"...you dream of some epiphany
Just one single glimpse of relief
To make some sense of what you've seen."
Washington DC. April 2014.
Mid-April in Washington, DC was always a busy time of year. Congress prepared to reconvene after the Easter holiday; however, senators and representatives had returned early to address the Attack on the Triskelion and the HYDRA Uprising. The exposure of HYRDA and S.H.I.E.L.D. secrets placed many politicians and their constituents in hot water; to say the situation was a cluster was an understatement. But with the return of so many people, it meant the club stayed busy, which meant more tips which were the most Sawyer Beck could hope for after The Fall.
She took to calling the HYDRA Uprising "The Fall" as her life as she knew it had been stripped away once again. Once a rising intelligence analyst, Sawyer had been "handpicked" by S.H.I.E.L.D. three years previously after infiltrating one of their databases. It was either prison or working for "the enemy", a regular Penelope Garcia moment. However, working for S.H.I.E.L.D. had its perks. It offered financial security and place away from her past. Sawyer began to put down roots in DC. She had a small apartment in Foggy Bottom, made a few friends, and slowly fell back in love with her old hobbies. It managed to help her score a full-time job as one of the weekly headliners at a jazz club called The Red Room. In an attempt to have something that resembled a life at her new friends' insistence, she plucked up the courage to sing at a few of the club's amateur nights. She impressed the talent manager Gabe who told her if she ever wanted a full-time job, he would be willing to offer her a spot in the nightly line-up. Rent and bills needed to be paid somehow. She was grateful for the few years of stability while working with S.H.I.E.L.D. However "The Fall" threatened to uproot her once again.
Although Spring was in full swing, the weather in DC could be fickle. Sawyer wrapped her cardigan closer in an effort to keep out the night's damp cold breeze as she stepped into the alleyway behind the club. A busy club meant a stuffy and close atmosphere; Sawyer usually took her breaks between sets outside while nursing a finger of whiskey and honey.
She perched on a crate covered in newspaper showcasing headlines regarding the HYDRA Uprising to keep dirt and grime off her white dress. Taking a sip of whiskey, she closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, grateful for the time alone between sets. She took out her phone to check emails; she sent out numerous applications to various agencies that may find her experience useful earlier in the week. However, there were no responses from any of them so far. Despite her three years with S.H.I.E.L.D., she did not have any formal training or education associated with her profession. It also didn't help she was unable to put her full list of "tools and talent" on her resume as some of them were less than savory. She sighed and for the umpteenth time that week regretted not taking S.H.I.E.L.D. up on their offer to pay for a college degree.
Further down the alley, objects shifted and rustled. Sawyer rose from her seat unfazed, placing her glass down on the crate, and moved towards the noise assuming it was the resident tomcat she had befriended and fed every once in a while.
"Come here, big man," Sawyer cooed as she made kissing noises. She moved slowly down the alley looking in between garbage cans and plastic crates for her friend. "I don't have any scraps for you right now, but if you come out, I can see what I can scrounge up in the kitchen later." More rustling sounds came from a pile of black trash bags, sounding almost too big to be made by a lone tomcat. Sawyer then heard a low groan and stopped. Her heartbeat quickened.
"Hello?" she called out lowly, her voice shook slightly. She noticed some of the bags shifted and caught a flash of silver and leather.
"That's not a cat."
She moved toward the pile of bags. "Hey there, are you okay? Do you need help?" she asked as she approached the pile. She began to move the bags, revealing a man wearing dark clothing with messy long hair and a 5 o'clock shadow. Sawyer realized the silver was that of a prosthetic arm. The man didn't appear to be fully conscious; almost like he was having a nightmare. His eyes squeezed shut; his brow furrowed. He chest heaved with heavy shaky breaths. He spoke in a foreign language that sounded Eastern European. Sawyer bent down and shook his leg. "Hey there," she said softly, "wake up, you're having a nightmare."
All at once, the man's eyes shot open and he swiftly stood upright, wobbling a bit as he did so. "Whoa!" she exclaimed as she shot backward, placing 6 feet between her and the man. "It's okay!" she said a little softer and held her arms in front of her. "It's just a dream. You're oka-"
"Unde sunt? Cine ești tu?" The man said gruffly, shaking his head to clear it. He continued to breathe heavily as his eyes flicked around quickly to take in his surroundings. His stance defensive and his fists near his face like a boxer.
"Uhhh...I don-" she stammered.
"Где я? Кто ты?" He interrupted. Sawyer assumed he asked the same question again in a different language. She sighed.
"English?" she asked.
The man's breathing slowed as the nightmare faded away. He looked at her properly for the first time, his steel blue eyes locked with her hazel ones. She swallowed hard under his intense gaze.. Sawyer observed multiple bruises and cuts across his handsome face. His dark hair was tangled and greasy. His clothes looked torn and burnt, littered with empty weapon holsters. He held his non-prosthetic arm at an awkward angle like his shoulder had been dislocated recently. He blinked a few times but did not relax his stance. The man cleared his throat.
"Where am I?" his voice rasped, "Who are you?"
Sawyer slowly lowered her arms and opened her stance placing her palms up to appear nonthreatening. "I'm Sawyer Beck. You're in Washington DC behind a jazz club called The Red Room," she paused, letting her words sink in. His stance relaxed a little as he lowered his arms. His breathing slowed. She attempted to close the distance between them, but he stepped back. She brought her arms to her chest palms facing him, again attempting to make herself as nonthreatening as possible. "What's your name?" she asked, keeping his gaze.
He blinked and looked a the slick concrete of the alley. He took a deep shuddering breath. "I...I don't know..." he said quietly looking up through his hair that hung in front of his face.
"Okay," she prodded softly. "What's the last thing you remember?"
"I...I remember...a skull with tentacles...an airship on fire...debris falling into a river...the colors red, white and blue..."
Sawyer stiffened at the mention of the colors, sucking in a quick breath through her nose. She again observed the man in front of her. His prosthetic arm was made of some sort of metal and seemed to have the full range of motion that a normal arm would unlike most prostheses she had seen. She noticed the red star painted on his upper arm. She gave a small gasp, but he didn't seem to notice. Sawyer knew exactly who this man was. She had come across some secret files regarding him when she was an analyst. He continued to ramble.
"A bank filled with people...I think I hurt them...but I didn't kill them...no more killing...no more blood...not on my hands," he looked at the ground, the shame evident on his face. "I need to find out...I need to remember."
She again moved forward slowly still holding up her hands. "Okay, that's good." She gave him a soft smile as she looked him over. "You look pretty beat up. Those cuts need cleaning and your shoulder needs to be put back in place. I can help you if you want me to. My apartment isn't too far from here." He looked back up to her in slight surprise and confusion. He seemed apprehensive. "No tricks," she assured. "I promise."
He continued to stare at her quizzically. "Why would you want to help me?" he asked.
Sawyer shrugged. "You're in trouble and confused. I've been there. Not the same situation obviously, but I know that I wanted someone to offer to help me." He continued to stare, mulling over her offer. "I will have to go back inside to get my things though if you accept my offer. Kinda can't walk out of my job for no reason," she chuckled softly. "If you want to follow me in you can. I promised you no tricks."
His eyes softened slightly. "No, that's okay..."
Sawyer sighed in relief and backed towards the door to the club. Picking up her whiskey, she offered it to him. "Here, you look like you could use a drink. It's whiskey and honey," she said, taking a small sip before offering it to him. "Again, no tricks."
He reached out tentatively with his metal arm and gently took the glass. "Thank you, ma'am," he said. She nodded at him.
"I'll be right back," she promised, opening the metal door to the club. "I promise." He nodded. She gave him one last glance before slipping into the club.
She quickly made her way back to the dressing room she shared with the other performers. After grabbing her purse and keys, she went looking for her boss.
"Beck!" the manager called, "Where the hell have you been? You are on in 10 minutes!"
"Actually, Gabe, I am feeling really nauseous and dizzy all of a sudden," she lied smoothly. "I really don't want to vomit in the middle of a set."
Gabe sighed heavily, weighing his options. "Fine, Miss Beck, I'll let you off this time since you have never called out before, but next time you better have a doctor's excuse. I'll let the newbie get in some extra sets to fill yours."
"Thanks, Gabe," she said touching his arm. "It won't happen again, I promise."
"Yeah, yeah, promises, promises, now get out of here before you vomit all over my hallway." He waved her off, barking after another one of the performers.
Sawyer made her way out the backdoor to the alley, anxious to see whether or not the man would still be there. A small part of her hoped that maybe he wouldn't be. She knew from the files she had collected that The Winter Soldier was dangerous and capable of all sorts of violence. Tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear, Sawyer quickly checked her purse ensuring the small firearm was still inside along with the small comfort it gave her. She took a deep breath and opened the door.
The man was there sitting on the same crate she had been, not ten minutes prior. The whiskey glass was empty. His metal arm outstretched towards a large black tomcat, his finger almost touching the cat's nose. Sawyer laughed softly as she approached. "Hey, big man," she cooed. The tomcat looked to her, gave a soft meow, and rubbed against her legs before sauntering down the alleyway, continuing to make his nightly rounds.
"Okay, shall we go?" she asked turning to the man as he stood up. He nodded slightly. She gestured to the end of the alleyway, "My car is this way. I live about 10 minutes from here."
He nodded, "After you, ma'am." He was careful to keep some distance between them as they walked down the alleyway. They walked in silence to the parking lot near the club.
Foggy Bottom. Washington DC. April 2014.
The car ride was silent save for Sawyer's music. She had been assessing new music trying to decide whether or not to add it to her sets at the club, mostly from 40s jazz artists. As she hummed softly to "God Bless the Child" by Billie Holiday, she could have sworn she heard the soldier next to her humming too.
Sawyer's small apartment suited her just fine. No roommate meant no judgment for how much of a mess she left her space daily. Working for S.H.I.E.L.D. meant long days and sometimes nights leaving no time to clean the place to her usual standards. There were days when she had "no spoons left" as her sister would say. Pages of sheet music lay scattered all over the keyboard in the corner. Dirty dishes piled high in the sink. Clothes and shoes strewn around and on the couch. The desktop in another corner buzzed quietly. The Winter Soldier's eyes wandered around the apartment as if trying to discern if there were any imminent threats.
"Sorry, for the mess," Sawyer apologized gathering up random clothing items from the couch and tossing them into the corner nearest the linen closet. She gestured for him to sit. "I'm going to grab my first aid kit. We need to clean those cuts before they get infected." He nodded as he sat down.
She ducked into her small bathroom and dug for the first aid kit under the sink. Growing up, Sawyer's family always kept a first aid kit in every bathroom in the house; some habits were hard to break. Catching sight of her reflection in the mirror, she took the time to splash some water on her face and wash her hands.
"Am I insane!? Why in the hell did I bring him back here!? He's the Winter Soldier. The infamous mythical assassin who appeared periodically and then would disappear without a trace over the last 70 years."
She grabbed a small rag and ran it under the hot water. It was true that his appearances were so unpredictable, some agencies believed he was nothing more than a ghost story. But, whenever he turned up some tragedy always followed. It made sense that he showed up now since the HYDRA Uprising during the launch of Project Insight had taken place a few days ago. Sawyer made the inference that The Winter Soldier was a HYDRA operative and had been for a long time.
"But he doesn't seem dangerous now. He seems scared more than anything."
She shook her head, grabbing the kit along with the rag and made her way back to the living area.
The Winter Soldier sat stiffly on the couch and didn't bother to look at Sawyer when she entered. She slowly sat on the coffee table. His hands curled into fists at her proximity. "I have some antiseptic and band-aids for your small cuts, but you have some bigger ones that need to be cleaned first before we can apply them. I can help you, but I am going to have to touch you," she said softly. "Is that okay?"
He drew his gaze from the wall to your face. She implored him silently with her eyes. He nodded minutely, "Yes, ma'am."
Sawyer smiled and began to slowly clean the dried blood and dirt off of his face. He didn't look to be older than 30. "You know, you don't have to keep calling me 'ma'am'. You can just use my name, Sawyer, 'ma'am' makes me feel old." she chuckled. She felt his face twitch as if he was attempting to smile and gave a slight nod. As she continued to clean the blood from his face, she noticed him relax little by little.
"I think...I think my name might be James," he said quietly as Sawyer moved on to sterilizing his wounds with the antiseptic wash. She stilled her hands.
"Well, it's nice to meet you, James," she said. She inspected his cuts, all were shallow and didn't require stitches. Head wounds always bled more than other wounds no matter how deep they were. "Well, good news, you don't need stitches," she proclaimed putting the cap on the antiseptic wash. "Now to take care of your shoulder."
Sawyer's training with S.H.I.E.L.D. had covered more than just basic first aid; honestly, she was pretty sure should could become an EMT if her search for other intelligence analyst positions failed. "You'll need to have you remove your jacket," she said, packing up first aid kit. "I'm not trying to make a move on you, I swear," she insisted when he didn't move to remove it, "It will just be difficult to do with it in your jacket and that material doesn't look to have that much give...No tricks," she promised once more.
He nodded and made quick work of the buckles and straps with his metal arm. He shrugged it off stiffly never once wincing in pain as he did so. Sawyer wasn't sure if it was bravado or if he just didn't feel pain. Once free of the jacket, she took it from him folding it slightly and placed it next to her on the coffee table. He sat there in a dirty white tank top. Sawyer noted he looked to be in very fit for someone who was technically supposed to be 97-years-old. She wondered idly if The Winter Soldier was just a title passed on to the replacement once the other assassin died or retired. She tore her gaze from his form, a slight blush spread across her cheeks.
She instructed him to lie down on the couch with his injured shoulder facing her. She looked to him for confirmation before placing her hands on his arm. He nodded. Rigid muscles rippled as Saywer slowly stretched his arm out to the side letting his elbow stay bent and began moving it over his head. "Let me know if we need to stop," she instructed. He gave another stiff nod. She slowly rotated his hand behind his head and toward the back of his neck once his arm was over the level of his shoulder. She then moved his arm towards his opposite shoulder until she felt the joint pop back into place. A look of relief flooded James' features. She stepped back to allow him to sit up, and wiggle his shoulder slightly. "Better?" she asked.
He nodded and gave her a small smile. "Much, doll, thank you," he said stretched his arm out alternating flexing his fingers and making a fist.
She felt the heat rise to her cheeks again. "I'll take 'doll' over 'ma'am' any day," she laughed, turning away. "Let me get you some pain meds and then you can use the shower." She motioned to the first door in the small hallway when she returned with two pills of ibuprofen and a glass of water. As she placed the pills into his palm, a slight tingle ran up her arm as their fingers brushed. She blushed again gathering up the kit and the glass as James swallowed the pills. "Handle to the left for hot water. Towels are on the rack by the toilet." She returned to the kitchen. "I'll see if I can find you any clothes to wear. I should have at least a t-shirt and some sweatpants around here. I'll leave it by the door so you can grab it when you are done."
James nodded and moved toward the bathroom door. "I appreciate this, Sawyer," he said sincerely. She looked up from washing the glass. He looked almost completely different from the man she had met in the alleyway, lighter, more relaxed.
"No problem, James," she smiled. "You are more than welcome to stay. I'll make up the couch for you." He nodded and made his way to the bathroom closing the door softly behind him. Sawyer slumped over the sink, exhaling heavily.
"Get your shit together, Beck. We still don't know exactly what we are dealing with here."
As the shower began to run, she rummaged through the linen closet searching for extra blankets and pillows as well the box of clothes her ex-boyfriend left when she had kicked him out the year before.
Sawyer met Brock Rumlow at a S.H.I.E.L.D. task group meeting held by Secretary Pierce and Director Fury a year and a half ago. The weekly meetings attempted to bring together prominent members of each department together to address various issues within the organization from communication between departments to funding. Brock and Sawyer would often be involved in heavy debates regarding various issues as they were both highly opinionated people. Tension had turned to attraction when after one particularly passionate argument they found themselves making out in one of the supply closets.
Sawyer dated Brock for about 6 months. Their romance was passionate and physical, but Brock was often gone for days sometimes weeks at a time on missions. As a part of Captain America's Special Tactical Reserve for International Key Emergencies or STRIKE Team, it was expected, but over time, Sawyer grew suspicious. Especially, after she ran into Captain Rogers at the grocery store when Brock was supposedly on a mission with him.
She confronted him upon his return; at the time, she suspected he had someone on the side. However, she knew now that he had been completing secret missions for HYDRA. The confrontation turned into a violent screaming match and ended when Brock had grabbed her arm hard enough to bruise and wrenched it back behind her. With a mean right hook to the nose, Sawyer kicked Brock out of her apartment with a threat to report him to the Director should he come near her again. She made a point to avoid Brock and his teammates until S.H.I.E.L.D. fell. She didn't know where any of them were now.
James and Brock looked to have been about the same size. She found the box quickly and noted it contained a pair of black sweats, a couple of t-shirts, one red and one black, a few pairs of underwear, some socks, a blue zip-up hoodie, and pair of jeans. Smiling, she left the box by the bathroom before heading to her room to change out of her dress and heels into her Princess Leia pajamas.
She had just finished making up the couch when the door opened and then closed for the first time. She put the kettle on to boil water for tea when the door opened again. James padded into the living room wearing the sweatpants low on his hips and the black t-shirt. Sawyer turned and motioned to the kettle, "Tea?" He declined with a wave of his hand. She poured some water over a tea bag into a mug full of honey and set a saucer on top for it to steep.
James folded his dirty clothes so the corners were crisp and smoothed them as flat as they could, like Sawyer's late grandfather, a Marine veteran, used to do. He had taught her a way to roll up her socks so if needed they could be used to pelt an oncoming enemy. She smiled and shook her head at the memory. James looked at her quizzically but didn't say anything. Sawyer gestured to the couch, "I hope this is okay," she said, "I don't get guests that often."
He nodded, "It's perfect, doll, thank you."
Sawyer smiled sipping her tea and sat on the oversize chair opposite the couch, tucking her legs underneath her. "So what is your plan for tomorrow? You said you needed to remember. Did you remember anything else?"
He looked at his hands as he sat on the couch. His forefinger and thumb rubbing together in circular motions on both hands. "I think my last name is Barnes...and I remember using the title Sergeant."
Sawyer nodded and pressed her lips together. Sergeant James Barnes was a member of Captain America's Howling Commandos during World War II. Now, that she thought about it, the man in front of her was a dead ringer for the fallen commando, former best friend of Captain Steve Rogers.
Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes was The Winter Soldier.
She took a moment to consider telling him what she knew, but not wanting to scare or confuse him more, she simply said, "I recognize the name."
"You do?" he whispered looking up, a small glimmer of hope tinged his voice.
She nodded. "What do you say about taking a trip to the Smithsonian tomorrow, Sarge?"