AN: Small disclaimer: I may have borrowed a teeny, tiny quote from the 'Hulk vs Wolverine' animation... If you've watched it, you might recognise said quote. If you haven't watched it, do what I did and watch it for Deadpool. ;-) Also, a warning in advance - updating may not happen as frequently as I managed for the first five chapters from now on. Deeply sorry :/ x

When Winter Strikes

6. Spies and Lies

"Lady Sif? Mr Fury wants to speak to you."

Sif refrained from groaning out loud. He always called at the most inappropriate times – deliberately, of course. He thought that if he saw her like this, without her makeup on, no fancy outfit to bolster her confidence, he could claim some form of professional 'dominance' over her. In that sense he reminded her of her father: both men believed they knew how to control her. "Send him up, Wanda." Sif glanced in her mirror, knowing that she didn't really have time to cover up her scars. Still, she could tie up her hair, and as soon as that was done he knocked on her door.

Fury entered at her bidding, letting the door close softly behind him. In all the time she'd known him, Sif swore he'd only ever worn one outfit. She raked her eyes over him slowly, from his eye-patch down to his boots, and was rewarded with Fury's take on a smirk. "You still disapprove."

"I know the Sa'kagé are fond of their shadows, but I think you take it somewhat too far, Nick."

"And I know courtesans aren't ashamed of their bodies, but they usually remain modest when not on the clocks." He was referring to her night shift, made of fine lace and quite translucent.

"Nothing you haven't seen already."

Refusing to comment further, Fury sat down in her armchair, leaning back and making himself comfortable. "What news do you have for me, Sif?"

She rolled her eyes. "Very little you do not know already, I'm sure." The raised eyebrow suggested he was waiting. "The only interesting things I can think to tell you are that the furore over who gets the Barnes estate is still raging on, but the Drakes are no longer interested in it, and there's been a lockdown on all Sethi wine trades. The Emperor is furious, of course, but why he'd want to poison Odin is beyond anyone's guess."

"So somebody closer to home did it?"

"It's a rumour at the moment, but I'm sure you'll want to dig into it somehow."

Fury tented his fingers. "Yes. And now I have a means to do so."

"Your new wetboy?" He raised an eyebrow at her, and she smiled back. "Please Nick, you should know that nothing stays secret around me. The Winter Soldier, too. Quite impressive for Clint."

"Sometimes I wonder if your girls use means beyond their natural abilities to procure you this information."

"They don't need other means. Men should just stop exaggerating their intelligence."

That earned her a chuckle. Rare these days. "You're right. The man formerly known as the Winter Soldier is the perfect person to investigate this murder attempt – but not yet. We need to finalise his position among the nobility before sending him in, and even then I'd like to send him on a practise run first."

"So you've already sent him to Stark?"

"We have. That furore you mentioned will quiet down within the next few days, I predict."

"Ah. I see." James Barnes – it sounded good, but the direction Fury had pushed him in surprised her. "I would have thought you'd want him for insight, though. An ex-Khalidoran spy at your fingertips – you'd be passing up an opportunity."

"That will come later. We don't want to scare him off."

Sif let it drop, but not after she let him recognise her disapproval. It was cruel to provide the young man with the impression of a new life – which he must want – only to force him into his past once it was within his grasp. Not so tactfully, she changed the subject. "You've not dropped the Banners, have you?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Remy hasn't been by in a while."

"You're right. He hasn't. But what does that have to do with the Banners?"

"Let's not bullshit tonight Nick. I'm asking because I'd like to know whether Bruce is about to snap any time soon, and my reliable source in that matter is gone. Also, Rogue misses her Gambit, and when one of my girls is upset –"

"Gambit is still with the Banners, but they're out of the city."

"Where have they gone?"

"North." Her eyes widened. "They're looking for Strange."

That piece of information surprised her. "Strange has been gone for years. What could have possibly spurred them to go and look for him now?"

Fury leaned forward. "The Winter Soldier's memory was tampered with." He watched the implications of that sink in, then stood. "If you could find me anything more about this wine fiasco I'd be most grateful."

"You're not worried about where the Banners are headed?"

"No. I don't believe Khalidor's interested in them."

"And yet they've left so soon after an attempt against the King. If Thanos has Strange, he'll know about Banner –"

"Making Banner a point of interest to him, yes, but then think about this: if the Godking did know about the Hulk, why would he not already have made a move?"

Sif scowled. "Remy's keeping you updated?"

"He borrowed one of Falcon's birds." Fury sighed through his nose, expression grim. "Whatever's happening in the world, I hope it's something we can deal with."

Had he been in a better mood, James would have been more excited about moving into the Barnes estate. As it was, little sleep and a trickier-than-usual wake-up-trap made him grumpy, and the Shinga's left hand, Maria Hill, did nothing to soothe his temper. She didn't like him, that much was obvious, and all his attempts to be civil to her were met with a cool indifference. He was half-glad half-despairing when Tony Stark showed up as well.

"Nice place, Barnes," he greeted him, gazing round the foyer appreciatively. "Not bad for a baron, anyway."

"Thanks," James muttered. The whole 'Baron Barnes' thing had yet to sink in fully, and the estate only added to the surreal turn his life had taken.

"Stark. You have the papers?" Hill asked sharply, appearing on James' right.

Tony smiled. "Maria Hill, terrifying as always; how are – papers, right, death glare received and understood." He pulled out a thick set of folded documents and handed them over. "There's just one thing," he said suddenly as Hill was about to take them. "I've done all this for Fury, now I want him to do something for me."

"Ask him yourself," Hill growled, attempting to pull the papers from Tony's fingers.

He held firm. "You know I would if I could. I know how his system works: to get to Fury, I have to go through either you or Coulson, and since both of you have a habit of only turning up when you so desire I am forced to take whatever opportunities I have. Normally I'd go through Coulson –"

"You could've asked him last time you saw him."

"Except I hadn't had the idea then, so it'll have to be you."

A muscle twitched in Hill's jaw. "Get on with it Stark."

Tony gestured to James with his free hand. "I want to draw up his first contract."

There was silence as Hill contemplated this. "Why are you only asking now?"

"I've been doing a lot for Fury lately," he said. "Convincing Pepper to help, building that stupid armour, and now all this paperwork too, and what have I got in return? Almost nothing. I know Fury's a man of honour – in his own way – and what I'm asking isn't much."

"That depends who it's for."

"Someone big." Hill raised an eyebrow. "Look, Hill, the guy needs some experience –"

"I have more than you think," James said.

"And this name isn't going to cause any problems if he disappears. In fact, I'd say it was a mutually beneficial deal." She remained unmoved. "Of course, if you say no, I'll just go to an assassin, and have them do it sloppily –"

"And what makes you think the Shinga will even accept your proposal?" Hill asked icily.

"Like I said, mutually beneficial." Tony glanced at their hands, both still holding the documents fairly tightly. "So do we have a deal?"

"Fine," Hill said after an extended pause. Ripping the papers from the mage's hand, she stalked away without another word.

James watched her go with some trepidation. "I thought it was just me she was like that around."

Tony snorted. "Come one. How many people do you think I manage not to piss off?"

"Fair point." They strolled outside, the sun bright over the small front garden the Barnes household had come with. "So, you want to give me a contract?"

"Figured it might be easier doing it for someone you already knew. That, and I need to know that whoever's taking this on is up for it."

"And you think I am?"

"There's just something about you. You seem all… failure-no-option-y. I mean don't get me wrong, the Black Widow is equally do-or-die, but I have a thing about sending women into the line of fire. That and she scares me. I know for a fact she'd make my testicles hurt for a week for making that women comment just now. Then she'd hand me over to Pepper."

James smirked. "What would Pepper do?"

"Be unsympathetic. And maybe force me to look at my business."

"You run a business?"

"Technically she runs it in my name." He shrugged. "But yeah. It was my dad's until he kicked the bucket. Weapons manufacturing, nothing exciting."

"I wouldn't have guessed," James said, making Tony laugh.

"I know, right? It's an outrage. Then again, most people are convinced 'outrageous' is my middle name. It's not, by the way, it's Edward."

"Better than Buchanan."

"Are you kidding? 'Buchanan' will get you anywhere. All you have to do is hoity your toity along with it and boom – you're dining with the King."

He groaned. "I'm not sure I'm ready for that."

"But you'll take my contract?"

They stopped, and James narrowed his eyes. "If it's given to me; I don't have much say in the matter, apparently."

"Hey, if it's any consolation, it'll take your mind off all this," Tony said, waving back at the house (small mansion) they were stood in front of. It wasn't really, but he didn't want to say anything – Tony was trying to do right by him, and at least he more-or-less knew where he was when he had a target to focus on. James just hoped he could go through with the contract and come out unscathed.

Bucky wasted no time in making sure the Holwing Commandos' latest member was properly welcomed, and soon had him introduced to all his friends.

"This is Dum Dum." Dum Dum wasn't actually dumb – it was just a nickname he'd garnered from… somewhere. He had a thing for hats and was trying to grow a moustache, but with little success in the facial hair area nobody really thought he'd end up with anything substantial.

"That's Falsworth." Falsworth liked to pretend he was a noble sometimes. He was down-to-earth and gifted with more common-sense than most, and knew where to get good smokes from. He was a generally good guy to have around, even if the noble act became grating sometimes.

"Here's Morita." The thing with Morita was that he looked like he came from the Sethi Empire, but he claimed not to be; he never acted like a fishy either, and didn't put those weird rings in his face. He had a tough-guy attitude, and was also on the small side, but Bucky wouldn't want to face him in a fight.

"Gabe." Bucky didn't know anyone who looked like Gabe, with his dark skin and short, tightly curled hair. Some of the bigs picked on him for it, but the guy could stand up for himself. He had a knack of getting gossip for everyone, hearing all kinds of things from other guilds and even stuff from across the river.

"And Dernier." Dernier spoke gibberish. Sometimes they could get basic messages across to him, but otherwise they left it to Gabe, the only one who remotely understood what the kid was saying. One thing everyone understood though was Dernier's obsession with making things explode.

"Hey, where's Toro?" Everyone shrugged. "Never mind, we'll introduce him when he shows up." Toro had what Bucky would call a fiery nature, and the two got on pretty well. He had a feeling him and the new kid would get on like a house on fire.

The little guy beamed at everyone, friendly and open despite being new and… well, tiny. Any other kid would've been terrified, Bucky thought, but this guy took on bigs twice his size and number, something even Morita would think twice about. As the night came closer they took him to their 'base'. "Ya can sleep next to me if ya want."

"Are you sure? I'm not exactly a quiet sleeper."

"Course I'm sure. And ya can't be much worse than Dum Dum."

"Shut it, Bucky!" Dum Dum snapped, but Morita was already imitating his legendary snoring. Laughter echoed around the tiny hut they'd claimed for themselves, the guild insignia bright white against the grey iron wall, and it was a long time before any of them fell asleep. The slightly wheezy breathing in Bucky's ear was annoying to begin with, but then he realised that it was a good sign: the kid was alive. So long as he was breathing, wheezily or not, he was alive – and with his size and health issues, Bucky was determined to make sure it stayed that way.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?"

Two days after James had officially moved in, Clint and Natasha had shown up for a 'house-warming' drink, bringing with them some fairly decent Sethi wine they'd managed to pilfer from the warehouses down at the docks. They hadn't been drinking long (long enough for Clint to start acting out each story he told) when James had heard a noise from upstairs; he and Natasha had gone to investigate, telling Clint to watch the door just in case, and had split up to take a wing of the house each. James hadn't been expecting to find anyone really. He definitely hadn't expected to find a man with two swords strapped to his back stood in the middle of his bedroom carefully inspecting some of James' tunics. He wasted no time in immobilising the stranger, knowing the commotion would get Nat's attention.

"Answer me before I start cutting body parts off," he growled as the man squirmed underneath him.

"In that case, can I request that you start with my toes first? I need them less than anything else."

"That doesn't answer my question." James slid out a knife, placing the point of it near the idiot's crotch.

"Aw, come on man, that'll hurt!"

"Exactly."

"Oh. Right. Torture. Sorry – I forget not everyone has a knife kink."

"What the –"

"For the love of Nysos." Turning to look over his shoulder, James was relieved to see Natasha stood in the doorway. Her expression, however, confused him. "Wade, what the fuck are you doing here?"

From his position underneath James, Wade shrugged. "Hawkass said I should come and meet the new guy."

"You know this lunatic?" James asked as Natasha turned round.

"Hawkass. Here. Now," she called, her tone sending shivers up James' spine.

"You got the tinglies too?" Wade asked him. "I'm not sure if it means I'm scared or aroused when she does that."

"James, you can get off him," Natasha said. "He knows what I'll do if he tries anything."

"Maybe I want you to do it, Red."

"It'll involve pain and blood and you won't be aroused in the slightest."

Wade jumped to his feet, leaning closer to James. "Normally I'd disagree. Pain and blood can put an interesting twist to sex, but where she's involved –"

"You're sick."

"So say many people. To that I say: who knows?"

Clint stumbled in to the room, eyes widening when he saw who was in it. "Wade?"

"Hey Hawkass. Kindly let everyone know that it was you who told me to come and get to know the new guy?"

Natasha had her 'start explaining' face trained on Clint, and the archer rubbed the back of his head uncomfortably. "I thought James should get to know him. I mean, he is a… 'colleague' of sorts."

"Yeah, we're work buddies!" Wade chirped. "We trade banter and you-had-to-be-there stories and office gossip."

"We don't work in an office," James pointed out.

"Hmm… Something needs to be done about that."

"Okay," he said to Clint, "I understand that I should know who I'm… working with, but why is he in my bedroom?"

"I dunno. I told him to come along so that he could find out more about James with us."

"And that's what he's doing," Wade said. "He knows that James likes to sleep close to the window even though it's a bit of a death wish should someone decide to assassinate him, that James has lots of Khalidoran weapons, and not enough short-sleeved shirts, but he figured that was for the whole 'my arm is made of metal and shines like the holy hand of God in the sunlight' thing."

There was a short silence, broken by James asking: "This guy's a wetboy?"

"One of the best there is," Natasha said, but her tone suggested she couldn't quite believe she was saying it.

"Red, you flatter me!" Wade grinned.

"Only because you're success rate is the highest out of all of us, Deadpool," she snapped. "You're grossly indiscreet."

Deadpool tsked. "Discreet dischmeet. There's no fun in being Sneaky Sneakerson all the time. I'm only quiet when I want to be – e dot g, when I'm setting up traps around Newbie's head."

"That's you?" James sputtered.

Wade blinked. "Did I jump the plot?"

"This is the guy you let hang knives and darts around my room for me to wake up to?" he asked Clint. It explained why the traps were always crazy-dangerous.

Clint shrugged. "He's good at them. And it keeps him entertained."

"I'm like a child who needs constant attention. Except for when I don't want anyone around, of course."

"Then he's like a child throwing a temper tantrum," Natasha explained.

"And pointy things!"

James rolled his eyes. "Right, well, this was… insightful. Wade, um… are you going to come downstairs with us?" He had thought about offering him a drink, but he doubted he wanted to see the man drunk.

"Newbie, your hospitality is melting my heart, but alas, I must decline."

There was no denying the slight relief felt at those words. "Why?"

"Because I'm supposed to give you a message."

"A message?"

"Yup. From the Shinga!"

Natasha frowned. "Fury sent you with a message?"

"Strictly speaking, no. But I just happened to overhear him telling Agent Not-So-Scary – who is still alive, by the way – that he's going to give Newbie here the contract."

James felt Natasha and Clint's eyes settle on him. "What contract?" Clint asked.

"One that Tony Stark wants me to take on as 'payment' for him helping Fury."

"You know, Fury will make your life hell if he catches you spying on him again, Wade," Natasha warned.

"I wasn't spying, Red. I was practising spying."

"Same difference."

Wade shrugged. "Whatever. I have to go now. Newbie – I like you. I hope I don't kill you."

"I hope you don't kill me too?" James said, but by the time he'd finished speaking Deadpool had disappeared through the window. "Am I dreaming?"

The other wetboys looked as exhausted as he felt. Clint was probably sober by now. "Wade Wilson takes some getting used to," Nat explained, pressing her fingers against her eyes.

"Wait, Wilson?"

"As in the Wilsons of the Court, yes," Clint supplied. "They disowned him long ago. I doubt they even know he exists, but if they do they don't acknowledge him. At all."

"I'm not surprised." Looking at the small mess Wade had left behind, James sighed and dragged a hand down his face. "Come on – I think we all need a drink after… that."

Duke Obadiah Stane was the name handed to him on a small scrap of parchment. All he was told was that everything was up to him: information gathering, surveillance, planning, the kill – nobody was going to watch him like a babysitter, mark him on his success and efficiency. He was being given the freedom to work the contract how he liked, something he'd never been able to do under the wrath of the Vurdmeisters. It alleviated some of his fears about flashbacks preventing him from working. Some.

James ended up getting all his information from Tony anyway – the man was so eager to see Stane dead that he didn't care for Sa'kagé formalities. When he finished divulging all he knew, James had to know one more thing: "Why do you want him dead so bad?"

"He screwed me over. Big time. He was my father's old business partner, but he wasn't interested in the business really. He just liked the money. Because of him, I can't move in the direction I want our manufacturing to go, and like I said, I think he plans on bringing Khalidor into the equation. So it'd be better for everyone if he was just gone."

'Everyone'. It was that James kept repeating to himself as he scoped out Stane's mansion, followed his movements from the shadows, noted the times he was alone, who he interacted with most frequently, and the times he questioned what he was doing Tony's word popped into his head. This wasn't a selfish kill, this would benefit multiple nations across Midcyru – it could hinder Khalidor.

His preparations came to fruition three weeks after receiving the contract officially. Having no family, James had worked out that the only time Stane would be truly alone would be at night when he slept. The Duke wasn't stupid, though – he'd had a mage place clever weaves along the windows and doors of his house according to Tony, ones that alerted the occupant to intruders who passed through them. James had tested them once or twice, and found they were sensitive enough to pick up the movements of rats – and that had given him an idea.

Cloaked in shadows – a trick he'd developed using his Talent, and one he wished the Meisters had let him use – he lay on top of Stane's roof, the top of his head just hanging over the edge so that he could see the light from the open window below (the man slept with the windows open whatever the weather). Duke Stane himself was inside, preparing for bed judging by the sounds he could hear, and James didn't have to wait long until the orange glow disappeared suddenly, indicating that Stane had blown out the candle; but James didn't move right away – he would have to wait until Stane was comfortable enough to drift into sleep, but not such a deep sleep that he wouldn't wake up at the alarm (that had happened once – and if the night staff hadn't run in, James would probably have taken the opportunity there and then). From his time as the Winter Soldier, when shadows didn't bend around him at will, James was a master of patience.

Half an hour later, he moved. Sliding round on his belly, James lowered himself down until he dangled by his fingertips from the roof edge, then moved his left foot around against the wall, feeling for a gap where he'd taken a brick out previously. He soon found matching ones for his feet and hands, all removed by himself one at a time over a week or so, and was able to scale the wall until he was next to the window. This was the tricky part of his plan; shifting his limbs so that he was hanging by his right hand and foot, as close to the window's edge as possible, he slipped his free hand into his pocket and pulled out a large rat he'd found earlier – slightly drugged so it wouldn't squirm and squeak, and still looking a little groggy. James frowned. He thought he'd timed it so the creature would be a little more awake, but reckoned a half-awake, pissed-off Stane wouldn't be so bothered.

He readjusted his grip on the gap in the wall but loosened his foot a bit. Gradually swinging his body as much as his position would allow, James pulled on his Talent and swung himself up and through the window, keeping a tight hold on his shadows as the alarm started blaring in his ear. As he landed, feet muffled again by his Talent (he didn't need to use it for that, but he wanted to be safe), he dropped the rat onto the floor by the window, and as Stane flailed and swore from his bed James crept quickly to the corner of the room, pressing himself into the darkness as much as he could.

Watching the Duke untangle himself from his bed-sheets and blunder about in the poor lighting would have been comical in any other situation. He was hollering for his staff as he clumsily searched for a way to light his candle, but when someone arrived with one already lit he swore at his unlit one before demanding a search of the house.

"Someone's inside!" he shouted. "Find them! Find the buggering bastard and bring them to me!"

"Uh, I don't think that'll be necessary, my Lord."

"Why the hell not?"

The man with the candle aimed it towards the base of the window, where James' rat sat, still groggy and disoriented. "It's just another rat, it seems."

"How the devil are they getting in here?" Stane seemed to want a response, and when none of the staff present could answer, he cussed them all profusely and jabbed a finger at his 'intruder'. "Deal with it – and search for more! I'm sick of the fucking things appearing in my house. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my Lord," the candle-bearer said as a servant girl bent down to scoop up the rodent. "We'll begin a thorough investigation."

"You'd better," Stane growled. "Now get out." The party left, throwing Stane's room back into darkness. Muttering to himself about inept staff and overzealous wildlife (in much more obscene language), the Duke fell back into bed, and James began the second waiting game. Another half an hour later, he stepped forward from the inky depths.

One of the elements of killing that both the Meisters and wetboys had emphasised was the need to pay attention to detail, and to work strictly with what you knew; James had learnt from the Meisters how to move without making a sound, how to balance out his weight as he moved whilst staying hidden, and with Clint and Natasha he'd learnt how to muffle his footsteps using his Talent. During his weeks of preparation, one of the details he had taken note of was which parts of which floorboards creaked when weight was pressed down on them, and now he mapped out the path that would take him slowly but silently to Stane's bedside, using both his Talent and the skills taught to him many years ago. An assassin might have cringed at the time it took him to move two metres, but James had time on his side. If anything, slower was better, because it meant his target was falling into an even deeper sleep.

Five minutes later and James was stood looking down at his first contract, his first 'deader' as Clint had put it. The next part was the easiest part of the whole job: take the blade and give a quick swipe across the throat, other hand over the mouth in case the deader woke up. Make sure to pierce the jugular for a quicker death – no suffering needed here, although that wasn't a requirement. Wait until the pulse weakens substantially enough to suggest the deader won't be able to stop the bleeding or call for help – then disappear.

Except, James couldn't disappear. He couldn't move. He was just staring at Obadiah Stane (except he wasn't, hadn't been for weeks now – he'd been the deader), watching the blood colour his rich pillows at an alarming rate, vibrant even in the pitch blackness, and seeing the same thing happen to many, many more: Matthew Murdock, Jubilation Lee, George Stacey, Reed Richards again…

The alert wards would stop working at sunrise. Waiting for dawn to break from under the four-poster bed, all James could do was remind himself that this death had a good reason behind it. Nobody would really miss Duke Obadiah Stane, and Tony hadn't asked him to do it for selfish reasons. The staff could get new jobs, for nicer people – hopefully… What if they couldn't? What if some of them ended up on the streets, begging? Or working worse jobs like he had on bare wages? Would they find themselves arrested? The grey morning finally showed itself above the window ledge. He could see a slither of colourless sky from where he lay, and moved soundlessly to the window. Almost forgetting to double check the wards had truly gone down, James left quickly, not looking back but not really seeing anything else. His Talent prevented him from breaking any bones as he dropped from the bedroom, and then he was walking into an underground pantry, changing out of the wetboy greys, stuffing them in a bag, walking back out onto the streets as if he had a place to go. He'd originally planned to go back to the Shinga, announce that the job had been done, but his feet were going somewhere else. It didn't matter – the whole city would know by noon anyway.

It was almost sundown when James emerged from the stable he'd curled up in, one he'd used before the Sa'kagé found him, with a destination in mind; more specifically, a person.