Old Friends Chapter 9
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, drug references and adult situations. Thank you so much to the people who read and review. It's very motivating-)
Brock said, "I think we need to do what the lady says."
He slowly lowered himself to the ground, never taking his eyes off of Madame Hydra. He felt like a wolf or dog baring its throat in submission to a surrounding threatening pack. The movements of the people in the Serpent Squad were more serpentine than canine. One of the men twisted his neck a little too far to the side to be natural. He swore he heard a hiss, muffled by the fabric of the masks they all wore. Brock wondered if "Serpent Squad" was more than just a name.
Madame Hydra addressed Eric, "You, put the scythe down now."
Reaper said, "I can't. It's attached to me."
Brock knew he was lying, and staking both of their lives on it. As a Naval and SHIELD Lieutenant he was used to calculating odds and strategies for every potential scenario. The odds were definitely not in his favor.
She said, "Nothing is attached to you permanently. Not even your head."
Brock said, "Look. I think there's some miscommunication going on here. We're not a threat to you."
He coughed intentionally, knowing she could see blood. One of the squad soldiers cocked his head with a little too much interest. Brock wondered if they weren't entirely human under their camouflage.
She sneered, "I did not become HYDRA's first female cell leader by being naïve. Pretending to be injured to get someone to let you in their home is one of the oldest cons going."
Eric said, "Lady, this isn't corn syrup with red dye coming out of my side. Could you please check your email or voicemail or something?"
Madame Hydra said, "As if I have time to check email."
She did take her phone out and started pressing its surface. Brock noticed her nails were sharpened to claw-like points. They were painted the same shade of green as Midori alcohol.
Thunder and lightning roared outside of the barn. The cows continued to moo, oblivious to the potentially deadly standoff in their midst.
She said, "There was a memo. It was stuck in my spam blocker between the emails for pornography and mail order brides from Russia. Masks off everyone."
Madame Hydra turned away from him and pulled her mask off. Long black hair spilled out. She ran her fingers through it and turned around. Her hair still covered the right side of her face, but from what he could see of her, she was beautiful. She had ivory skin and green eyes, and she stared at him without flinching.
The other squad members removed their disguises. They were definitely human, and all looked at him with expressions of disgust or pity. They were the same looks that had set him off when he escaped from the hospital. The look of revulsion on the nurse's faces had turned him murderous, a mockery of the way so many women had looked at him with desire before he was burned to a crisp.
Madam Hydra said, "I give you my apologies, and believe me, I don't apologize easily. Come inside and let me get you fixed up. I'll show you my plans for the next phase of evolution."
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Steve opened the door to his apartment. Natasha greeted him with a kiss. It was a real kiss, not an air kiss. He loved how things were progressing, but still felt a little unsure about how to act with her. He let her in, locking the door behind them. She carried a laptop computer and set it down on his coffee table.
She asked, "Do you feel safe living here? I mean, there was an assassination attempt against Nick Fury in your living room."
"I had bullet proof glass installed. Do you feel safe in your place?"
"I never feel 100% safe anywhere, but it feels safer when you're there."
She smiled at him. It was a smile that could melt an iceberg.
Steve grinned and wanted to do something to make his place more romantic.
He asked, "Do you want music? I could play some music if you want."
"Sure. What's your favorite?"
He felt embarrassed. "Actually, I…uh…like 1940's swing bands. What do you like?"
There was a flicker on her face that showed she had no interest in swing music, and then it was gone.
Natasha said, "I like Progressive and Vocal Trance and EBM mostly."
"I…have no idea what those even are."
"Electronic dance music. I grew up in Europe where they're most popular."
He said, "For someone raised in Europe, you really don't have an accent."
She said, "I wouldn't be a very good spy if I did."
She lowered her voice an octave and imitated a bad Russian accent, "Vould you like for me to say Moose and Squirrel? I am vith the KGB and ve vil destroy you all."
He remembered Peggy Carter and asked, "Could you do an upper class British accent?"
She mimicked Duchess Kate, "Would you like a photograph of me with Prince William and our baby George?"
"You really can be anyone."
She purred in her normal voice and winked at him, "I can be anyone you want me to be."
Steve felt a mixture of arousal and guilt for asking his current lady to sound like his first girlfriend.
He said, "I want you to be you."
She smiled. "Good answer."
She kissed him again. They interlocked hands. He started to lean her back onto the couch but she stopped him.
She said, "Shouldn't we get some work done first?"
He was frustrated by her mixed signals but his overriding sense of duty came first.
Steve said, "Sure."
She opened up her computer and turned it on.
She said, "These are copies of the pictures from the traffic cameras the night Rumlow got away from us. We can search through them. I can forward you more so we can split the work. There are also police crime reports."
Steve sighed. "Is this all we have to go by?"
"I used to have teams of analysts at SHIELD to do this, but we have to do the busywork ourselves now. I sent a request to Nick Fury to see if he has any Intel on the Grim Reaper, but no response yet."
He said, "Sam has Air Force Intelligence running facial recognition software on Bucky. I could see if he could do the same for these other two."
"I'd call him and see. I wonder about Bucky though. He's so infamous now, wouldn't he have been spotted again?"
"It depends on how well he knows how to hide."
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Bucky checked his reflection in the mirror. His face was covered in a dark, scraggly beard. His eyes were haunted.
They were no more haunted than the stares of the other men, women and children who shared the homeless shelter with him. People slept on cots with little privacy. The stink of body odor, addiction, and hopelessness permeated the facility.
He instinctively avoided looking at any video cameras, but so many people stared down at the ground it didn't make him look suspicious. He stepped into the soup kitchen line. A television blared above him. The volume was muted, but he saw the program featured Steve Rogers.
The volunteer in front of him asked, "Chicken Noodle or Won Ton soup?"
Bucky didn't even know what Won Ton Soup was.
He said, "When in doubt, chicken."
The volunteer smiled at him. He looked up at her mock- bashfully and then down again.
"Thanks. That Steve Rogers guy. He's really great isn't he?"
She said, "He's a real hero. I wish we had more soldiers like him."
"So if I wanted to meet him, get his autograph or something, what would I do?"
She chuckled. "If I knew, I'd do something to meet him myself. He's notoriously press shy. I heard he won't even give interviews."
Bucky was disappointed. "Oh."
"He seems to come out whenever the country is threatened though. I'm sure the next time there's a crisis he'll show up."
Bucky nodded. He took his soup back to the tiny cot he called his only home. He finished the bowl. It wasn't very satisfying, but literal beggars couldn't be choosers.
When he was sure no one was looking, he lay down and slid his hand under the cot. His fingers felt for the one thing that brought him true safety. He caressed the end of one of the guns he'd confiscated. Weapons made him feel at home in ways that a bed to sleep in or food in his stomach never could. He started fantasizing about creating a crisis, something to grab Steve's attention.
Bucky felt guilty. He hadn't always been so violent. He thought back to what had turned him into a killing machine.
Germany, 1941
James Buchanan Barnes woke up strapped to an operating table. His arms and legs were immobilized. A harsh light glared in his face. He saw a table to his right covered with surgical tools. They looked like something a dentist could use. Bucky hated going to the dentist.
The door to the room creaked open and two men entered. One was tall and imposing. He wore an SS Uniform. His nametag read "Schmidt." Bucky had heard rumors of a high ranking Nazi officer named Johann Schmidt, aka "The Red Skull." His face didn't look red at all, but there was something unnatural about it, as if the skin was too smooth, or made of rubber.
The other man was short and pudgy, with thinning hair and glasses. His body language was subservient and his posture was hunched. He didn't wear a Nazi uniform, but a regular suit. His nametag read "Zola"
Bucky tried to act as if he was still unconscious.
Schmidt told him, "Arnim, I grow impatient with you. You are not getting me results."
"I am sorry. It is not my fault the subjects keep dying on me. You keep giving me injured specimens."
"Try this one. He seems fit enough. Give me the killer I need."
"Yes, sir, whatever you say."
Schmidt left the room. Arnim Zola stood up straighter. He came close to Bucky, took off his glasses and started polishing them.
Zola said, "I know you are playing raccoon with me American."
Bucky couldn't help but snicker. Armin wasn't very intimidating.
Bucky said, "I think you mean 'playing possum'. Possums are the animals that play dead."
"Possum, raccoon, they are all vermin to be exterminated. What is your name?"
"James Buchanan Barnes. Everyone calls me Bucky."
"Do you have any medical conditions, any history of terminal disease in your family?"
Bucky remembered the warnings given about being captured by the enemy. He wasn't supposed to give any information but his name, rank, and serial number.
He said, "Sorry, but I'm not giving you anything important. I don't give out government secrets."
Zola stopped polishing his glasses and placed them back on the bridge of his nose.
He said, "This is not an interrogation Bucky. I am not asking for military intelligence. I merely need to know the state of your health for scientific purposes."
Bucky tried to be reasonable. He seemed like a decent enough guy, compared to the other Nazis.
He said. "Look. I understand. You're just following orders. You're just a soldier like…well obviously you're not a soldier…"
Zola took his glasses off and put them on the table. His posture shifted just a bit.
He said, "Yes, that is what everyone thinks when they look at me. I could never be a soldier. They think they can judge a book by its cover. They think Arnim Zola is a weak man, a coward, the lap dog for the almighty Red Skull, who only keeps me around for my brain. My brain waves are the only things that matter, the only part of me with any value."
Zola picked up a scalpel and came towards him. Bucky tried to stay calm.
He said evenly, "Hey I wasn't trying to insult you. My health was good enough to get into the American army. I'm Irish so three generations of my family died from Cirrhosis of the Liver. I'm clean though."
Zola got closer to him, brandishing the blade.
Bucky said, "If you're going to operate on me, shouldn't you put your glasses back on?"
The Nazi doctor smiled. It was the creepiest smile Bucky had ever seen in his life.
Zola said, "I don't need the glasses. I perfected my vision years ago. I just wear them because people see a man in glasses, they think he must be a soft-hearted intellectual, he couldn't be a threat. People are less likely to hit a man wearing glasses. There is more to me than meets the eye. There is a 99.9% chance you will die on this operating table. You are a dead man. A confession to a dead man does not count. I have plans you see. My ambitions are even greater than the Red Skull's. Someday the world will cower at the might of my mind. My brain will be immortal. I will remake the world in my image. Hail HYDRA!"
Bucky realized he was insane and there was no reasoning with somebody like that.
He said, "You know I just remembered I have a weak heart. You really don't want to operate on someone like me. I'm useless."
Zola unbuttoned his shirt and made an incision over his chest.
Bucky said, "Aren't you at least going to use a painkiller? If I'm going to die here, can I at least try opium first?"
"Bah! I do not waste painkillers on the enemy. But if it hurts too much, feel free to scream all you like."
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Bucky woke up in his cot in Washington DC, screaming from his nightmare memories. He was so panicked he didn't even notice someone in the room pointing a camera phone at him.
To be continued