Old Friends Chapter 13
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, implied child abuse and adult situations. Thank you so much to the people who read and review, it's very encouraging.
Natasha hoped a nice dinner would take Steve's mind off of things. She picked an upscale Italian restaurant in the hope that people would be more likely to leave them alone. Restaurants that catered to Washington's elite had less autograph-seekers.
Steve ordered a main course with extra garlic. She wondered if it was a sign of dating inexperience or if he wasn't in a romantic mood. Or maybe she was reading too much into things.
After the waiter brought them their meals, Steve seemed distracted. He twirled his pasta on his plate, not looking directly at her.
He said, "I got a voicemail from Tony Stark. He's in town and wants me to meet with him tomorrow."
Natasha had a rocky personal experience with Tony. They met because Nick Fury had ordered her to spy on him, so he was vocal about not trusting her. They had been forced to work together in the Battle of New York, but sometimes the "Fire-forged friends" phenomenon didn't carry over after the battle was won.
Steve and Tony had outright clashed and fought before New York. She wondered if Tony wanting to meet with him had something to do with the revelation that Bucky had assassinated Tony's parents, or the fact that Tony's company had hired a fair number of former SHIELD agents such as Maria Hill.
She tried to be supportive. Meeting with him might be good for Steve professionally.
She said, "That's great. Assuming you can get in a word edgewise with him. Did he say why he wanted to meet with you?"
Steve shrugged. "He didn't leave details. I'm more meeting with him to see if he can get Sam another flight suit. I'm not looking forward to it."
He picked at an oversize shrimp on his plate without eating it.
She asked, "Are you feeling OK?"
He glanced up, "I'm OK. I just feel guilty because I'm having dinner with a beautiful woman, while Bucky is stuck behind bars."
"You're doing all you can for him. There's such a thing as too much guilt."
He clenched his brow. "Do you feel guilty about…anything?"
She felt like she was being accused of being cold again. Or at the very least, being judged. Natasha stabbed at her veal parmesan.
She looked down, but peered up through her eyelashes. "Do you think I'm a sociopath?"
He set his fork down quickly. "No. I wouldn't be with you if I did. I think you have a lot less ethics than I do. Do you think of yourself as a sociopath?"
"A sociopath is a selfish person incapable of knowing the difference between right or wrong who doesn't care about other people. That isn't me. But my relative lack of ethics bothers you, doesn't it?"
Steve sighed and tore pieces out of his garlic roll. "It bothers me, but I still…"
She cocked her head, "You still…what?"
"I still love you anyhow."
She smiled. She wasn't sure if Steve was genuinely in love with her, or if it was a puppy-love infatuation from him being so inexperienced. It was still nice to hear it.
Natasha wasn't quite ready to say it back to him. If she said it, she wanted to mean it. She wasn't the type to say "I love you" just because a guy said it first.
She murmured, "True love is knowing someone's flaws and loving them anyhow. Except I don't think you have any flaws. You may just be the perfect man."
"Well, I can't dance. And I'm a terrible liar, especially on TV. And you may be right about me having a martyr complex."
He stared at her hopefully, as if he was still waiting for her to say "I love you" back.
She deflected by trying to stroke his ego, not that Steve had much of one. "Why are you such a good guy? Is it genetics? Environment?"
Steve sipped from his Cappuccino. "Upbringing I guess. My parents instilled strong values in me. That and I'm stubborn. Why are you the way you are?"
She sipped from her wine glass, letting the burgundy liquid trickle down her throat.
Natasha said, "I didn't have much choice in my upbringing. The KGB took me from my parents when I was nine. They recruited me based on test scores, and they predicted I'd grow up to be pretty enough to be good at seduction. I fit their profile for the perfect spy."
"So you're like a child soldier in a way."
"What's the difference between a soldier and a spy? Spies are better liars. They didn't teach me about religion or ethics or conventional right or wrong. Murder was just part of my day job. The only morality was to serve the State. And when Communism fell I just started working for the next regime."
"But you found your way to the side of good eventually. There's obviously something good in you."
She squeezed his hand, "Do you see good in everyone?"
Steve said, "No. I've met the Red Skull, and the rest of HYDRA. My mission isn't finished with them."
Natasha lowered her voice and said, "I'm as dedicated to stopping them as you are, but after a day like today, can you drop the survivor's guilt for one night, come back to my place, and let's both just forget the rest of the world exists? We can go full-throttle tomorrow morning."
"Are you going to fall back on sex appeal whenever you want to talk me into doing something?"
"Only if it works."
"It's working."
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Madame Hydra asked, "Do you want to father children in the future Brock?"
Brock perked up on the hospital bed he started to view as a jail cell. He still couldn't read her expression as half of her face was hidden by her hairstyle. He wondered if she kept her locks glued to the side.
He narrowed his eyes. "Why are you asking me that?"
She said, "We're going to alter you on a genetic level. After Serpent Squad members go through the change, no one has been able to mother or father a child that survives past the first Trimester. If you wish, I'm giving you the option of freezing your genetic material."
Fatherhood wasn't something Brock had thought much about. He'd only met his biological father once and it wasn't very pleasant. His only brush with potential parenthood had been a pregnancy scare from a girlfriend his sophomore year in college. The high-risk lifestyle of being an undercover terrorist didn't give him much room to contemplate a white picket fence in the suburbs with a wife and kids.
Eric asked, "How do I know HYDRA isn't going to do something with our tadpoles?"
Madame Hydra rolled her visible eye. "We aren't scientifically interested in your…as you so eloquently phrase it…tadpoles. Because of your handicap you aren't a good candidate for some of the same procedures as Brock."
Eric leapt from his bed. "I'm not a fu #$%g cripple."
Reaper looked agitated. Brock noticed he was sweating, despite the room being a cool 64 degrees. Madame Hydra had mentioned they kept the rooms cool so if any snakes escaped, it might slow them down naturally. The thought of a snake escaping in the middle of the night gave him no comfort.
Eric pulled a water bottle from a refrigerator and drank from it as if he'd returned from a desert. He was acting strange. Brock wondered if he was going through some sort of withdrawal.
Brock asked, "What are you going to do to me that you can't do to him?"
She smiled. "It's complicated, but we have a recombinant DNA procedure that makes humans as flexible as snakes. It will make your bones soften on impact and reform. The next time Steve Rogers hits you, you won't break."
Brock said, "And you've done this before?"
She nodded, held up her left hand, and twisted it back with her right. Her arm made a horrific crunching sound, stiffened, and reformed as if nothing had happened.
Brock said, "No offense, but that was disgusting."
Eric asked brightly, "Can you do it again?"
She shrugged nonchalantly and repeated it on the other arm.
While she contorted herself, she said, "We're also going to increase your immunity to poisons, and make your bodily fluids toxic. We can give you sharpened canines to make your bite lethal, and I'd start growing out your fingernails so they can be sharpened to talons. You'll be a living weapon."
He stared at the wall of snake cages and thought of becoming like them. There was one serpentine-trait he was interested in.
He said, "Snakes shed their skin and get a fresh layer underneath. For all of the technology you have, could you heal my skin, make me regenerate under the burns. Could you make me look normal again?"
Madame Hydra asked, "Do you think scars are the worst thing that can happen to someone?"
"They're among the ugliest."
She nestled next to him and held up her index finger to his face. He wondered how much poison was flowing under her pointed fingernails, but didn't flinch.
She said, "Normally they treat burn scars with a series of skin grafts, but because your whole body is covered that isn't an option. Our scientists did have a proposal about skin regeneration, but we haven't tested it on anyone yet because there's no guarantee the skin won't grow back with scales."
"How do you know so much about treating burns?"
She pulled back the hair that covered half of her face. Her right cheek was marred with a series of scars. They weren't as prominent as Brock's, but still harsh to look at.
Madame Hydra said, "Are these so ugly to you?"
Brock felt like he opened his mouth and shoved his own foot down his throat.
He tried to be charming. "No. On you they just…build character."
She sighed, "My face was as bad as yours is. I had two grafting procedures myself, but they can only do so much. I've come to see them as a badge of honor."
Eric said, "Yeah, getting mutilated is a badge of honor. Funny how HYDRA attracts so many damaged people."
She said, "Damaged people are the most dangerous of all. We know we will survive."
"So as my losing a hand doesn't make me as popular around here as having scars, what are you going to do to me?"
She said, "Are you familiar with Vibranium?'
Eric said, "Yeah. It's the hardest metal on Earth. Captain America's Shield is made from it."
"We're going to coat your scythe with it. It will make it heavier, so we're going to have to give you a vibranium endoskeleton to support it."
Eric brightened. "Can I get a metal plate in my skull?"
She frowned. "Why do you want a metal plate in your head?"
"So if there's an apocalypse and I come back as a zombie and get shot in the head, I can still keep going. If you're going to make me a cyborg super soldier, I'd think you'd want to protect the brain stem."
Madam Hydra said, "Fine. I'll run the schematics by our scientists. It makes sense to protect your brain, no matter how…damaged it appears to already be."
Eric smiled and finished his water.
Brock said, "On the skin and genetic material options, I can think about it overnight, right?"
"Of course. I'll want the operations to be performed no later than this week. And I will want you both to be cleared by a psychiatrist first. Especially Eric."
Eric made a mock innocent "who me?" face.
Brock didn't like the thought of speaking to a shrink.
He said, "What do you mean cleared? Who's the psychiatrist?"
She said, "We call him Doctor Faustus. He's the same doctor assigned to the Winter Soldier."
To be continued