When Winter Strikes

4. Persuasion

"Bobbi! 'Nother drink please!"

As soon as James had left the Nine's chamber, Clint had asked him how it went. When James, looking quite pale, told him he'd refused the offer, Clint couldn't deny that he'd been disappointed. Even so, as he'd led the blindfolded man back out into the city, he'd insisted on taking him somewhere where he could forget his troubles. James had laughed at that, but Clint knew the effect his higher-ups had on people, and this guy was a little different to normal people.

The look on James' face when he'd pulled off the blindfold in front of Lady Sif's brothel had been priceless. Clint had pushed him inside, regardless, and was soon drinking enough for both of them.

"I dunno why they still call it the Nine's chamber," he said as Bobbi slid him another glass. "I mean, it's kinda been a while since there were actually nine Nines, y'know?"

"Er, no, not really Clint." James was still only on his second drink. If Clint wasn't busy explaining things, he'd have ordered him another one by now.

"Well, the S'kagé used t'have a… 'council' of sorts: nine dudes who ran shit for the Shinga. They were called the Nine. Fury changed all that, though, s'now it's just Coulson 'nd Hill."

"Fury?"

"Yeah, y'know, scary-ass one-eyed guy. The Shinga."

"And he's the 'boss' you were on about?"

"Boss-man Shinga, whoo!" Clint raised his pitcher, sloshing some of his drink over the bar.

"Shit's sake, Clint, watch where you're waving that thing!" Bobbi scolded, coming over to wipe up the mess.

"Hey! Hey, Bobbi." Clint leant forward until he was sprawled out over the bar. Bobbi raised an eyebrow at him. "Don't you… Would, would you jus' gimme a second chance, Bobbi?"

"Clint, I've already said – no. Now stop asking."

"But I love you!" James snorted into his drink.

"No you don't. Now leave me alone, or do I have to throw you out?"

He sat bolt upright instantly. "No ma'am." If his eyes weren't half-closed, he could have been convincing.

Bobbi shook her head. "Jess is over there, I'm sure she'll give you a good time."

"Jess!" Clint stumbled off his stool, drink still in hand. "Jess!"

James laughed softly as he watched the archer stagger away, turning back as Bobbi groaned. "Two months I've been telling him 'no'," she complained, then smiled wryly at him. "You'd think he'd get the message by now." He chuckled, finishing his drink. "Can I get you another one sweetie?"

"Uh, not yet," he said. Alcohol, he'd discovered, was one way of asking for a memory-filled few hours, both before and after passing out.

"Well give us a shout when it takes your fancy."

"Thanks."

"You've been rather quiet this evening." Into the seat that Clint had just vacated slid the brothel's owner, Lady Sif. She was undeniably attractive, with high cheekbones and slanted eyebrows that made her gaze seem perpetually smouldering. Her jet black hair hung in a straight ponytail, shimmering in the low lighting of the lounge. She held herself regally, as if she really was a Lady, and every movement she made was graceful and with purpose – she was probably as powerful as she was beautiful. From what Clint had told him, if anybody was to know about something going on in the city, it would be Lady Sif.

As her words lapped over him James felt himself flush a little, eyes going anywhere but her fairly unconcealed… assets. "I didn't really plan on coming here," he admitted. "Clint sort of sprung it on me."

Lady Sif smiled in understanding. "Yes, that sounds like Clint. But look at it this way," she offered; "it means he likes you."

He laughed. "I gathered that much – he tried to get me to join… his group."

"Honey, I know all about Nicholas Fury and his underground games of chess."

"You… do?"

She nodded. "The Sa'kagé have been coming here since before Fury was born. My predecessor warned me about them, said they were nothing but trouble. I found, however, that men can easily be persuaded into simple deals, particularly when it benefits them both ways."

He worked out what she was saying. "You let them come here for free?"

"Not quite. The drinks they have to pay for."

James nodded as if that was normal, then raised his hand in Bobbi's direction. "But, surely that doesn't benefit you?"

"Oh, on the contrary," she laughed, eyes bright. "I offer them my girls' services as well as information gleaned from pillow talk, and in return, we have the Sa'kagé's full protection. That, and I can control what information gets taken to Fury directly."

"That's…"

"Double-crossing? Sneaky? Conniving?" Lady Sif shrugged delicately. "We do what we must to survive, love, and if that means keeping a few secrets for ourselves…" She leaned forward slowly until her lips were brushing the shell of his ear. "How many people, for example, do you think would like to see the Winter Soldier dead?" When she drew back, James looked stricken, and she laid a hand on the back of his neck. "Don't worry. Nobody here will say a thing. We pride ourselves on our confidentiality."

He managed a humourless huff. "How ironic."

She grinned at his tone and moved away, spreading her arms out on the bar behind her and leaning back with a sigh. After scanning the room for a few seconds, she spoke up again. "I think I know just the girl for you."

"Oh, no, thank you ma'am, but you really don't –"

"Darcy!"

"… have to," he finished lamely, watching as Lady Sif beckoned a young girl over. She had deep brown hair in loose curls, and wore a sky-blue, off-the-shoulder tunic with a short skirt and high boots. If she was wearing make-up, he couldn't tell, but every other girl he'd seen was so he assumed she must be too.

"James this is Darcy Lewis, one of our newer girls," Lady Sif said, laying a hand on the shoulder of the girl as she stopped next to them. "Darcy, this is James. It's his first time here and he's having some trouble relaxing. Would you be kind enough to help?"

"Sure," Darcy said, a bright smile on her face as she took James' metal hand – gloved, as it had been since the contest – and pulled him away from the bar.

Once she was sure James was on his way upstairs, Sif left her seat and made her way over to where Clint was sat with Jessica, blathering away as usual. She caught the girl's eye, tilting her head slightly, and waited as she left the wetboy with a lingering kiss. "Hello Clint," Sif said as she sat down beside him, resting an arm across his shoulders.

"Hi," he said, eyes clearly fixated on her breasts.

Rolling her eyes, she distracted him with the drink he'd left on the coffee table. "I was hoping you'd be able to answer a few questions for me sweetheart. Think you can manage that?"

Clint belched. "Sure."

"What did Nicholas Fury want with your friend James?"

"He didn't," the young man said, slumping against her slightly. "I took 'im."

"You did?"

"Yeah. Met 'im at the contest t'day. Damn good shot. Thought he'd be useful."

Interesting. "So he works for Fury now? He's a wetboy, like you?"

"Nah," Clint snorted. "Guy don't wanna know."

"And Fury hasn't killed him because…?"

"'Cause he still wants 'im. Almost as good as me. Useful."

So Fury hadn't managed to rope in the Winter Soldier? Sif silently applauded the resilient young man currently being tended to, but wondered if he'd be able to resist Fury for long. One more wetboy would only be beneficial to Cenaria in the long run, and the Winter Soldier probably knew more about Khalidor than their spies already there – the ones who were still alive, anyway. "Thank you, Clint," she murmured. "I'll see if there's a room available for you and Jessica."

When Clint had first come in with a new friend in tow, Darcy's interest had been piqued. She'd watched with amusement as Clint dragged him to the bar, immediately trying to win Bobbi's favour for what must be the hundredth time as his friend had tried to conceal his smiles. She'd tried to focus on the card game she was playing but there was no doubt that this new guy was serious eye-candy; so when Lady Sif had called her over to 'help him relax', she hadn't second guessed herself and taken him upstairs. Now, though, Darcy wasn't so sure what to do.

"Look Miss," he stammered as soon as she'd closed the door, "I appreciate… uh, the sentiment, but you don't need to do this."

Tilting her head at him, Darcy raised an eyebrow. "So then why did you come here?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Clint didn't give me much of a choice."

"Oh." That sounded like Clint alright. "Well, there are other ways you can relax, y'know."

He eyed her warily. "There are?"

"Sure. Like I noticed on the way up your hand felt really stiff. Want me to give you a massage? I mean, I'm not as good as someone like Bobbi or Wanda, but Bobbi's been giving me tips –"

"Thank you, Miss, but I don't think a massage would help," James said gently, cutting her off.

"That's the second time you've called me 'Miss'," she noted with a giggle.

"Should I stop?"

"Oh, no – I didn't mean it like that! I've just never been called Miss before and it's a little strange. But there's nothing wrong with it. I like it. Not in the kinky sexy way, but –"

"I understand." He was smiling now, like he had been back at the bar, and Darcy flushed a little at how childish she must have sounded.

"Right. Okay…" She cursed herself softly in her head. How was she going to help him relax if she couldn't relax herself? She needed to say something to ease the tension between them. "Why do you wear gloves?"

James blinked. "Pardon?"

"I noticed you were wearing gloves when you came in, but it's not exactly cold outside. And you haven't taken them off, but you've been here for quite a while. Does it have something to do with your hand feeling stiff?"

"Er… Sort of." He was rubbing his left hand self-consciously, and Darcy realised she'd probably gone a step too far.

"Ugh, I'm sorry!" she moaned, dropping onto the bed behind her. "I'm supposed to be helping you relax, but all I've done is stick my nose in where it doesn't belong!"

"It's alright," James said, moving to sit beside her. "Really. I'm sorry Lady Sif put you on the spot like that."

She snorted (very unladylike – Bobbi would despair). "Please. I was hardly 'put on the spot'. Anyway, you should've seen the guy I got saddled with last time. He was kinda fat, and he liked all these weird…" Beside her, James had gone a little pink, and she cringed. "Too much information – sorry."

He laughed a little. "That's okay. I'm sorry, too. It's been a while since I was… alone with a young girl in her bedroom."

Darcy's eyebrows shot up involuntarily. "Seriously?" He nodded, and she shifted on the bed to get a better look at his profile, tucking her legs up beneath her. "You don't look like a noble."

"Because I'm not."

"So why do you talk like one?"

"I do?"

She nodded. "You call people 'miss' and 'ma'am' and act all polite. But you look like you've got muscles, and a lot of nobles don't really have muscles unless they're in the King's army."

His lips stretched into a wry grin. "Maybe I am in the army."

"If you were in the army you wouldn't have met Clint."

"Wouldn't I, now?"

"Nope. Clint would get bored in the army. He doesn't take orders particularly well." James nodded in agreement. "But seriously," she continued, reaching forward to poke his arm. "There's no way you're a noble with arms like –" She stopped in her tracks as the flesh under her finger refused to give way. In fact, it felt about as stiff as his hand had.

James looked supremely uncomfortable. "I should go."

"Wait!" Darcy blurted as he stood up, instinctively reaching out to grab his wrist (a mistake on a number of levels – not only did he flinch, but it made her look a little desperate, and Darcy was anything but desperate). "It's okay," she said earnestly. "Whatever it is it doesn't matter – I've seen some bad things before, and I swear I won't tell Lady Sif –"

"Not like me you haven't," he said darkly, slipping free from her grasp as her fingers loosened. "And Lady Sif already knows." He had a haunted look on his face; it warped his handsome features into something sinister, something cruel, and Darcy had the urge to reach out and smooth them back into his charming, not-quite-nobility persona.

"You wanna talk about it?" she asked quietly. "I mean, I'm not very good at giving advice, but I know how to listen. It's one of the first things we're taught…" He didn't need to know that. In fact she wouldn't have been surprised if he didn't believe her, the way she'd rambled on tonight.

After a long moment though, James resumed his spot next to her on the end of the bed, and wordlessly pulled off his left glove. "How much do you know about the – the Winter Soldier?"

A hand made of solid metal gleamed at her from the open end of his sleeve. It was almost unnaturally smooth, mirror-like in quality, but acted like a real human hand – she knew, she'd felt it. Silently asking his permission, she ran her fingers along the back of it, taking note of how cool it was to the touch as she answered his question. "Not much. I grew up hearing a few stories here and there, but they all basically said the same thing."

"Such as?"

She shrugged. "He was a killer. Didn't matter how old you were, whether you were boy or girl, peasant or noble, mage or soldier – if he wanted to kill you, he would." She felt a shudder under her fingers, and looking up at his face she saw he looked pained. Frowning, she was about to ask him why it mattered until she pieced a few things together. "Are you…"

"Was," he said with feeling. "Not anymore, but…" Without warning he pulled off his tunic, revealing the rest of his metal limb and letting Darcy see the multitude of scars, thick and long, that dotted his back and torso. "I have all these reminders," he said, a bitter smile accompanying his tone. "My… masters – they never let me be fully healed."

"Why?"

James shook his head, laughing once. "I really don't know," he said. "I mean, it's not like other people would see them, and they meant nothing to me the few times I saw them, so it's a good question." He looked at Darcy then for the first time, studying her face carefully. "Do they scare you?"

Thinking of the first time she'd seen Clint shirtless, she shook her head solemnly. "I've already told you – I've seen some pretty bad stuff."

Keeping their gazes locked for a while, James breathed out slowly. "Do you think," he began, "that's it's possible to go through life without hurting anyone? Even if that's all you've ever known?"

"No," she answered honestly, adding when he looked upset: "Some people deserve to get hurt."

"People like me."

"I don't wanna hurt you." He scoffed. She flicked his ear. "If I did want to hurt you, it would be like that – because I think you're being dumb."

"I'm the one being dumb?" he sneered.

"If you're trying to insult me, try harder," she told him pointedly. "You just told me that you used to be a killer. If you hadn't told me, I'd never have known, but now that I do you expect me to run away from you and your unusual physique?" He didn't answer, so she continued. "In case you hadn't noticed, and I'm sure Lady Sif already told you, the company we keep here isn't exactly holy, but believe me when I say that out of three nobles, one peasant and you, you're the most pleasant company I've had up here. In fact, most of the killers that come here are perfectly ordinary people. They just have a particular set of skills that they use for other people." Pausing to let that sink in, Darcy returned to her previous statement. "But it's like I said – some people deserve to get hurt anyway. I think there would be a lot more bad people in the world if someone didn't have the guts to kill them."

James had fallen silent again, but she could see him processing her words. "Hurting people is one thing," he said eventually, "but killing is wrong."

"Not if it's for a good cause," she suggested.

"Like what?"

"Um… Oh! The slave traders! They had to go." He agreed with her, she could see, but looked reluctant to endorse killing all the same. Taking a wild guess at why he was discussing this with her, she put forward an idea: "How about every time you hurt someone, and you don't think you did it with good reason, you find someone to talk to about it?"

"Someone like…?"

She shrugged. "You seem to be friendly with Clint. And he sort of does the whole killing thing too, so he might know what you've been through."

The idea struck a chord with him; something in his eyes lifted, and he nodded a little easier too. Once she saw that, Darcy did what she did best: rambled on about the small, insignificant things she noticed in life – things about the other girls he probably didn't need to know, her views on the city, outfits she'd been coerced into by Bobbi, some of the greasier nobles she'd seen, what little she knew about birds, and as time trickled by she saw that James was beginning to relax, changing back into that good-looking gentleman who had stood awkwardly in her room and declined her offer of sex. Neither of them knew how much time had passed, but that didn't stop her asking if he wanted to stay when he retrieved his tunic.

"Thanks, but I think I've bothered you enough tonight, Miss," he said with a wink.

Darcy giggled again. "I'd disagree and say it was the other way round."

"I can't allow that," he said, tugging on his glove. Before she could argue further he dropped into a shallow bow, saying: "Thank you for your counsel tonight, Miss Darcy. You've been very kind." With that, he let himself out, and Darcy was left grinning like a guild rat who'd just been given a fresh strip of beef.

After asking Clint for directions to the house they'd been in earlier (Clint, still drunk and half-asleep, had given him three) James was left to his own devices on the streets of Cenaria, and he found himself embracing the solitude. It had been a while since he'd been in contact with other people for such a long period of time, and while he'd mostly found it pleasant it was also a reminder that he was comfortable in his own mind. For the most part, anyway.

He hadn't meant to say all that he had to Darcy, but the way she had touched his arm – bare metal, not just through the cloth of his shirt, and not skimming over the top of it, either – without fear had given him a faint sort of hope. And when he'd asked about the morality of killing, he'd been serious. None of the kills he'd made for Khalidor had been for any other reason than the Godking's security, or to weaken other lands, strike them a demoralising blow. Darcy believed (maybe naïvely) that sometimes it was okay to kill; and perhaps she did have a point with the slavers, but she was just a brothel girl. Then again, her suggestion that he talk about –

James' thoughts were abruptly halted when his eyes finally registered something in the street ahead of him. He was walking down a small alleyway, with buildings on all sides, but ahead of him were two figures. As he drew closer he saw that the one on the ground was a large man, dark red stains blooming from multiple points on his shirt, and the figure stood above him was a young woman in a headscarf. Her dress was torn down the front, and in her hand she held a knife. She didn't look up as James called out to her, and when he got close she was visibly shaking.

"What happened?" he asked gently, trying to shake off the memories the scene was bringing up. "Hey, look at me." Carefully he took hold of her shoulders, turning her until the body was behind her and she had no way of seeing it without turning around. Tipping her chin up he asked again what had happened.

The young woman swallowed, letting out a shuddering breath. "I-I just… I was walking, and h-he… He would take 'no' as… as an answer, and he tried to…" Blinking, she finally made eye-contact with James. "Is he dead?"

He nodded. "Yes."

The woman gasped. "I killed him? But… but I didn't –" Dropping the knife she grabbed the front of James' tunic, looking up at him pleadingly. "I'm not a murderer! I swear, I've never killed anyone in my life, and I didn't mean to kill him! He just – I was –" And with that, she collapsed into his arms, sobbing hard into his chest.

At first, James had no idea what to do – it wasn't as if he'd ever been in this situation before. He tried to comfort her as best he could, stroking her back and rocking her slightly like he'd seen a mother do to a baby once (before he'd strung her up from the beams in her bedroom for her husband to find later), and it seemed to work. "It's alright now," he told her. "I won't tell anyone, I promise."

"You won't?" she sniffed, voice muffled against his good shoulder.

He shook his head, eyes landing on the bled-out man a few feet away. "He would have hurt you if you hadn't done what you did. And maybe if you hadn't stopped him, he'd do it again to another…" Innocent, his mind supplied. This mindless brute would have hurt another innocent girl, perhaps someone like Darcy – but now he couldn't.

As things began to make a little more sense to him, James offered to walk the woman home so that she wouldn't have anything to fear. She thanked him at her door and watched as he walked away, head bowed, in a different direction. Quietly slipping inside, Natasha Romanov allowed herself a small smile.

Bucky tugged his new friend forward until they were both stood in front of Chester Phillips, the guild head of the Howling Commandos. Chester was the oldest guild head in the Warrens, and some members wondered why exactly he stayed on when he could easily buy his way out already. Bucky thought he knew; "It's 'cause he actually likes us."

"My old guild head left as soon as he could."

"Yeah? Well Chester won't do that to us."

He tried to imagine how the two of them looked now: him, who Chester didn't know particularly well, with a scrawny, unhealthy looking little who no guild in their right mind would take. Nevertheless, he was willing to put up a good fight.

"What's your name?" Chester asked them both, and once Bucky had explained who they were and what they wanted: "What good would he do us? Even if he did live to be a big, he wouldn't be much of one."

"But he's tough, Chester!" Bucky insisted. "He was takin' on two bigs when I found him. Kept knockin' him down they did, but he kept gettin' back up."

"So?"

"I don't like bullies," the kid said, surprising Bucky by speaking up quite loudly for himself. "I'm not afraid of fighting them, whether they're bigger than me or not."

Chester looked him up and down. "How do I know you won't bring more of your guild here with you? You could be a spy."

"'Cause it was his own guild that was beatin' him up! C'mon, Chester!" Bucky pleaded. "They didn't want him! He's a good kid, ya gotta see that!"

"I don't want anything to do with my old guild anymore. I'd be loyal to the Howling Commandos, I swear."

The two of them waited, hearts pounding, as Chester talked to one of his bigs. After an excruciating few minutes, he eventually turned back to them with a sigh. "Alright kid, you're in, but he's your trouble, Bucky. He does anything tricky –"

"Don't sweat it, Chester! He'll be good as gold!"

"Thanks, Chester. I won't let you down, I promise!"

They left Chester's hut bursting with excitement, Bucky with an arm slung over the shoulders of the Howling Commandos' latest member. "C'mon, I'll take ya to meet my friends!" he declared. "They'll love ya, I know it!"