That is why I decided to send both of my best agents to investigate and provide protection."
"Don't try to charm us, Nick." Natasha snorted.
"I'm not, Romanoff. Though you two oftentimes cause problems... " They both smiled hearing this. "... I came to rely on your skills."
Both agents nodded in agreement.
"Your transport leaves in five minutes from landing pad number 4. Agent Coulson will assist you and provide further information. Strike Team Delta – dismissed." Fury concluded and started to pack his documents.
"What about you?" She feigned disappointment. "Not coming with us?"
"Nope. I'm gonna relax at my residence now." Fury instantly dropped his official tone. He was obviously joking, as Natasha knew he was living in a well-guarded but fairly modest house. Unlike Alexander Pierce, Nick was trying to live like an ordinary man despite an extraordinary profession. "When you become Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. yourself we'll talk about it."
"Challenge accepted."
"God, it's good to know I will retire by that time." Fury retorted and they all laughed.
3
The flight was surprisingly long due to extreme weather conditions and unexpected malfunction of engines but at the end of the day they safely reached small S.H.I.E.L.D. outpost, located on the northern coast of Greenland. Base was facing the freezing waters of the Arctic Ocean and was equipped with everything needed to survive in the harsh environment of the North Polar Circle. The redhead spy detested cold as it reminded her of Red Room facility in Siberia where she was tortured and moulded into remorseless murderer, she struggled to run away from all those years. Faded memories flashed through her head, but she shook them away. Now it was not the time to reminisce on the past.
Natasha and Clint, both wearing thick, warm clothing and protective masks and goggles stepped out of the vehicle, followed by Philip Coulson, a clearance level 8 field agent, who pointed towards the hangars in the distance.
"We'll use special off-roads, this damn temperature kills almost every other vehicle."
Soon a small convoy, consisting of Phil, Natasha, Clint and a team of Agency's techs and higher-ranking agents, embarked in direction of the crash site, fifty-four kilometres west of the base.
"Phil, Fury told us you've got more information about the mission." Natasha said, while they were sitting in the passengers' area.
"What do you want to know?"
"How did you learn about the location of Schmidt's aircraft? I mean Howard Stark looked for it for so long and found nothing, but Tesseract."
Phil Coulson smiled. "By accident. A Russian oil team called in about 18 hours ago."
"But how did everyone overlook it? There is more than few research stations scattered around Greenland." Clint pointed out. "How come nobody spotted it before?"
"It's really not that surprising. This landscapes changing all the time. As I said it could be found only by accident." Phil explained. "The Russians found an unidentified object and asked he nearest research station for help t, that is an american squad of scientists who happened to be studying local cold-resistant bacteria strains."
Natasha nodded in understanding. "Then S.H.I.E.L.D. showed up."
Phil Coulson nodded. "We believe that the bombs, which were said to be stocked in aircraft's hold, are still a threat. Director Fury assigned agents with at least clearance level 7 to work on the matter so this gives you pretty good idea on how serious the operation is."
Clint glanced and Nat, fully aware of the fact that technically she shouldn't be given access to those data as she was level 6, but that was of no consequence. Fury made exceptions from time to time, bending the rules, which maybe was the reason why the Agency remained flexible – and thus better prepared for crisis and unexpected turn of events. Natasha was the best spy S.H.I.E.L.D. has ever had and was allowed to do more than her rank officially suggested.
"So why Fury sent us here? He didn't elaborate much on the mission." Natasha question, looking outside the rime-covered window.
"Director Fury assigned you to protect the research team from the wreck itself." Coulson explained. "I know how it sounds, but Agency has come across a few old HYDRA bases and well… it ended up pretty bad."
"What happened?"
"It seems that the power Johann Schmidt harnessed during World War II with the usage of the Tesseract, was sufficient enough to keep the security systems still operative. At least some of them. So when our squads unsealed one of the HYDRA bunkers, they were attacked." Phil sighed. "Or, as I would call it, massacred. Director wants to be sure everything will go smoothly, not to mention those bombs doesn't have a ring to it. "
"Why weren't we informed of this earlier?" Clint was annoyed, as he had clearance level 7 and knew nothing until now.
"No-one was to be informed on this matter. I am one of few who knew and now, considering I have an authorization, I pass the information onto you." Coulson answered.
"I don't like this." Natasha snapped, followed by Clint.
"Me neither."
4
They arrived at the site three hours later. Not that it differed from the landscape surrounding them; it was still snowing and the storm didn't seem to subside. Out of the blizzard a figure in snow-proof outfit came, holding a metal pole with a flickering red light atop of it.
"Are you the guys from Washington?" Search team leader greeted them.
"You get many other visitors out here?" Natasha heard one of the S.H.I.E.L.D. technicians speak.
"How long have you been on the site?" S.H.I.E.L.D. lieutenant asked.
"Since this morning. After Russians called in over a day ago, I had to send some of my men for better tools." Search team leader replied. "You know we don't have the equipment for a job like this."
"How long before we can start craning this out?"
"I don't think you quite understand. You guys are going to need one hell of a crane!"
And then they saw a giant irregular metal shape, half-buried in the arctic ice.
"I can't believe this…" Coulson muttered under his nose, as Natasha and Clint also stood wide-eyed. The files on the Johann Schmidt's demise were mostly incomplete and this 'great weapon of HYDRA' definitely exceeded their worst expectations.
"Look at the wing span." Clint said quietly pointing towards a shattered giant, black object, already being covered by falling snow. "This plane had to be half the size of our early helicarriers. Damn."
"And I was counting on something ordinary, like a weather balloon." Lieutenant shook his head. "Alright boys, let's get to it!"
Soon, a whole team of technicians started to mark the crash site with special poles and unload the equipment needed for research. Devices included ones that could scan objects through ice, precise radars as well as a bunch of some strangely looking objects, purpose of which was a mystery to Natasha and Clint.
One way or another, it was time to awaken the past.
5
An hour later, machine provided by Stark Industries, which turned out to be a laser-powered cutter, finally managed to pierce through the hull of the plane, causing a circular piece of metal to fall inside with a loud thud.
"Very well, Agent Romanoff and Agent Barton, you go first. When you secure the bridge, the team will move in." Lieutenant ordered. "We cannot risk what has happened recently."
Clint fired a few of his flare-arrows, causing the inside of the hull to be illuminated with bright blue light.
"Looks clear. Let's go!"
They were lowered into the dark interior of the wreck. When their feet stood firmly on the floor they realized how gigantic the whole construction was. There were metal pylons above them holding together the sides of the plane as well as multiple platforms and railings, now covered by long sharp icicles.
Somewhere in front of them, Natasha spotted crashed control panels. Both agents chose their steps carefully, expecting a sudden attack and holding their weapons - dual glocks and combat bow - at the ready.
This however proved to be completely unnecessary. Despite previous unfortunate experience with the abandoned HYDRA bases, the security systems of the plane were indeed inactive for a very long time now, an obvious result of the extremely low temperature. Nature won and froze every circuit and mechanical unit onboard.
"Nat, the other section of the plane is cut off by the ice." Clint inspected the back of the plane's area they were lowered to. A barricade comprising of blocks of ice and shattered metal plates blocked the passage. "The team will have to break through, there is nothing interesting here."
Natasha nodded and then spoke into her comlink. "Agent Coulson, it's clear down here. Send in the team."
Twenty minutes later a group of researchers were inside the hull, examining everything they could lay their hands on. Nazi maniac or not, Johann Schmidt was an engineering genius and his aircraft was a technological feat, considering times it was built in.
After long and tiresome cataloguing process, something caught the attention of one of the technicians. He crouched on his knee and brushed the snow off a thick sheet of translucent ice. Flashlight illuminated a circular red-blue-and-white object with a five-pointed star in its centre.
"Lieutenant. What is it?" Technician asked, surprised by the unusual finding.
"My God." Lieutenant whispered with disbelief, then spoke louder into his earpiece. "Base. Give me a line to the Colonel."
"It's 3.00 AM, sir."
"I don't care what time it is. This one's waited long enough."
6
"My God, this guy's still alive! I cannot believe it!" Chief Doctor of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Medical Corps, Jordan Mitchell, exclaimed with utter disbelief in his voice.
This had to be the most unique of all cases he has ever studied; intricate machinery started to record what little data the team of doctors and scientists could harness from seemingly dead super-soldier, while Dr. Mitchell waved towards his younger assistant.
"Call Director Fury. He has to be informed that Captain America has survived the crash."
A few minutes later doors to Medical Bay opened and Nicholas Fury entered the operating room.
"Dr. Mitchel. How long will the defrosting procedure take?" Director simply asked, skipping the introductions as was his habit. Fury and Mitchell known each other for a long time, and though they kept their interactions official, they were in fact good friends. Nick Fury trusted Jordan and believed he was actually the only man in S.H.I.E.L.D. Medical Corps able to revive Captain.
"We are not sure, sir. Returning from this naturally-induced cryostasis is an extremely delicate process." Jordan Mitchell pinched base if his nose. "He is technically alive, but he may actually not survive long enough to wake."
"How is that even possible? He did not die, even though he spent almost 70 years frozen in ice. I consider that a sufficient proof he can take everything."
"That is exactly why we need to take precautions, sir. Super-soldier or not, his system has to be supplemented with an extensive range of vital substances, like minerals, nutrients and complicated drugs which will help to defrost the cellular water." Doctor recounted. "Not to mention the fact that we need to re-establish his standard body temperature and with metabolism at such rate… I would say eleven-twelve days at best, maybe more."
"Understood. Doctor, you are fully responsible for the recovery of Captain America. Agency will provide any necessary means of bringing him back among the living. Agent Coulson here will keep watch over Captain Rogers."
Mitchell gave orders to his team, who rushed towards their respective stations. This 'operation' would be the hardest he had ever performed, no doubt. The hardest anyone had ever done.
"Now it's time to rewrite the history." Fury said, shaking doctor's hand.
"Some of those who we look up to are better left alone where they finished their journey." Mitchell replied quietly. "Not everyone wants their heroes back, Nick."
"I am well aware of that." Nicholas Fury smiled. "But this is the right thing to do, don't you think?"
Doctor nodded his head and turned towards Captain's body in a tarnished uniform, partially encased in a thick block of blue ice. The procedure has begun.
7
When Steven Rogers finally woke there was nobody in the room, though he could clearly hear a human voice, coming from the radio. He fluttered his clear blue eyes open, his eyebrows pursing. Steve slowly sat on his bed.
"This fellow's capable of making it a brand-new game again. Just an absolutely gorgeous day here at Ebbets field."
He looked around him. An ordinary room, furnished only with his bed, a nightstand, a lone chair and a small dresser, atop of which stood said radio, a mirror and a vase of flowers. He himself was dressed in khaki pants, white t-shirt with Strategic Scientific Reserve logo and combat boots. The only sounds he could hear were noise of the traffic coming from the opened window and the voice on the radio.
"Pete leans in. Here's the pitch, swung on. A line to the right and it gets past Rizzo!"
He couldn't remember what had happened and he certainly couldn't recall how on Earth he ended up in this room. Something was off.
Then the door opened and a woman in military uniform entered the room. He looked at her in silence, still trying to figure out what this was all about.
"Good morning." She said, closing the door and glancing at her wristwatch. "Or should I say, afternoon?"
"Where am I?" Steve asked confused.
"You're in a recovery room in New York City."
He fell silent for a while, looking outside the window and trying to digest the information. The voice was still commentating on a match, which brought a sense of déjà vu to Steve. And then the truth hit him with a force of a train. He was there, he saw that baseball match!
"Where am I, really?" He asked her again, this time in a slightly hostile voice.
The woman smiled in response. "I'm afraid I don't understand."
"The game. It's from May 1941. I know cause I was there."
She immediately stopped smiling, as Steve slowly rose from his bed, his muscles flexing.
"Now, I'm gonna ask you again. Where am I?"
He didn't see when she pushed a small red button on a remote, she was holding in her right hand.
"Captain Rogers…"
"Who are you?!"
Suddenly the door opened again and two men in black outfits stormed into the room. Steve instantly took a step back, assessing the situation in a matter of nanoseconds. The next moment he grabbed both of them and threw at wall to his left, shattering it completely. He jumped through the whole and suddenly realized he was in some kind of a giant hall and this 'recovery room' was just a setup. What, on Earth, was happening here?!
Steve then spotted double doors in front of him and made a run for it.
"Captain Rogers, wait!" He heard the woman yelling behind his back, then through speakers. "All agents, code 13! I repeat, code 13!"
He ran into the street and towards the Times Square, where he was cornered by a convoy of black SUVs. An army of men, both in regular suits and combat armour, stepped out of the vehicles and surrounded him. They formed a protective circle, isolating him from prying eyes of curious bystanders.
"At ease, soldier."
Still panting, he turned and saw a tall, bald, black man with a beard. Everything he was dressed in was black: combat boots, trousers, jumper and long trench-coat. His left eye was covered by a leather eye-patch.
Steve's sight locked on an unknown woman standing behind this weird-looking man. She had hair like streams of fire and gaze so green as if they were a pair of perfectly polished opals. This was what his mind registered in a few fleeting moments before he looked back at the man with an eye-patch.
"Look, I'm sorry about that little show back there. But we thought it best to break it to you slowly."
"Break what?" He snapped.
"You've been asleep, Cap. For almost seventy years."
Steve turned around in shock, realizing his inability to comprehend the surrounding world. Suddenly he was struck by how everything was so colourful, so vivid, so loud, so alive. Then a memory of his last conversation with the woman he loved resurfaced in his mind.
"Are you going to be okay?" The redhead he saw standing behind the eye-patched man asked.
Steve didn't look at her, his expression full of sadness.
"Yeah. Yeah, I just…" He swallowed the lump in his throat. "… I had a date."
8
Present day
Steve brushed his thumb across framed picture of Peggy Carter. It was old, torn, faded, but he could still see she was dressed in her military SSR uniform. She was leaning against a desk and had that playful smile of hers, which always ignited something inside him.
"I had a date." He repeated the words he spoke a long time ago, looking at lipstick she wore, still so red after all those years… Steve blinked a few times. Red?
It's an old photo, dating back to war. There are no colours apart from white and black, apart from light and darkness. When he realized what was going on, he threw the picture away from him, shattering the frame on the floor of his apartment in Brooklyn.
Crimson blood was seeping through shards of broken glass, staining the photo of Peggy Carter.
A/N: I intended to show an alternative take on how Cap was recovered from the ice and how Natasha was there for Steve, even before befriending him, as if she was destined to inherit his heart after Peggy. Also another peek into the demons of his past. Leave your feedback and see you next time! / WS