…..
ACT 2: LET SLEEPING WOLVES LIE
…..
For eighteen months the former captive had wallowed in self pity. Depression had a grip on Alex's psyche, not helped by severe separation anxiety over his absent saviour; as Barnes had his own demons to chase. It had taken an eon to relax, but he knew the clinic was safe, even if it was not anyone's ideal of home. He was not a lab rat, or about to be brainwashed, blackmailed back into operations, or kidnapped again by HYDRA, as they were officially toast or driven so underground it would take decades to reestablish the ground they had lost. Not quite living up to Schmidt's hype of two heads rising if one is cut off.
The ever observant patient rarely spoke in his head shrinking sessions or group, but had regular visits from old friends, some he remembered and some he didn't. James Sprintz and Edward Pleasure were weekly regulars. Sabina had come twice. Her first visit had been an epic fail on his part, as he'd had a full on Status epilepticus seizure when she said hi. Her second visit had been during his three month lost inside his own head phase. Edward and James had both talked, when he was silent, chatting about everything and nothing. She could not cope with the stonewalling.
His epilepsy was triggered by memories, rather than anything physical or chemical, but his brain was healing with steady improvement both psychologically and neurotically. The seizures still happened, of the blankly staring into space variety. The improvement on its own, as all available medication had been tried, both prescribed and experimental, and had done precisely nothing except make the patient experience the most of the awful side effects. Surgery had been discounted, after the initial exploratory procedure had failed due to the detrimental effect of strapping the patient down under local anaesthetic. The horror of the whole experience had resulted in his three month long, near catatonic mute phase. The quantities of drugs needed for putting serum enhanced Alex fully under were calculated to be so large, it would kill him from an overdose or respiratory failure.
His psychiatrist, Dr. Mario Cinelli, had been satisfied to timetable in some overnight home visits to Montreux with Edward. A step away from becoming an outpatient.
Yesterday, Edward had left his laptop. Folders of files containing detailed research into Alex's grandfather. Like a naughty child, Alex had read every word filling in the gaps, as he'd just been given a sugar coated version of history and events. The destruction of the hospital in Wiltshire had lead to all files being burned and all queries disavowed. John Rider was a man forgotten by history, like the Project he survived. The only survivor had returned home, then assumed his cousin's identity. Both men sharing the same name and of similar ages, named after the same grandfather. Officially, the Sergeant of the King's Own Lancashire Regiment had died of his wounds in 1944, and the other John Rider was missing, presumed dead in the North Atlantic in late 1943, a victim of the U-boat Wolf packs praying on Allied convoys. His grandfather spent eight years after the war as a merchant seaman in the Near and Far East, enough time to built up his alias, then to return to fill his dead cousin's shoes. The simple ploy had worked, until the early seventies, then Jack Rider had been spooked. He had sent his boys to stay with friends in Manchester, five days before Jack had died in a 'gangland' killing. The coroners verdict, unlawful death, as Jack Rider had been brutally beaten, shackled with chains and shot. The attempted arson, set off to destroy all evidence of foul play, had failed as the fire never took hold; noticed within minutes by a nosy neighbour, and easily put out by the Fire Brigade. All witness statements singled out several foreign-looking strangers in the quiet Derbyshire village in the days before Jack's murder. Alex stared at the police sketch. The neighbour had described the Winter Soldier in all his glory.
Alex's whole life boiled down to HYDRA's beef with all things serum related. His dad and Ian had been brought up by their father with a distinct skills set, to be able to hide in plain sight and survive being different…just like Ian had with him. Like a dam bursting, all the pieces his life fell into place. He could remember everything with perfect recall. Rather than the cheerful, bright room as homely as you could make a long term room in the clinic, he was once again alone in the dark, locked into the cyrochamber, screaming himself hoarse, only this time trapped in the none stop maelstrom of grief, pain and bleak hopelessness.
He woke in ICU in Geneva hospital two days later. Strapped down and doped up as much as safe limits allowed. The doctors arguing about the failure of the induced coma and safe alternatives after a massive bleed on a 'serum-enhanced' brain. The patient lay there and pondered the full reality of his life. Ian had not been some patriotic asshole with a teen spy game plan, but a justifiably paranoid control freak keeping the enemy close, by working for them. All the games and training for his nephew, hiding in plain sight, blend in, never to outshine your peers in the hope to keep him alive. Edward's plan of laying low and healing had worked up to now, but Plan B was the reality of run and keep running, like Bucky, and was probably the best future he could hope for considering he had his full mental capacity back and sooner rather than later people like Fury, Jones or some bastard like Ross would realise he was a usable asset and/or threat to international security and come calling. Only at this precise moment he was as usable as a kitten. This stroke was the worst thing possible, as more than ever he would be under 24/7 care with days, if not weeks needed to recover.
He mulled over the facts. Cossack was a big puzzle, the assassin who had not killed him. All his knowledge on the Russian stated he was a full on psycho with no empathy for anyone. Yet, his father had trained Yassen to be that emotionless killer, treating him like he was some long lost kid brother. Then gifting Alex that data drive, a diary of killer. That stick he'd given to Edward to read in 2002. A teenager in the eighties, who had escaped the biological plague death zone in Estrov, because the HYDRA controlled biochemist had immunised his son with the antidote. What if the syringe had contained another bastardised version of the serum, which was the only hope of letting Yasha Gregorvich survive. That made more sense in hindsight as it would explain why JohnRider had invested time in a kid, to the point of jeopardising his own position with SCORPIA.
The whole dying speech on Air Force One, to go to Venice and find out the truth, had set Alex on the path to destroy Rothman, Yu, Ash and later Razim and Kursk. Then he'd been fostered by the Pleasures and their choice to live in San Fransisco has been the only reason he'd had two and a half years of nearly normal, because he'd saved the life of the US Secretary of State and she'd pulled strings, stripping the CIA's of its hold on him. That protection had ceased when he turned eighteen and SHIELD had made their play. He'd called in his favour withTulip Jones, going to university was a precursor to rejoining MI6, as an analyst/handler, not as an agent. Within weeks it had all gone south. As HYDRA wanted the last Rider under their control, on their terms, not in a position to destroy their terrorist puppets again.
He woke just before dinner, the nurses talking of the bombing of the UN conference in Berlin. The patient could barely move his fingers and toes on his right hand side, the damage from the stroke had made practicalities of an escape impossible. Edward came by that evening, looking like a father who'd not slept in several days.
"Hey, you scared all of us so much. Sabina's even visiting this weekend. So, no more repeats of Monday thank you, OK."
Alex grunted in reply, trying to get his tongue and mouth to coordinate resulted in a mouthful of spit with nowhere to go other than down his face.
His father smiled and wiped the drool away with his handkerchief. "Back home tomorrow, full physio and speech therapy program to look forward to. You'll be back up and talking in no time." The journalist did not mention his ancient laptop had been smashed during the full medical emergency, but he'd a full back up on a hard drive from last weekend and he'd buy another non-wifi replacement from a thrift store. Edward Pleasure was a man suspicious of things cloud related and kept his phone for emails and surfing the internet. If Wikileaks and the Black Widow could download government dirty laundry with a push of a button and open internet connection, he was damn sure the NSA and their equivalents could do much worse. He was paranoid enough to keep his work and research private on nearly fifteen year old Dell and three hard drives as backup.
Edward smiled at the nurse and in passable French, volunteered to feed his son the tray of mush. "Umm, chicken, potatoes, carrots and peas. Open up and eat it all and I'll tell you all about the film being made about Sabina's book. There's a rumour Angelina Jolie is interested."
…
The extraction unit came at 2AM, with a full medical team along with the UN Armed Response Unit. Orders in place under the need for International Security under a sub-clause of the recently ratified Sokovia Accords, only Alexander Rider was in no state to sign or comply with anything. The neurologist stood her ground refusing to release her patient, only for the Agent in Charge to be tazer her and the patent tranquillised for immediate transport to the awaiting helicopter.
This one incident would lead to the Switzerland withdrawing its backing of the accords first thing in the morning. Three days later to be joined by Sokovian itself, as the country destroyed by Ultron backed the rights and liberty of Wanda Maximoff in the face of US unlawful internment.
…
Bucky sat on the floor and considered his captors, little Stevie and his new badass sidekick. He had always known his conditioning was still under the surface. The main reason Alex was in that neurological unit. The kid had never been used as a weapon. The backup had been frozen without the final stage of deep conditioning with easy to use instructions, seven code words to program the asset. He had run and kept running as he was and always would be the Winter Soldier. Only there were a full team on ice in Siberia, one that did not need the chair to comply, they were HYDRA's elite shock troops in waiting. Neither he nor the Avengers could stop them if activated.