Steve had spent the last thirty minutes staring at the two back pages in his sketch book, on which he had recorded the movements and known sightings of the Winter soldier in the last two months. The trail appeared to have gone cold, when a week ago a HYDRA base in Serbia had been raided, in an attack which bore all the hallmarks of the Winter Soldier's meticulous liquidation of all on site personnel and the complete destruction of all equipment relating to his former handling, programming and storage. Why go to Serbia? When all available intel had stated the base had been inactive since the Asset had been transferred to the US by Pearce in 2007.
There was still dozens of active HYDRA units in the US alone. Steve had made the heartbreaking decision to carry on moping up operations, using intel from the SHIELD download of classified files. Steve rationalised the need to hit hard and quickly while their enemy was on the run. Only now he was running out of steam. He was bone weary. This road was hard and bleak, darkened by Bucky's choice to run from him.
Seven weeks on the road, raids on five bases and no contact with Bucky except following his trail of destruction. His best friend had systematically wiped all bases used by the Asset off the map. Steve knew he should sleep, but going over possible targets while Sam slept was close enough to rest. Seven weeks when the two of them had been completely off the grid after leaving Washington. Steve still picked up his emails occasionally, to check in with Natasha. She had reassured him that she had holed up with Clint somewhere safe, rebuilding her life.
The data about Serbia had come from her and had shown his intelligence gathering skills were way off the mark. The natural conclusion was that it was time to throw in the towel and stop pulling on that thread as Natasha had suggested, only Steve couldn't. This was no longer a search and rescue mission, Bucky had proved he was working to his own agenda making sure HYDRA could never wipe or freeze their Asset again.
Those aims were truly laudable as HYDRA needed to be consigned to the seventh level of hell, with every tendril decapitated and then cauterised to ensure it stayed dead. Only he and Sam did not have either the funds nor the resources for such a task. They had only managed so far because Bucky had left funds and surplus equipment as drops for them to use. The sniper using the same markers as used by the the Howling Commandos and SSR back in the good old days, a fact that comforted Steve that it really was Bucky that they were following not an empty shell.
Steve and Sam were not alone in their quest to destroy HYDRA. There were remnants of SHIELD moping up, under the directorship of the resurrected Phil Coulson. Reading the files on project TAHITI had made the super-soldier wonder, how often Fury had played god, when the dead no longer remained dead.
The exSHIELD operative looked at his watch, it was 10:05AM and Sam had only been asleep for three hours. The tall blond haired insomniac pulled on his coat and his hat, and left a short note for his long suffering friend, "gone to confession at Sacred Heart off Main Street", just in case Sam woke up. Despite his image of a squeaky clean, bible bashing Boy Scout, Steve had stopped attending mass after the death of his mother. Grief had dampened his devotion but not his underlying faith. SHIELD's actions since his defrosting had shaken his faith more than hunger, hopelessness and poor health ever had.
He had revisited his parish church in Brooklyn once, two days after his moving into his first apartment in the 21st century. The Priest had not been sympathetic to a grieving, veteran unsure of his homecoming and had told him to visit the local VA in a dismissive tone. Something he had not done until meeting Sam, two years later.
The walk in the mid morning air was refreshing, the day not too warm with a pleasant breeze. The church was not as grand as St. Finbar's in Brooklyn Heights. He entered to observe the priest and two volunteers work on a display of colourful art showing the apostles speaking in tongues. There was little chance of being recognised as Captain America as Steve had stopped shaving and now sported a beard, which he kept trimmed with his Swiss Army knife, and had not been to the barbers in nearly two months, so his hair was down to his collar. He was also wearing cheap off the shelf clothes from Wallmart and Army Surplus jacket, as the contents of his apartment had gotten trashed by SHIELD during his brief time as a wanted fugitive. He doubted even Natasha would recognise him today.
He remembered the lessons from his mother on following the True Path of kindness, charity and forgiveness. Steve could not forgive the evil suffered by Bucky. The file procured by Natasha had outlined the systematic cruelty needed to break and mold James Buchanan Barnes into HYDRA's weapon. All Steve could see was the shadow of that evil and it was tainting him. He had also been forged into a weapon by SHIELD and had become hard and relentless. He could not turn the other cheek. Would his mother or Abraham Erskine recognise him now? Was he still a good man? He only had Sam's reassurances that he was fighting the good fight. The heaviness of that grief was still there, along with the sharp pang of guilt and regret as he had left his best friend to a fate worse than death.
He had not realised he was weeping, until the priest had approached to ask, "Are you alright, son?"
The star spangled man with a plan smiled to himself before sitting up, he honestly just wanted a hour or so for silent contemplation. "Honestly, no and I can't think of a way to make anything right again. I'm just here to take a moment and try to get some perspective on the nightmare that my life has become. Being in the Army was a cakewalk compared to life here and now." The interruption had closed the lid on the Captain's momentary lapse in giving free reign to his emotional turmoil. "It's been years since I attended mass or went to confession. My mother was very pious; kind, compassionate, hard working and always helping out. She died a long slow painful death and the priest at her funeral was drunk and got her name wrong. Yeah, he was human, I know, but I ain't no saint like my mother. Just an angry young man. Life has continued to be a series of hard knocks. I came here for a bit of peace not to take up any of your time. This ain't my parish and my woes are for me to shoulder. Wondering on God's plan has me often wondering on my path, I just try to be a good man. Sometimes that ain't enough."
The priest took a long hard look at the ex-serviceman, whom he was damn sure needed a life line. " If you need me I'm here all afternoon."
"Thanks for your concern." Steve watched the sunlight illuminate the stained glass windows as the colours and shadows moved and shifted on the aisle and walls. He needed to rest. If he was still working for SHIELD, he'd be grounded for psychological assessment. He was depressed, not eating, not sleeping and would be drinking like a fish, only it did not dull his senses. He closed his eyes and could still remember the smell of the snaps poured out by Abraham Erskine on the night before he died. He was a mess after trying so hard to be a good man. He had to carry on to be there when Bucky needed him. He was only hurting himself. Time to get with the program and stop being a useless punk.