Old Friends Chapter 3
By: Cadet Deming
I don't own the rights to Captain America or The Avengers, Marvel and Disney do, so please don't sue. Rated T for violence, language and adult situations. Thank you so much to those who review-)
Steve pondered how to track Rumlow. He was highly trained in attacks and evasions, so he doubted it would be easy. Steve felt the pressure to stop him before he shed more blood.
"Rumlow is covered in Third Degree burns, so he can't go anywhere without being highly conspicuous. If he tried the subway someone would have reported it. A cab driver might be hesitant to pick up someone looking like him. Did anyone report a stolen car from the parking lot last night?"
Natasha said, "I can check with the police. These days, if someone has a navigation system in their car or phone, they can be tracked by it. Maybe we'll get lucky and he stole something traceable."
Steve thought about the balance between people having advanced technology in exchange for losing privacy. It had practically been the tradeoff for an agency like SHIELD'S existence. Now he knew all too well that the only privacy was in his own head.
She called the police and turned on her charm to whoever answered the phone. While Natasha talked, Steve's own phone rang.
"It's Sam."
"Hey. I'm with Natasha."
"Good for you."
He glanced at her sideways. She didn't appear to be listening.
Steve murmured, "Not like that."
Sam said, "Give it time. I've got a lead on your buddy Bucky. Last night a bartender at The Blue Oyster Cult Bar reported a fight between two men with metal arms and weapons. One matched Bucky's description."
Steve felt excited but wary. "Another man with a metal arm. I don't like the sound of that. It could be Hydra."
"Probably. Can you come with me to investigate?'
Steve contemplated his overwhelming options. Hydra really was "cut off one head, two more problems will overwhelm you." He had to set priorities.
He said, "I'm tracking Rumlow, who has a growing body count of civilians. As long as Bucky isn't killing innocents that's my primary mission. Can you try to pin Bucky's location down without approaching him directly?"
Sam said, 'I'd rather keep my distance from him without you anyhow. Last time he ripped my wings off. I miss the wings."
Steve remembered who had manufactured Sam's flight suit. "You know, Tony Stark owes me a favor and his company made your wings. Maybe he can get you a stronger set."
He wasn't close friends with Tony. There were too many personality differences between them for that. He hoped that the fact that Tony was on Hydra's list of 20 million assassination attempts he helped thwart would account for something.
Sam said, "Cool. Can you introduce me to Tony Stark?"
"I'll see what I can do. Try to locate Bucky now, but do not approach until I get you stronger airpower. I don't want you to get hurt going after him."
"Good plan, and good luck."
Steve hung up. He hoped Bucky wouldn't start killing people again. He clung to the faith that he only killed when ordered to.
Natasha grabbed his elbow. "I have good news. A registered nurse reported her SUV stolen from the parking lot last night. It has OnStar satellite tracking. We can follow it through that."
"I don't understand technology, but in this case I like it. We have to be very careful, though. Cornered people are dangerous."
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Brock Rumlow couldn't shake the pain. Every inch of his skin had been burnt and gnarled. He'd lost all of his hair from fire, even his eyebrows and lashes. Dust got in his eyes, making him angrier.
He'd managed to hotwire an SUV and drove it to an alleged Hydra safe house. The news on the radio was all about how Hydra's attempted coup had failed, its leaders were all killed or arrested, and everything was exposed. Decades of planning and infiltration were flushed down the drain because of Rogers and Romanoff.
He could see patches of his reflection in the rearview mirrors. He tried to avoid it so he could hold himself together. Brock prided himself on being tightly controlled. He couldn't have lasted so long undercover if he didn't keep his emotions in check. Now with his real identity displayed, his outer layer of camouflage peeled away, it felt harder to stay in control.
Brock approached the reported safe house. It was off the grid to all but the most elite Hydra operatives. He could only hope it wasn't compromised.
It was in a run-down neighborhood. The streets were littered with trash, including needles. Being barefoot made him quieter, but more at risk. His only weapon was the scalpel he had stolen from the hospital. He missed the feel of a gun in his hands and protection of a flak jacket. All that separated him from the night was a thin hospital gown, still covered in blood.
The block was strangely absent of homeless people. It could be good, or a sign that the place was so dangerous not even the homeless would rest there.
He entered the building. It was unlocked, not that that would have stopped him. Cobwebs covered the corners of the walls. A rat scurried by his foot.
Brock creeped through to the basement. He walked down stairs. He noted there were no cobwebs on this level.
The basement was open except for a room at the end with a metal door. Holding his breath, he knocked on it. There was no response.
He exhaled, hoping he didn't come all of this way for nothing. He knocked again.
A peephole opened and a voice called out, "Who is it? I don't recognize you."
"The burns are recent. I'm a Hydra agent. I swear it."
"Anyone could say that. What division were you with?"
"Shield Strike Team Undercover. I served under Supreme Hydra Pierce."
"Pierce is dead. There were no survivors in that group."
"Your Intel is wrong. I'm Brock Rumlow, Pierce's top lieutenant."
"Brock?"
The door opened. A man stood in the doorway, pointing a scythe at him.
Brock said, "Eric? Grim Reaper?"
Eric smiled and lowered his weapon. "I didn't recognize your voice through the door. What the hell happened to you? You look like Freddy Krueger."
They hugged, but Eric never dropped his weapon. Brock watched it hover to the side, with glinting menace.
Brock said, "I got trapped when the helicarrier crashed into SHIELD headquarters. It wasn't the crash that got me, it was the explosions."
Eric gestured for him to come inside. He poked his head out behind him and scanned the basement suspiciously.
"Are you sure you weren't followed?"
Brock said, "You know me. I checked my rearview the whole time. No one was on my tail."
Eric locked the door behind him. "Do you need anything? Food, water, meds, underage hooker?'
"You're a riot. I need food, normal clothes and a bathroom."
The reaper gestured with his scythe. "There are spare clothes in the bedroom to the left. The bathroom is there too."
"Are you going to put the weapon down? We're all old friends here."
Eric sighed and used his left hand to detach the metal weapon from his right arm. It revealed a cauterized stump below his elbow.
Brock said, "Ouch."
"You're not the only one injured in the line of duty. It's a good thing we have so much experimental tech at our disposal. What didn't kill me, Hydra made stronger."
"I thought you loved the kill."
"Other people's, not mine."
Brock went to the bedroom. He sifted through a pile of clothes and picked out black pants and a sweatshirt in extra-large.
He went in to the bathroom and turned on the light to change. The bathroom mirror was huge. It was the first time he had a chance to see a full frontal view. His skin looked like melted cheese, red and twisted and raw. Every inch was covered with it.
Brock wanted to cry. It wasn't the macho thing to do. It wasn't considered masculine for men to care about their looks or be vain, but he had been.
He'd depended on his looks for all of his life. They were a crutch, a concealment. Beauty created a halo effect where people wanted to think good things about those blessed with it. They'd let him get away with almost anything.
He turned the faucet on so Eric couldn't hear his sniffling. Even though they had been best friends in Hydra boot camp, he didn't want to reveal everything to him. He splashed his face with water to wash away the tears.
For the first time, he truly hated Rogers, Romanoff, and the man with the wings they'd recruited. When he attacked them before, he was just following orders and it was nothing personal. He'd even admired Rogers before. Now, he wanted to make them pay for what they did to him. He blamed them for ruining everything. It never occurred to him to blame himself.
He dressed, liking the fact that the news clothes covered more of his ugly skin. Splashing his face with water one more time, he left the bedroom.
Eric handed him a bowl of cereal with his good hand. It wasn't much, but he needed it.
Brock asked, "With Pierce gone, who's running us now. Who is the new Supreme Hydra?"
Eric grinned. "Let me introduce you to him."
To be continued.