Author's Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don't Sue me!
A/N 2: Oh my gosh you guys. I have to say I've loved all of the very strong reactions you've had to chapter 11. Yes, Hydra Nazi scum are the worst, and I would be a liar if I said your responses have me cackling.
Recommended Listening: "Bridge over Troubled Water" by Simon & Garfunkel; "September" by Earth Wind and Fire; "Get Lucky" by Daft Punk.
Chapter 12: The Pain of Choices Made
James had tried to keep his mind off it. He'd managed to make it to Montreal overnight and was now in the process of securing passage overseas. Yet still, his mind wandered back, and wondered, had Wilson and Rogers made it in time? Had Ramirez called them at all? Had Hydra overlooked or ignored Ramirez all together? He needed to find out.
He pulled his jacket closer as he entered the library and headed for an unoccupied computer. Pulling off his right glove, logged on, and opened a web browser. Do I want to do this? He wondered as he typed in Last Chance Ranch, Magdalen Ramirez into the search bar. He paused, the mouse hovered over 'search.' What would it change if I knew? It's too late to do anything.
He knew he needed to find out. That he needed to know. That he needed closure on this one thing. He clicked search and held his breath, waiting for the page to load.
And then he had his answer. "Local Veteran Community Mourns loss of Equine Therapy Ranch Owner to House Fire."
He clicked on the link, reading through the news report. The local veteran community is mourning today after a house fire claimed the life of thirty-year-old Magdalene Ramirez-Underdahl, the founder and owner of Last Chance Ranch...Firefighters responded to reports of a fire on the property at 8:00pm Saturday night...Underdahl was the only one home at the time of the fire...clients and volunteers in shock and looking for answers...Authorities believe the cause of the fire was electrical and classified as non-criminal...
They killed her? No. It couldn't be. It was a lie. It had to be. There was no other explanation. I told her to call Wilson. Wilson should have been able to protect her. She's not dead, she can't be. It was a lie, a fabrication, a ruse either by Hydra or by Wilson and Rogers.
He clicked on the video in the article and watched as Davidson, Suzanne, and Mike were interviewed. The pain in their voices was palpable, their eyes red and puffy. All of them saying in their various ways, we don't understand.
He paused the video looking at Davidson's face, the pure anguish, and anger, and despair in the man's features.
It was true. Or at the very least, it was true to Davidson, Suzanne, and Mike, and it would be true to the volunteers and clients of Last Chance Ranch. Magdalene Ramirez was dead, and it was his fault.
The best thing you could do for her is leave. That's what the old man had said. That's what he'd done.
He exited the news site and went a few hits down to the Ranch's website. The home page was simply her photo, her date of birth and date of death below. Below the picture, all that was stated was "Date and time of memorial service TBD, check back for updates."
He closed out of the webpage and logged off, starring at the blank screen as his brain processed what he'd just seen. She was dead, and she was dead because of him.
Better her than me.
The thought bit out before he could retract it. He winced, and he glanced down at his right shoulder, where she had patched him up. She helped you, and you left her for dead.
Regardless of what had happened, of who had pulled the trigger, there was one absolute truth, her blood, Magdalen Ramirez's blood was on his hands. I didn't have a choice. But he had, he knew he had. She'd given him a choice, an option. He could've stayed, he could've turned himself over to Rogers and Wilson.
Or Hydra could've gotten hold of you, and then where would you be? Could he have reasonably staked one life over the life of all of those Hydra would've forced him to take?
But it isn't just one life, is it?
All those people at the cookout. All the people that he'd seen come in and out of the barn, and in and out of the ranch. They were connected through Ramirez. What would they do now that she was gone? Where would they go? Would they find another place to receive treatment? What would happen to the ranch? She'd just admitted they were weeks away from foreclosure. Did that mean that Roberts would get her land?
You don' t get to ask those questions, you let her die.
He reached down to his bag and opened the front zipper. Removing the journal and the pen Ramirez had given him, cracked open the front cover, flipped a few pages, and slowly wrote out her name. Magdalene Ramirez, 11/11/1984-04/28/2014, cause of death: Fire.
He paused, something in his stomach twisting as Ramirez's words to James that day in the barn came back to him. What was it that she had said? No one wakes up good or bad, but it's their choices that define them? It was the choices, she said, that defined the person. That every choice, every action mattered?
Our past doesn't define us, but our choices now and today help shape our tomorrow.
He shook his head, and closed the journal with a snap, stowing it away. He didn't have time for this. No time to think about what had happened, or what it meant. Hydra was still after him, still on his tail. Her death would mean nothing if Hydra caught him. That was his rationale, and nothing else mattered. There wasn't a choice. There was only survival, no matter the cost.
In the end, it didn't matter if James Barnes was a good or a bad person, and it would matter even less if Hydra caught him.
He rose, walking from the library and out into the overcast Montreal afternoon.
Magdalene Ramirez was dead. Dead on arrival, according to the paperwork, with smoke inhalation listed as the cause of death on the death certificate. This was why an "Ana Sanchez" sat in one of the rooms of the county hospital with guards outside, eating orange jello, left arm in traction, right eye swollen shut proofreading the eulogy Sam Wilson was going to read at Magdalene's memorial service.
Maggie hummed along to "September" as it played over the Bluetooth speaker, trying to focus on anything but the reality that was crushing in around her. She was legally dead, her business, home, and most of her earthly possessions were gone, burned to the ground. Yet somehow that was the least of her worries. She had at least another surgery and a whole bunch of PT to look forward to, and she had to find a new place to live and a job with her new 'identity.' Oh, and Hydra Science Nazis were looking for her so she could give them a lead on where the Winter Soldier had gone.
Maggie paused at the sensation of someone standing just out of her field of vision. "Come in, Captain." She commented dryly, looking up from the page she was reading to the man hovering in the doorway.
"Is Sam here?"
"No." She said flatly.
"Oh." He glanced around, a frown creasing his expression. "He asked me to bring him coffee."
"That was me," Maggie replied, returning her gaze to the page she'd been reading. "He's out getting me food since I refuse to subsist on the sodium-free, sugar-free, and flavor-free garbage they've been feeding me here, particularly if I'm editing my own eulogy." She commented. Setting down the pen, she picked up the orange jello cup and slurped down one of the large chunks.
"Did...did you need something, Ms. Ramirez?" He stammered.
Maggie looked up at him, surveying him carefully. He didn't look like Captain America. Well, he did in the way that all tall beefy men with broad shoulders, skinny waists, and blonde hair looked like Captain America. The man standing in front of her wasn't Captain America. There was no bravado, no confidence, in fact, he looked like he wanted to disappear in a hole in the floor, or through the window, both of which Maggie was quite confident he could accommodate. "Coffee." She cracked a small smile. "And a bit of your time."
"Of course," He nodded, approaching the bed hesitantly, handed her the coffee and returned to standing at the foot of the bed.
He watched her as she took a small sip. It was Dunkin' coffee, so it was bitter and slightly burnt, but it would do the job in a pinch.
"You really should sit down, Steve," She paused. "Or do you prefer that I call you Captain?" She inquired.
"Steve is fine." He answered.
"Cool. Cool. Sit down, take a load off." She said taking another sip of coffee. "And thank you for the caffeine. My head is killing me."
Easing down into one of the stiff, uncomfortable hospital visitors chairs, he surveyed her carefully. He was trying to figure her out, trying to figure out what kind of person she was. "How are you-"
"Don't." She interrupted shortly.
"Sorry." He replied, almost bashfully as he took a sip of his coffee.
"It's... it's fine." Maggie exhaled slowly, "I mean, do you want a real answer, or do you want me to lie to make you feel better?" She asked. It wasn't a nice thing to say. The Winter Soldier had put Him in the hospital too, but he hadn't had his life quite literally burned to the ground. So fair was fair.
He didn't say anything. Shit. Maggie chewed the inside of her mouth. "I'm sorry. You're not exactly catching me at my best."
"Understandably so."
"It's unfortunate. I don't normally meet people under the best of circumstances."
"Sam tells me you're a therapist."
"I was. yes."
"Right."
Poor bastard. She couldn't help but almost feel sorry for the guy. Almost. "I promise I didn't lure you here just so you could bring me coffee. I did want to talk to you without Sam around." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "I'm sorry that we're meeting under these circumstances, Captain. My husband was a huge fan of yours." She paused, watching as the star-spangled man with a plan retreated further inside himself, shoulders hunching as if he hoped he'd be able to fold himself up and disappear entirely. "But that's not why I wanted to talk with you." Maggie took a deep breath. "Who is he? The Winter Soldier?"
Steve lowered his gaze and looked away as if trying to summon the will, summon the energy to be able to form the words.
"I'm not asking because I'm angry. But before I say what I'm going to say next. I need to know the truth. The Winter Soldier isn't just an operative. He's your friend, James Barnes, isn't he?"
Steve snapped his head up, looking at her with wide eyes, hope, fear, terror, and surprise crossing his face all at once "How'd you-"
"I'm not a complete idiot. And I've been putting the pieces together since I woke up. He told me his name was James, Hydra showed me an old black and white photo, you're here and hovering, and Sam was and has been particularly evasive about the entire thing since this whole thing started." She explained slowly. "Plus, you have a shit poker face," Maggie added.
Steve exhaled slowly, nodding, "Fair."
"I want to help you find him."
The statement caught Steve off guard, and he opened and closed his mouth a few times as he tried to come up with something to say. "Ms. Ramirez I can-"
"I'm not asking permission. I'm telling you I want to help you find him."
"Why?"
Maggie hesitated. What was she supposed to say? If she was honest, she was being selfish. Tracking down the Winter Soldier was one step in trying to get her life back. She'd been declared dead because she was a security threat. If Hydra thought she was still alive, they'd keep coming after her. If the Winter Soldier was found it might ease some of that. It wasn't a guarantee that she'd get her life back, but it would be a start. She couldn't tell Captain America that it wasn't nearly noble enough for the likes of him. "I want answers, and I want closure," Maggie answered finally. "And I want all of this," She glanced meaningfully at her arm. "To have meant something."
"I couldn't-"
She raised an eyebrow and he faltered into silence. "Steve. You're not asking anything of me. I'm volunteering. I've got nothing but time. And let's be perfectly real, I'm doing you a favor. I'm one of the few non-hostile parties who's spent any time with him." Maggie paused. "You need me, Rogers."
Steve nodded thoughtfully. "Is this why you wanted to talk with me while Sam was out?"
"Possibly." She took another sip of coffee.
"He's not going to like this."
"Is that supposed to be a deterrent?" Maggie snorted. "He's not the boss of me. He's never been the boss of me. Besides, I have plenty of shit I could hold over his head that I don't like that he's involved with. You, for instance."
Steve looked taken aback. "Me?"
"He was out, learning to live his life after losing his wingman, his partner, a man whom we both loved dearly. Then somehow you drag him back into that shit? He must have a pretty damn good reason. So do I."
"In my defense, he volunteered," Steve said slowly.
"Oh, I have no doubt. You don't seem like the kind of guy to impress people into service. Maybe a light guilt trip every now and again, but nothing too harsh." She answered setting down her coffee reached over and opened the drawer of the side table. "And so am I. Volunteering, I mean." She removed a legal pad she'd been working through and extended it to him.
"What is it?" He asked uncertainly as he took it.
"I've had trouble sleeping." She said as if that explained the nearly twenty pages of meticulously written notes. "I...uhh...took the liberty of working up a preliminary psychological evaluation of Barnes based on my observations while it was still fresh." Maggie paused, watching as he flipped through the pad, his eyes scanning the pages with intense focus.
"So..." She began after a moment. "When do I start?"
"I think you already have, Ms. Ramirez," Steve said, looking up at her.
"Maggie." She extended her hand to him.
"Steve." He said, taking it.
"A pleasure." She smiled, shaking hands with him.
"Ummm." They both glanced over at the doorway to see Sam standing there, looking back and forth between them, McDonald's bag in hand. "Do I wanna know?"
"No." She answered, dropping Steve's hand. "Did you get my food?"
"Just the way you like it." He set the bag down in her lap, kissing the top of her head.
"Thanks, Sammie. You're the best." She said before rifling through the contents of the paper sack.
Sam watched her carefully, glancing between her and Steve, trying to work an equation out in his head. Then something crossed his expression. Was it sadness? Anger? Frustration? Concern? Or was it resignation? Maggie didn't know, but she knew that Sam knew she was going to help them track down the Winter Soldier. Perhaps more importantly, Sam knew that he had absolutely no say in it whatsoever.
To be fair, she hadn't had a say in it either. A half-dead man stumbling onto her property, what was she supposed to do? Call the cops? And anyway, being a Good Samaritan didn't mean you invited Nazis to come and knock down your door, torture you, and set your house ablaze.
Well, it didn't matter now. It was gone. It was all gone. Her ranch was gone. Her house. Her barn. Her life and the life that she had planned with Riley and Sam in all of its various forms and trappings was gone, and there was nothing she could do about it.
So she was going to get it back, or what little of her life was left that she could get back. And so at the moment, that meant she had to track down James Barnes. No matter the cost, no matter the consequences, he was the first step to going home, and so she would help Sam and Steve track him to the ends of the earth and beyond if that's what it took. After all, she was technically dead. What more did she possibly have to lose?
As always! I hope you enjoyed! Please R&R! Happy Reading!
A/N: As an aside, I promise the horses are okay! (spoiler: they're re-homed with the exception of Shadow and Ghost who are staying with Suzanne).
