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!

TW: Gun Violence, Cartel Violence, Implied Death, Mentioned death, mentioned kidnapping, blood, gunshot wound mention, blood mention

Recommended Listening: Desperado Theme by Gipsy Kings, L'arena by Ennio Morricone, The Bandit With Missing Hand by Ennio Morricone, Alacran y Pistolero by Chingon, Watch Chimes (From "For a Few Dollars More") by Ennio Morricone, Welcome to the Jungle by Guns and Roses


Chapter 32: Transport and Transfer

The streets were quiet or quieter than she'd expected them to be on the Day of the Dead. Then again, this was Juarez.

The streets were crumblings, and the street lights were scant. Those illuminated flickered, casting an eerie glow on the road around them.

Maggie exhaled slowly, running her hands over the steering wheel of the panel van she was sitting in. The vehicle was parked, and her eyes swiveled left to right, keeping vigilant for anything that wasn't supposed to be there.

She quietly recited the route. She'd driven it dozens of times now. She knew it like the back of her hand.

The back of my hand, right.

Her attention turned momentarily turned to her left hand. She knew the route like the back of this hand that was for damn sure. She surveyed it slowly in the dim light, the scars still ghastly and bright, the joints not entirely proportional. She'd developed a tremor in that hand since she'd come to Juarez. Being on the run wasn't conducive to PT though Maggie was reasonably sure that factory work hadn't helped either. But the Maquillas were always looking for fresh blood, and she'd needed a job and a cover.

Being a factory girl wasn't glamorous work, it didn't pay well, but it kept her busy, and it had kept her invisible. No one looks twice at a factory girl. No one asks them about their past or their homes or their families. Scars and mangled limbs were par for the course, and working through intolerable pain even more so.

Every one of them had a story, and every one of them was on their own, which was why it had been the perfect cover. No attachments, no relationships, no messy entanglements. That's what Natasha had taught her, and that's what needed to happen for her to stay out of any further trouble.

Thus far, she hadn't done a good job of keeping a low profile. By the very nature of her complexion and accent, she was different. She was far lighter-skinned than most of the others and spoke Texas-Spanish rather than the Spanish particular to central Mexico where most of her co-workers had come from. But crossing the border had been the only way Maggie could think of that would make it more difficult to track her. And she was all about making things more difficult for anyone who might be pursuing her.

Then Maggie had moved into a two-bedroom apartment with six other girls. She'd been the oldest, of course, most of them no more than seventeen or eighteen, Away from their families, their village, their homes for the first time in their lives. They'd taken to calling her their Aunt, and each other cousins. Maggie didn't mind so much, she could understand it. Most of them were homesick, all of them were frightened, and she didn't blame them.

There were a great many reasons to be afraid. Afraid they'd lose their job over a minor infraction. Afraid of not having enough to eat, or not having enough to send home to their parents. Afraid of what lurked in the dark.

These girls weren't stupid. They knew about the cartel activity, the kidnapping and killing of young women, young women just like them. They very well knew that it could be one of them next, while they walked home from the grocery store or the bus stop.

Maggie was afraid. She'd been afraid long before coming to Juarez, but in the dark, those fears amplified and compounded tenfold. She was afraid of being captured, afraid of being caught or worse, dragging one of these girls with her.

Maggie sighed, looking around the street again. Nothing had changed. She was still a bleeding heart case, despite everything, despite needing to remain detached, the girls had wormed their way into her heart, and she had welcomed them with open arms. They trusted her, and Maggie wanted to protect them.

That was how she'd gotten wrapped up in all of this mess.

One of her roommates had gone missing, and then one of the girls on the line that had shown her the ropes the first day had disappeared, and then another who'd always shared her lunch with girls who hadn't brought theirs hadn't shown up to work. Maggie had tried to keep her head down, tried not to get involved, not make waves, and stick out in the crowd. She tried to ignore the gaps filled by another faceless voiceless girl and the muffled sobs in the night.

But she couldn't. She couldn't turn a blind eye, couldn't watch as these girls went to slaughter at the hands of evil men. So she'd gone looking for trouble. Or rather, gone looking for any trace of where these girls had disappeared and who had seen them last. She'd asked questions, perfectly innocent ones too, until she'd found herself on a rooftop, watching an exchange take place. That was how she'd found them, or rather they'd found her—the Network.

They'd snatched her off the roof and interrogated her. They'd been watching her, and they were interested in why someone like her was interested in finding the girls. Then, rather than killing or maiming her, they offered her a job, or a job of sorts to prove she wasn't a cartel informant. Mostly it was small things, carrying notes, or passing off packages and supplies to the Marias within the Network.

The Marias had the most difficult and dangerous jobs. They baited the cartels into kidnapping them so they could lead the Network to the locations where the cartels were holding the girls. From there, extraction and transport would be arranged.

Maggie had worked in the courier position for about a month before she'd been promoted to transport. She'd been so nervous that first night, but after a while, the nerves and adrenal had faded to a dull twinge. She'd seen too many deaths at the hands of the cartels to allow nerves to play a part. She knew what they were capable of, but then again, she also knew what she was capable of.

She glanced down at the floorboards of the van, her go-bag wedged just under the driver's seat, her gun taped just out of view under the steering column, extra magazines tucked into her waistband. She was ready.

Tonight was supposed to be like any other pick up, but something else was going on, something big, something that was putting everyone on edge. It hadn't been outright said, but there was something massive about to take place, and everyone was bracing for the worst.

Maggie glanced at the side mirror. Her partner stood about a block away smoking a cigarette, and she waited with bated breath for the signal. 'Two blocks up, five minutes, four for pick up, the coast is clear.'

She turned on the stopwatch placing it in the cup holder attached to the dashboard and started the van checking that everything was good to go.

Her eyes scanned the street just outside. The sun had already dipped below the horizon, and the sky was a multitude of purple pinkish hues. It was gorgeous, a true triumph of nature. Her eyes turned from the sky to the earthly, human squalor below, the potholes in the road, the flickering street lights, the cinder block, and wrought iron fence line that hid unknown dangers beyond them. Anything could happen.

She offered up a silent prayer, touching the chain around her neck, and the two wedding bands strung around them. Riley, if you're up there, keep an eye on my six. It was the same prayer she'd given every night that she'd done a runner. Most members of the Network left candles in churches or at the many shrines they'd constructed around the city. Some wore pendants with various saints. Maggie spoke to Riley, and to her mother, and brother, and grandfather, and all those who had gone before her to either protect her in her mission or guide her home if she was through. It was a small comfort, but it was the only comfort that she could afford in such a place and time.

The stopwatch beeped, and Maggie silenced it, before shifting the van into drive. The radio was on, but she could hardly hear it over the thundering of her heartbeat.

As she pulled up to a stop sign, there was a series of quick knocks on the side of the door, and Maggie unlocked the van before the door slid opened and then quickly shut again.

Maggie continued driving without saying a word, but she could hear them, hear their ragged breaths caught in their throats, their muffled, silent tears, that escaped through cupped hands and clenched jaws. She kept her eyes front, fingers tapping the steering wheel along to the radio. They drove a good two minutes in total silence before she could hear the breathing behind her start to even out, and the palpable tension start to dissipate.

She made the planned turn left and then right several blocks down, keeping her eyes moving between the road and the side mirrors.

Then she spotted it.

A single beat-up pickup truck, nondescript, barely noticeable if she hadn't been looking for it. It was a small vehicle, but three men were sitting in the cab, and another two in the back. It wouldn't have meant anything, but they'd been trailing her for two blocks.

Fuck.

She turned on her left blinker, and the truck behind her did the same. Turning right at the last minute, the truck followed.

Maggie wished it was a coincidence, she wished that she could even think that it might be a coincidence, but it wasn't.

Maggie turned right when she should've turned left, and there was a sharp inhale of breath from behind her. The Maria knew they'd been made.

There came the rushed whispers, and a shuffling as the girls plastered themselves on the floor of the van. Then there was silence, with only the sound of the radio, and the road, and the loud thudding of Maggie's heart filling the space.

She knew the procedure. Shake the tail and head toward a secondary transport location. If it came to a fight, be prepared to fight. But above all else, do not compromise the Network.

Twisting and turning and winding through the streets, Maggie drove calmly and purposefully, doing her best not to show any indication of panic or fear.

She was two blocks away from the secondary transport location when a car, sleek, and black, and definitely not from this part of Juarez pulled out in front of her.

"Fuck." She swore under her breath. "I'm going to need you all to hold on." She said quietly. I'm going to get you out of this. Maggie would've said had she been a hero, had she been Natasha, or Steve, or Sam, had she been a soldier, a spy, a hero, had she been anything but a small frightened woman in over her head.

The car slammed on its breaks, and Maggie put the van into reverse and floored the gas. Speeding backward, she maneuvered around the truck and down the street. When she reached an intersection, she put the van back into drive, turned, and sped away, tires screeching behind them.

Then came the sound of gunfire. First, in single thick sounding rounds, and then in a quick burst.

They're going to shoot out your tires.

She knew she didn't have much time. She'd bought them a little bit of time with her maneuver, but it wasn't going to be enough to shake them completely.

Maggie flinched at the sound of bullets ripping through the side of the van, metal on metal with a smell like fireworks.

She returned her focus to the road, mapping our the streets of Juarez in her head. They were going to have to abandon the van sooner rather than later, fan-out, and meet at the rendezvous point on foot. "Can you get them to the secondary drop?" Maggie stammered her Spanish sloppy and nearly incoherent.

"Yes." The Maria responded, her voice still smooth and even. "We're going to need cover."

"Leave that to me." There it was, the bravado, the confidence, the assurance. Maggie wasn't sure where it had come from, but she knew that she needed to be that right now, for those girls, for the Maria, for the Network, for herself.

There was a gentle squeeze on her elbow. "God go with you." The Maria murmured gently.

Maggie nodded, swallowing hard. "Be ready to go in in 3...2..1..." She veered off the road and slammed on the breaks.

The van shuddered to a stop at an alleyway, blocking it off to anyone going in or out. Before the van could stop completely, the Maria was issuing instructions in rapid-fire Spanish, and she and the girls were out and into the alley before Maggie could open the driver's side door out into the alleyway.

Grabbing her gun, and putting on her go-bag, she turned her back to the alley and faced the street. Out in the street, the perusing vehicles had screeched to a halt, and its inhabitants were now climbing from their vehicles to open fire upon them.

Fuck.

She was aware that she was telling the girls to run, but as soon as the gunfire resumed, everything else melted away. She'd been here before, not like this, not in this way, but Natasha had been right. Be prepared to kill, because whoever is trying to kill you will likely have more training and won't hesitate.

Maggie wasn't sure about the better-trained bit of that, how many cartel thugs had been trained by a former Hydra/KGB super spy and avenger? But they did want to kill her.

She half ran, half sidled, ducking and dodging behind dumpsters, electrical boxes, and other street garbage, as she tried to give the girls and the Maria cover and suppressing fire as they ran along the alley ahead of her.

There was a scream, and she turned to see the Maria hunched against the wall, her hand clutching her stomach. The girls froze, glancing between her and the bleeding Maria. "You have to go now. Run!" She told them as she rushed to help the wounded woman. "I'll take care of her." Maggie turned and slung the woman's right arm over her shoulder, wrapping her left arm around her waist. "You with me?" Maggie asked breathlessly.

"You should go, go without me." She managed weakly as they staggered up the alleyway toward the next dumpster they could get shelter behind.

Maggie didn't have time to reply as another spray of bullets hailed around them, kicking up rocks at their feet. Maggie winced as several of the large rocks hit her in the leg and back.

"Come on. Come on. We're okay." Her voice was strained and squeaky as she eased the Marie down on the ground behind the dumpster. Before reaching for another magazine to re-load her gun. She came up empty.

Looking down, she realized her hands were shaking and that she and her clothes were covered in blood. Staggering to her knees, she reached over to check the Maria's pulse but stopped to steady herself against the dumpster, her vision blurry, a high pitched ringing in her ears that drowned out the sound of gunfire.

Looking down again, she saw that the blood wasn't from the other woman; it was hers. She'd been shot, twice, once through her thigh, and once through her side.

Frantic and with shaking hands, she ripped off her backpack and yanked some paracord from the front pocket, wrapping the cord around her leg, just above the entry wound. She turned to the other woman. She wasn't breathing.

"Maria," Maggie called frantically in a hoarse whisper, tears started to stream down her grime and blood-streaked face.

The shouting and the gunfire were getting closer. Only, Maggie realized after a moment, it wasn't directed at them.

"Maria." She repeated. It wasn't her name. It wasn't her real name. Maggie didn't know her real name, didn't know if she had a family if she had lost someone if anyone knew who she was, or if there would be anyone to tell that she was missing or dead.

Maggie paused as the street fell silent, but with the silence came the feeling of leaden terror. Fear overwhelmed her senses, as she frantically pulled the utility knife from her backpack before pulling it back on. Dragging herself to her feet, she held her breath, ready to defend herself, against whatever was to come.

Rounding the dumpster, she saw something, more shadow than actual shape. Maggie lunged as best as she could, but the thing in black grabbed and shook the knife from her hand. Grabbing her wrist, it hauled her bodily over their shoulder.

She tried to scream, but like a nightmare, no sound came out as the world slipped away and into inky blackness.


Maggie was awake but kept her eyes shut as she tried to take in as much as of her surroundings as possible without alerting her captors? Rescuers? She wasn't entirely sure. She was warm, there was a soft, albeit heavy, blanket on top of her. She wasn't in any sort of pain, she wasn't tied down, and the voices that she could hear were low, but tinged with concern rather than menace. If she was being held hostage by the cartels or the US government, they were certainly very considerate.

Then one voice cut through the din, "How is she? Is she stable? Can I see her?"

Eyes shooting open, Maggie sat bolt upright, throwing off the blanket, scrambled from the examination table, and charged blindly in the direction of the voice. "Steve?" She croaked, her mouth and throat dry.

Maggie tripped but was grabbed by two very strong hands before she could hit the ground.

"Steve?" Her voice was shaking as she looked up into the concerned face of none other than Steve Rogers.

"I got you, Maggie, I got you." He said soothingly, as he helped her right herself.

Looking up at him, a thousand feelings, thoughts, and emotions crossed her mind. "You have a beard." She managed finally, with a half-laugh as tears started to well in her eyes, cupping his face in her hands.

"Yeah."

Without anything else to say, Maggie pulled him into a hug, practically collapsing into his arms. She was safe, or she was dead, either way, she was with Steve, so she knew that Sam was nearby.

"I've got you. You're safe. Everything is all right." Steve murmured, as he held her tightly in his arms.

Maggie pulled back. It wasn't all right. She'd been shot, the Maria, the girls what had happened to them? She looked around, taking in everything around her. She was in some kind of laboratory, but she could only use the word loosely. It was a round room, made of rock, and windows. There were holographic screens and work stations that illuminated and blinked in various colors. Outside the windows, there was a massive mining operation taking place. They were underground, and the gigantic cavern below them stretched on forever.

Where the fuck am I?

She glanced up at Steve. "What happened? Where am I? What's going on? Where's Sam? What happened to the girls and the other woman?" She stammered, reaching down she lifted the shirt she was wearing to find there was no bullet wound, no scar, just even smooth brown skin. "I was shot." She stammered, looking back up at Steve. "I was shot. I was shot twi-" She stopped as she looked past Steve, a dark suit catching her eye.

"That! I've seen that!" She rushed past him and toward it. "Only not this one."

Maggie turned back around to Steve and saw two people standing several yards behind him. A black man and woman. Siblings if Maggie was going to guess, based on similar features. The woman was the younger of the two, probably younger than Maggie, if she could even be called a woman, and not a girl. Her features while currently grave were young and youthful, with a bit of youthful fullness to them, like some of the girls she'd worked with in Juarez, putting her at no more than sixteen or seventeen, eighteen at the very most. She was wearing a bright neon pink and green dress with asymmetrical color stripes and patterns of other neons in blue and orange and yellow. Over the dress, she wore a mesh smock and white shoes approximating sneakers. Her hair was braided in thin rows and piled on top of her head into two messy buns with beads and bright threads both woven into her hair, and holding the buns in place, and adding pops of color and ornamentation to the young woman's hair.

The man, by contrast, was far more understated wearing a black tunic, cut and fitted like a long jacket, emblazoned with white and silver embroidery around the neck and yoke of the jacket, with loose-fitting black pants, and what appeared to be leather boots. His expression was grave like his sister's, but it wasn't as concerned as his sister's, it was evaluating her, sizing her up.

Like I'm his prey. Maggie realized. Yet, despite this, she knew she'd seen him before, somewhere, not at all registering in her addled brain at the moment, and that while she should be frightened, she wasn't frightened of him. She was alive, likely because of him, and she hadn't been shot, restrained, or otherwise harmed in any way since she'd jumped off the table she'd been on.

"Where am I?" She asked shortly, looking past Steve to the man.

"You are In Wakanda."

All of the synapses in her brain fired at once, and like a pot of coffee and a kick in the teeth, she realized who she was addressing. "Making you T'Challa, King of Wakanda."

The man nodded graciously. "I am. This is my sister Princess Shuri." The King said, taking several steps toward her. "How are you feeling, Ms. Ramirez?"

"In all due respect, your highness, confused," Maggie answered shortly, glancing between Steve and the monarch, waiting for Steve to pipe up with some kind of explanation. Instead, Steve looked tense as he eyed her warily, almost expectantly, as if he was waiting for her to lunge or make a move that might threaten the King or his sister, which didn't make any sense. The bombings at the UN, the ones that had killed King T'Chaka, had been initially pinned on James Barnes. It had been a huge international stink, and one of the many reasons she'd gone into hiding. Sure, later, it had come out that it had been some guy named Zemo, but it still didn't make sense that Steve would be here.

"I imagine that you are."

"So, how does this work? I ask questions, and you answer them, or am I supposed to wait for you to deliver a monologue?"

Something approximating an amused expression crossed the King's face, but it did nothing to relieve the palpable tension in the room. "I would be interested to hear what you know, Ms. Ramirez, before I bore you with a monologue."

Maggie glanced over at Steve, doing her best to convey 'what the fuck is going on?' In a single glance, before returning her full attention to King T'Challa. "Well, I take it, you're the people who pulled me out of Juarez. With that thing." She motioned to the suit on the mannequin a few feet away, which, now upon further inspection, looked like a catsuit.

Maggie paused, taking a moment to look around the room before she put her left hand down where the bullet wound should have been, rubbing it gingerly. Steve was here, meaning that Steve was allies or associates with King T'Challa, even though Steve Rogers, James Barnes, and Sam Wilson were international fugitives under the Sokovia Accords. They were friendlies, or close to it because otherwise, it would have been politically expedient to let her die in the streets of Juarez. But they hadn't. Therefore the information that she had was valuable, dangerous, or both to the Wakandans.

Taking a deep breath, she locked eyes with the King, "And if I'm going to guess, I'd say that I'm here because of James Barnes, aren't I?"

There was a beat of silence. Steve shifted his weight, glancing back and forth between her and T'Challa. She was right. Maggie knew she was right. Steve's poker face was for shit. She'd said that man's name, and his expression had changed. Not that it became softer, by any stretch of the imagination, but there had been a slight twitch if it could be called that. Whether it was satisfaction or displeasure, Maggie likewise couldn't say for sure.

"What makes you think that, Ms. Ramirez?" T'Challa inquired, his expression and tone giving away nothing.

"Because he's here." Maggie pointed at Steve, "And I'm here, and you wanted me alive for some reason." She felt that her logic was sound. The connection between her and Steve was Barnes. That's what had gotten her into this mess in the first place, and seemed to be a reoccurring theme in her life. It was why she had left the country. It was why she had hauled around her journals the entire time. Maggie paused, her heart stopped momentarily, and her eyes went wide. "My bag." She gasped.

"It is here, and all of the contents are accounted for." The King answered calmly, motioning behind her.

Maggie turned and saw that her bag was indeed sitting untouched on a workbench. Stained with blood, dirt, and lord knew what else, but it was there, intact. Walking over to it, Maggie, picked it up and unzipped it. All of the contents were there, undisturbed, and in the place she had left them. Looking up, she met the gaze of the King and Princess. "Thank you." She said graciously.

"Of course." T'Challa nodded. "We have a room prepared for your use in the palace for the duration of your stay. You may retire there now if you wish, but my advisors may have some questions for you about the Network and will wish to speak with you in some length. I'm sure you and Captain Rogers have a lot to talk about. A lot has happened since your disappearance in June. He will want to brief you on what you've missed since then."

Maggie nodded as her brain tried to process what she was hearing. "So, James Barnes is the reason I'm here." She said as conclusively as she could manage. She needed an answer, a straight answer, and if she had to keep asking repetitive and even asinine questions to get an answer, she'd keep trudging along.

"Yes," T'Challa answered simply.

Finally. A straight answer.

"And how long am I here for?" Maggie asked, pushing her luck further. The phrase, 'for the duration of your stay' had a convenient sort of vagueness to it that Maggie really wanted to clarify before things went any further.

"For the foreseeable future. Or until the information you possess becomes irrelevant."

For the foreseeable future?

The phrase echoed in her head a thousand times. They were holding her here. She was being held here. This was witness protection 2.0. This was being locked in the tower with a security detail that followed her everywhere. This is what she had just spent the last two and a half years trying to find a way out of, to now find herself in the exact same situation. Only this time, she was being held by a nation's sovereign. It was kidnapping. It was abduction.

They did just save you from the cartels.

But that didn't matter. She probably would've died had they not intervened, and that would've been okay too. Better than being stuck, better than being held in any location she didn't choose to be. "So, I'm being detained here." It came out sharper than she'd meant it to, but it needed to be said.

"It is in our interest to keep you away from parties who might use you as leverage." The King of Wakanda replied smoothly. "But if you wish to leave, we will not stop you."

Where would I go? She would've asked, had it not been entirely laughable. Where could she go? Join Sam and Steve on the run? She'd been on the run for three months and had gotten shot twice. That wasn't sustainable or doable in her case. She wasn't a super. She wasn't a soldier. She didn't have powers or a wingsuit. What was she going to do? She couldn't leave and go back into hiding, not unless she wanted to spend the rest of what would be a very short life in a government holding cell. Trapped. She was trapped. "Is James Barnes in the country?"

"Does that make a difference?"

Yes, it did.

Maggie couldn't help but think about the journals, and the photographs, and everything that she had carried with her through her time in Juarez. Yes. She needed to finish this, needed to come face to face with James Barnes, and hand over everything she had learned about him, everything that she knew, everything that Becca had told her. If for no other reason than to wash her hands of him and get closure after two and half years of spending almost every waking minute thinking about him, and trying to track down where he was. She could live her life, even confined, once she'd done that. "Yes." She said simply.

"He is."

Maggie nodded, swallowing hard. She didn't need to know the exact circumstances of his arrival in the country, or why he was still here, that was something that hopefully Steve could fill her in on once they'd left the presence of the royal family. She just needed some basic facts. "Has James Barnes been briefed as to my situation?"

"He has, yes." T'Challa nodded.

Maggie said nothing. So he knew she was in the country. What exactly he knew about her, and her relationship to Becca, Steve, Nat, and Sam was a different story, and could be solved at a later date. The facts remained she was going to be in Wakanda for the foreseeable future, and James Barnes knew about it. "Will I be permitted to leave the palace?" She inquired.

"As I said before, you are not being detained here. Ms. Ramirez."

"But I'm not being given anything to do, in the palace. So can I leave it?" She replied.

The siblings exchanged glances before looking at Steve and then her. "I don't believe I follow," T'Challa said shortly.

Maggie sighed, suddenly feeling very tired. "I don't wanna be stuck inside." She said weakly. "While I appreciate a room in the palace for my personal use, I'd prefer something rural where I can be around animals and nature. I've always worked with my hands, and if I'm going to be here for the foreseeable future, I would like to be able to put my time toward something productive. And I don't see that being as much of an option if I'm cooped up in the palace."

T'Challa nodded firmly. "I see." He frowned thoughtfully, looking out toward the windows, where the mining was taking place a moment before he turned back to her. "I will see what can be done to secure you a place to live and work out in the countryside. As I am given to understand it, you worked with horses on your ranch back in the United States. Correct?"

"Yes." Maggie nodded.

"Then I will speak with the appropriate people to find you a position out in the grasslands."

"Thank you, your highness." She said, as graciously as she could manage. She should be thankful. He didn't have to do any of this. He didn't have to let her in his country or give her a place to live and work. He could've let her die in Juarez. It, all things being equal, could be worse.

"Of course."

"I do have a few more questions." Maggie continued.

"I am sure you do, Ms. Ramirez, but first, you should rest. Then, when the time is appropriate, you may ask all the questions you want. Though, if you get an answer is a different matter entirely."

Of course. Naturally. She surveyed the two Wakandans and then glanced at Steve. She wasn't going to get much farther than she already had, at least not today. "Can I know who saved my life? And who patched me up? I'd like to say thank you." She managed wearily.

"I will pass along your thanks to the appropriate parties," T'Challa said shortly. "But for now, I think you should get some rest. You will be staying in the same apartment Captain Rogers used. He can show you the way, or I can have on my guards escort you, whatever you prefer."

Maggie wasn't sure if that was a threat or an offer, but glancing at Steve found that he was watching her intently. She couldn't tell what the King meant by it, but having Steve by her side was far preferable than any sort of King's guard, regardless of intention. "I think Steve will be more than enough. I don't want to be any more trouble." She said.

"Of course. It was good to meet you, Ms. Ramirez, I only wish it had been under better circumstances." T'Challa said.

Yeah, Me too. "Thank you again for your generosity, your highness. I hope in time I may come to repay it."

"Of course." He nodded. "Captain, Ms. Ramirez, good day." He said before turning to leave.

Wordlessly Steve picked up her backpack and took her by the elbow, leading her silently through the research compound, out into the bright sunlight. Crossing a long bridge, they entered a lift that transported them to a series of apartments. Eventually, Steve stopped outside one of the many identical-looking doors and removing a key card swiped in front of the sensor. Holding the door open for her, Maggie stepped inside and waited for Steve to follow. Only when the door had closed securely behind him, did she turn to look at him directly.

"Steve, I ask this with all due respect, what the fuck?" Her voice was shaking. Her whole body was shaking. She may have been out of the world for three months, but absolutely nothing that had happened in the last twenty minutes had made any sense whatsoever. She wanted to scream, wanted to shout, wanted to punch and hit and bite and scratch and do anything and everything she could to get out of the situation she was in, but one look at Steve's face, Maggie realized that it wouldn't do one ounce of good.

"I know. I'm sorry." He said slowly after a long silence. "Let me make you some lunch while you shower, and then I'll explain everything. If I can, I'll try to get into contact with Sam too. He'll be happy to hear from you."

At the mention of Sam, her whole body softened, the tension easing slightly from her shoulders and back. Maggie nodded. "Okay. Fine." She couldn't argue with food, shower, or answers from either Steve or Sam.

So without further protest or inquiry, she ventured into the bathroom to turn on the water.

She took a nice long shower in the apartment's bathroom, while Steve made grilled cheese and tomato soup. Then only after they'd eaten did Steve tell her everything or everything that he could. The bombing, the chase through Romania, the triggering in Berlin, the fight at the Leipzig airport, he and Barnes's escape to Siberia, Sam's capture, his and Barnes's fight with Tony, T'Challa's offer of help, Steve's rescue of Sam and the others, Barnes's stint on ice, and of course what they'd been up to in the meantime. Concluding with the briefing with the Wakandans, Steve called Sam, and she and Sam talked for a good hour and a half before Sam was called away, and they had to say goodbye.

Handing the phone back to Steve, Maggie realized she hadn't retained much of what she'd just heard. The basics, at the very least, but her whole body felt numb, and the world around her was dull and fuzzy.

"I'll let you get some rest. I should probably head back out to the village."

"Village?" Maggie echoed, rising to help Steve clear away the dishes.

"Bucky is staying out there. For the time being."

"So, he really is here." She said blandly as if she hadn't just spent the last few hours hearing that exact thing.

"Yeah." Steve nodded. "You okay?" He asked.

Maggie sighed, shaking her head. She looked around the room. It looked clinical, like a hotel room, as if it had been made just for their particular American sensibilities. It was nicer than anywhere she'd stayed at in over three months. Still, there was a particularly sterile feeling to the entire place, even perhaps more so than the Wakandan laboratory. But it lacked personality or any sense of personal touches. If she was honest, it reminded her of the flat back in Avengers tower, or the rooms she'd occupied in the Avenger's Compound. "I don't know." She admitted after a moment. "I think I just need to get some rest and get my feet up under me. Once I get my bearings, I'll feel better, I think." She smiled weakly, more to reassure Steve than as an indication of how she was feeling.

"I'm sure of it, and if you need anything, I'm a call away." He removed a string of beads from around his wrist and set them on the side table. "They're Kimoyo beads, Shuri asked me to give them to you. You can make a call if you tap this one." He motioned to a particular one. "And say my name," Steve explained quickly.

She nodded. "Okay, sounds good."

"Get some sleep if you can." He said, moving toward the door, paused, before returning to where she stood and gave her a big hug. "It's good to know you're safe."

"Yeah." She said, returning the embrace. "Safe." She concluded distantly.

He pulled away and surveyed her carefully, concern on his features. "And really. Call if you need me."

"Will do Steve." She paused, glancing at her backpack on the bed and then up at Steve. "Tell Barnes I need to talk to him. At his earliest convenience."

Steve looked at her uncertainly. "I can do that. Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah." Maggie nodded wearily. "I just need to tie up some loose ends."

"I understand," Steve said. "When you're ready, I can make an introduction." He gave her another quick hug. "Until then, get some rest."

"Thanks." She waved as he left the room, the door locking behind him.

Maggie sighed, exhaustion clouding her thoughts and making every movement a labor. She turned to the bed and winced. As enticing as it was, even she knew that sleeping in a bed was out of the question. After sleeping on basically the ground for close to three months, there was no way she'd be able to sleep on a mattress.

Dragging the blankets from the bed, she positioned the pillows on the rug near the large sliding glass door and wrapped herself amongst the bed linens before lying down on the floor. She'd started her day in Juarez, preparing to pull four girls from the cartels. What had happened to them, she didn't know. Had they made it safe? Had the Maria pulled through? She didn't like to think too hard about it. Now she was sitting here, somewhere safe while there were still people out there who weren't.

I should be dead.

The thought drifted through the thick fog that clouded her murky mind.

But you aren't.

So what was she going to do? How could she possibly deal with the fact that once again, she was starting over? Once again, James Barnes had put her in a situation that she didn't have a way out of. How was she going to come face to face with the man who had ruined her life now just about three times?

When you're ready, I'll make an introduction.

That's what Steve had said. Would she ever be ready? Could she ever be ready? She didn't know. But as Maggie faded in and out of slumber, one thing was certain. She needed to hand over the journals, and wash her hands of the entire mess. The quicker she did that, the faster she could move on, and the faster she could figure out what the hell she was going to do with her time, now that she was stuck in Wakanda for the foreseeable future, with the man who was responsible for at least two out of the six worst moments of her life.


I hope you all enjoyed it! Ahhh. They're in the same place! Next chapter we get their first interaction. It is...something else is all I'll say. Also, as you can see from the recommended listening today, my brain was in a very specific place, and I hope that it came through at least someone in the writing of this chapter. Thanks for reading, feel free to drop a line, comments/reviews are always appreciated! Happy reading!