A/N: Hi guys! First of all, I'm impressed and honored you've read this far, props to you. :) This chapter is a little different from what I usually do (it goes from 0-100 real quick) and I'm thinking of tying it into the sequel I'm hoping to write.
This is not the last chapter. There will probably be at least two more, if things go as planned. I hope to have both of them up ASAP in the next couple weeks, and start uploading the sequel during the summer.
Thank you so much for reading! If you're compelled to leave a review, I always appreciate it, and PLEASE include any requests or thoughts of what you do/don't want to see in the upcoming story. I don't have everything set in stone yet and I love suggestions. :)
Love you all!
~OnYourLeft107
Natasha stepped out of her steaming shower and into a pale pink robe, squeezing as much moisture as she could out of her dripping curls. On her days off, this was her nightly routine. Hot shower, slipping into a sweatshirt and fuzzy pajama pants, grabbing some comfort food. Nights off were a rare occurrence - maybe once or twice every month - since she preferred not to get her hands dirty in broad daylight. So she had to make the best of them.
Contrary to popular belief, she wore colors other than black. Sometimes. Not in public. Unless she was undercover or there was a reason she should. Her favorite pair of fuzzy pants were pink with little gray cats sprinkled all over them. If anyone found out, they'd be dead. They sure were comfortable, though.
The assassin sat cross-legged on her bed after she'd dressed and ran a brush through her hair. She parted it in two and plaited it into a pair of french braids that barely brushed her shoulders. It was how she wore her hair as a young girl; her mother had taught her how to braid before...well, before the Red Room.
Nat padded into the kitchen in bare feet, wiggling her toes as she stepped across the soft carpet of her room. It felt good to have her feet unrestrained and out of combat boots, to not be worried about stepping in shards of glass or debris, to have no concern over someone spilling some toxic chemical for her to step in. Nope, here she was safe. And it was quiet.
She popped her Chinese takeout into the microwave. Her whole apartment was dimly-lit, the only bulb on being the security light above the kitchen sink that cast a blue-gray light over the room. She pulled the living room curtains closed, extinguishing any light that happened to filter in from the settling dusk outside. When her food was warmed up, Nat flicked on the T.V. and settled into her armchair, fiddling with her chopsticks as she waited for the commercials to end and the news to come on.
She went to grab the remote. "Черт, again?" She stood up and snatched it from the table. The news still wasn't on yet. Honestly, how long do these commercials have to be? She switched to the Hallmark channel. Commercials again. Ughhhhhh. Even world class assassins need something to laugh at and put them to sleep. Hallmarks just happened to do both.
She headed to the fridge for a drink, the T.V. still humming its advertisements from the other room.
"...Get relief like you've never felt before! Some common side effects are: dizziness, drowsiness, weakening of the immune system, mood swings, changes in blood sugar, new or worsening depression, and in extreme cases, hospitalization due to an allergic reaction. Don't settle for less! Get allergy relief now!"
Nat smirked. "I'd rather keep my allergies than deal with that load of crap," she muttered as she came back with a candy bar and a glass of wine. "Why would I get a medication for allergies that would potentially make them worse?" she asked herself as she sat back down in the lazy boy. She switched it back to News at 6.
It was depressing, as usual. Murder, theft, assault - all the normal reports. Sometimes she wondered why she even bothered, but Nat wanted to make sure that if there was ever someone she could help catch in the area, she would. Always working overtime, even on her nights off. Then again, with the whole accords thing, she didn't know how much she could really do anymore.
"Coming up after News at 6, an exclusive airing of 'My Fair Lady" on tonight as a continuation of our tribute to Audrey Hepburn. Stay tuned!"
Nat smiled. She was always down for a good musical, and the old ones were always the best. No Hallmark chick flick tonight, she had upped her standards. She took a long sip of wine and sank further into her cocoon of chair and blankets. It was gonna be a good night.
"...The girl was allegedly shot and killed after the break-in attempt. Police are still looking for the suspects.
"There have been no updates on the mysterious disappearance of Steven Rogers, the so-called 'Captain America.' He, along with several other dangerous individuals that can be found on the UN's newly-published list of 'vigilantes,' were found to be missing just last week. James Barnes, alias 'The Winter Soldier,' was among them. There has been no further news since."
Natasha groggily tuned in to the morning report as she woke up still comfortably situated in the recliner. I must have fallen asleep after the movie last night and forgot to turn it off. Nat yawned and shifted her position, stretching out her legs after sleeping curled up for several hours. She sniffed, let out another yawn and scratched her wispy braids as her clouded vision finally focused. She was just in time to catch a recorded interview with Tony in it.
"Mr. Stark, since the signing of the Sokovia Accords have you had any contact with your friends who refused to agree to its terms?"
"If you're referring to Rogers, no. I assume that's what you're asking."
The reporter fumbled for a couple seconds before asking, "How has the Captain's decision affected you and the rest of the Avengers team?"
"I can't speak for the rest of the team, but I'll say this. The reason we came together was because we wanted to save lives. As many as we could. Rogers knew that. Rogers knows that. In fact, when we failed that duty, he was the one who wanted us all to be put in check."
Nat could see that Tony was struggling to stay calm, his breathing became more noticeable and his lips pursed into an angry line.
"All I can say is I'm disappointed in the way things turned out. I expected more out of a man who's supposed to understand the aftereffects of a war." Tony gave a cold smile and the reports cut back to live time.
"There you have it, the words of billionaire Anthony Stark on the controversial split of the Avengers team.
"Next up is the weather report at-"
The screen suddenly fizzed out and the news was silenced. Nat frowned as it crackled for a few seconds before a camera came into focus in front of a glass room. This wasn't the news channel anymore. There was a kicking sound and a muffled agonized cry.
Natasha's blood ran cold. The cry was too genuine not to be real and she knew that voice. She had heard that groan before. Her hands trembled as she clenched the armrests of the chair, her eyes paralyzed by what she saw on the screen.
"America," rasped a voice dripping with heartless pride, "your hero has finally failed you."
This wasn't a joke. This was a live stream. She didn't know how they had overridden the system, but somehow they had gotten in. Which meant HYDRA was still alive and operating.
"Your Captain has been brought to his knees. It is only fitting that he should die with the public eye upon him, for that is how he lived: ever anxious, ever dreading the moment he'd let someone down, make a mistake, commit an irreversible act. He lived every day of his life regretting the times he had. And now he will die, never having a chance to repair the damage he has done." The speaker's laugh was cold, unforgiving. "He will die as an example. An example of what can happen to a man who betrays the ones who need him the most. Steven Rogers is a failed experiment."
The door swung open by some invisible hand and revealed a sight worse than she could have imagined. "Steve," she whispered, his name catching in her throat. He was the closest thing to a brother she would ever have. "What did they do to you?" She wasn't sure if he could still be alive.
There was blood. Everywhere. One of his eyes was swollen shut. The other was squinted, his hand weakly positioned in front of his face, bracing for the next blow. His face and neck were shaded with bruises, as if he had been rendered completely incapable of defending himself. That may have been a choice at some point, not to fight back, but now it was the only option. He was trying to say something but the words wouldn't come. The look on his face was less of fear or defiance and more of hurt and heartache.
And then she saw why.
"Oh, no. Steve…." She closed her eyes on the scene as the Winter Soldier's arm came into the frame, his hand as soaked in crimson as his victim's body. Her eyes flicked open as the voice began to speak again.
"This is what can happen to one man who fails to protect, who fails to keep his promises. Imagine what could befall an entire country, should it fail to answer its ally's cry for help. America has failed. America has failed to protect Sokovia and the thousands of citizens who inhabited it. This man is only the first of many who will pay for America's mistakes. I ask you this - what will you do if your military fails? Who will protect you? No one. You will fall, just as Sokovia did. And I promise you, America will be shown no mercy."
Steve's lips moved, his gaze focused on his friend. He had to try one last time. Bucky could remember. He had to. He knew he could.
"B…." he let out a shallow, labored gasp. He didn't know if he had the strength to say it. "Buh...c…." He had to. The assassin drew a serrated blade and seized him by the collar, pressing the knife against his ribs, waiting for the signal to end him. This was it. He had to at least say his name.
"B…." Another gasp. "Bu...cky Barnes." Heavy breath. "Y-your name...is J...J-james...Buchanan...B…." He couldn't cry. Not now. "B-barnes." Steve grabbed his friend's arm with as much strength as he could muster and looked him in the eye. "You're...my...best...friend."
The knife plunged in.
He was too late.
Steve collapsed in the soldier's arms, limp. The assassin pulled the dagger from his side and let him fall to the floor.
You're my best friend.
He stared at the knife for a moment and then his eyes widened, his heart stopped. "Steve?" The blade clattered to the floor. "No, no Steve-" he stared at his bloodied hands, then at the man fallen at his feet.
Natasha could barely resist the urge to click the 'power' button on the remote.
"Steve!" The scream was horror-filled, pained beyond belief. It echoed through the speakers as Bucky fell to his knees, head down, sobs racking through his body as he realized what he had done. "No," he cried, searching for any sign of life, seeing none. Bucky covered his face in his hands, trying to stifle his sobs. "I-I'm s-so s-s-sorry."
Agents were on him at once. They pulled the broken man to his feet, handcuffed him, began to drag him away.
"No, no! Y-you don't u-understand, I-I d-d-didn't mean t-to - I-I n-never w-w-wanted t-to hurt him h-he's my f-friend-"
It was useless. Bucky struggled, cried, fought them, but they dragged him off-screen, still screaming, tears soaking his uniform, still trying to reach for his best friend.
"America," announced the voice, as clear and cruel as ever, "your Captain is dead."
The screen went black.