Chapter Six: Reign of Fire
Natasha grunted beneath her, covering her own head as best she could. Rebecca's back was pressed completely against Steve's upper body, his breaths of exertion from holding his shield in place were stirring her hair. He began to groan and shake with strain as debris rained down upon them and without thinking, Rebecca lifted her arms, threading them between his to help push up on his shield against the onslaught.
It felt like an eternity but eventually, the wreckage began to settle and then they were alone in the dark. Steve began grunting, his legs shifting on either side of her as he started to push upwards in order to get them out. With one final push, he was able to knock the worst of the rubble away from them. Light filtered in from still burning flames in the vicinity.
Steve started pushing more ruins out of the way and Rebecca helped so Natasha could breathe fresher air. Natasha coughed and lay dazed, not in good shape. She must have hit her head in the explosion. Rebecca helped her into a sitting position as Steve turned back to them.
He wordlessly took Natasha from her, lifting her up and began to carry her out. Rebecca climbed out behind him, then stopped hearing the same fast approaching hum he did. Quinjets. And by the lights coming their way, STRIKE team would be overheard.
"Stay low," Steve told her quietly, knowing there would be men coming in on foot. "Let's move."
She nodded to show she heard him and understood and they began to quickly and quietly pick their way out of the mess. Rebecca kept glancing over her shoulder to make sure no man in black kevlar was on their trail. Only when they made it to the trees did Steve lose some of the tension in his shoulders.
"We need to get back to the truck," Rebecca told him. "With any luck, they're all searching for bodies and haven't noticed it parked out front since they flew in. You know this land better than they do. We can use the woods for cover."
"There could be men guarding the truck," Steve said in warning, shaking his head. "It's too risky."
"Steve, Nat is no condition to walk right now and you and I can't get much farther. We need the truck. Besides, we need to get to D.C."
He gave her a long hard look, then nodded in agreement. "Come on, this way."
They crept as silent as specters, sticking to the shadows as they navigated South towards the front gate. By some stroke of luck, there were no members of STRIKE guarding the truck, which meant they'd flown directly to the missile site.
Steve lay Natasha down in the backseat and this time Rebecca took the wheel. She kept the headlights off and began to creep down the dirt road once Steve settled in the passenger seat. They didn't speak, they didn't so much as breathe until the tires hit the tarmac.
Rebecca flipped on the headlights and punched the gas, setting the course for the highway. Checking the mirror and seeing no tail, she breathed a sigh of relief. She could still smell the smoke clinging to all them and she was caked with soot, plus now the adrenaline was wearing off and she could feel the new cuts and bruises to add to the other ones.
"O'Riley?" Steve suddenly asked, twisting in his seat to look at her questioningly. "I thought your name was Callahan."
"It is. Legally." Rebecca resisted the urge to cringe. Talking about her past was never a fun subject and people always looked at her differently when they learned the truth. She wasn't sure she was quite ready for Steve to think less of her.
"Are you married?" Steve asked. "Cause earlier you made it seem like you were single and-"
"I am single. This lifestyle doesn't leave a lot of time for romance." She took one hand off the wheel and scratched the back of her neck. "Callahan was my mother's maiden name." She sighed again. "I don't have a good relationship with my father. So I changed my name to hers when I was eighteen."
"Oh." Understanding dawned on Steve's face. "That's not exactly a long story."
"That's because she only skimmed over it." Natasha piped up from the back. The other woman groaned and rubbed her head. "I have the mother of all migraines."
Steve shot Rebecca another questioning look.
"My father's name is Declan O'Riley." Rebecca kept her eyes on the road as she spoke. "He is a Captain in the Real Irish Republican Army. They're a breakaway military faction trying to bring Ireland under one rule. They think they're freedom fighters but in actuality, they're terrorists. And my father is one of the worst. He was on Interpol's Most Wanted List for five years, red notice and everything. There's so much blood on his hands."
She could feel the shock emanating off of Steve in waves.
"When I was fifteen my mother had finally had enough. She made arrangements, we were going to leave him and start over in a safe house in Italy." She continued methodically, trying not to let the pain show beneath. "But he found out about it. You don't leave RIRA unless you're in a body bag, not even the family of members. He tried to tell me she changed her mind, ran off without me. Found some other man, whatever he could think of to turn me against her. But I knew him. He killed her."
"I'm sorry," Steve said softly, empathy was in his voice and written all over his face.
"I started feeding information to Interpol. I'd sneak into his office, copy emails, paperwork, whatever I could get my hands on without getting caught. I began recording conversations, meetings he used to have around me. When I was seventeen he moved us to a safe house in Northern Ireland, remote. No other RIRA factions close enough to help him make a quick escape." She snorted. "He was so arrogant, thought he was untouchable."
"You gave him up." Steve guessed.
"Gave Interpol the exact address and S.H.I.E.L.D. busted in my door. They arrested my father's entire faction, locked him away for good. He hates me for it." Rebecca let out a humorless chuckle. "Fury himself came to his arrest, was impressed with my skills at feeding intel, offered me a spot at the Academy. I took it."
"Cause you're a badass," Natasha told her sincerely, sitting up now that she was getting her bearings back. "You were seventeen and had the guts to turn in your own father, who came after for her for it."
"What?" Steve gaped at Rebecca. "He tried to have you killed?"
"Yeah, a couple times. But his best men are in prison too, the ones who came after me were sloppy. Plus, I knew he would, so I honed up on mixed martial arts." Rebecca winced, memories of poorly trained assassins coming after her that first couple of years out of the Academy. "I joined S.H.I.E.L.D. to help protect the world from people like my father. Turns out I traded one terrorist organization for another, a worse one. I thought we were making a difference in the world, and we were making it worse."
"You didn't know," Natasha said quietly. "HYDRA was so well hidden not even Nick knew, not until the end anyway."
"None of us knew," Steve reminded Rebecca grimly. "But we do now, so we can stop it. Stop them."
"Are you going to call in the other Avengers?" Rebecca asked suddenly. "Because otherwise, it's three of us against an organization of highly trained spies and military personnel. You're good, Cap, but we're going to be hopelessly outgunned."
"We'll figure something out." He promised, determination gleamed in his blue eyes. "Right now, we need to get back to D.C. clean up, regroup and come up with a plan."
"Where the hell are we going to do that? We can't go to our apartments, no doubt they're under surveillance. I can't drag Nora into this and Nat already thinks David might be involved." Rebecca pointed out. "Tony Stark doesn't have like a penthouse around D.C. does he?"
Natasha snorted. "I wish. They'd have a hell of a time getting past his security."
"I know a guy, not well," Steve told them with a slight furrow in his brow. "He's not S.H.I.E.L.D. but he's ex-military and I think he'll at least let us clean up a bit."
Rebecca spared a brief glance down at her filthy, aching person and gave a relieved sigh. "That'd be great because we aren't exactly inconspicuous. We're definitely going to draw attention to ourselves."
They ditched the truck back at the mall where they'd stolen it and hoofed it the rest of the way to where the man Steve believed would help them lived. They used the side streets, kept their heads down and moved as fast as they could without running and risk drawing attention to themselves.
When Steve found the house they were looking for, they approached from the back, knocking on the slider door. Rebecca kept anxiously glancing over her shoulder, half expecting STRIKE to be onto them already. But the only person who noticed their presence was young, fit African American man who opened the slider door, looking confused as he greeted Steve.
"Hey Man."
"I'm sorry about this," Steve did look sorry to be burdening this man with their problem. "But we need a place to lay low."
"Everyone we know is trying to kill us," Natasha added, getting right to the point.
The other man looked them all over, taking in their disheveled, dirty, wounded appearances. "Not everyone." He finally said, stepping aside in clear invitation for them to come in.
Natasha strode right in as if she hadn't any doubt she wouldn't be welcome. Steve and Rebecca followed and she was pleased to note the man closed the slider and dropped all his blinds once they were in.
"Rebecca Callahan." She introduced herself, holding a hand out. "Thank you for this."
"Sam Wilson." He gave her hand a brief firm shake. "You guys look like hell."
"We've been through hell pretty much," Rebecca agreed. "We needed a place to clean up and come up with a new game plan."
"I've got two bathrooms. One on this floor, one upstairs." Sam gestured to the stairwell beyond the kitchen. "Help yourselves."
"Go on," Rebecca told Steve when Natasha made a beeline for the stairs. "I'll last a little longer."
"Nat and I can alternate upstairs," Steve assured her. "You use downstairs. Thank you, Sam."
"Don't worry about it," Sam replied with a nod, before looking down at Rebecca. "I'll get you a towel."
"Thanks." Rebecca wandered through his kitchen down the narrow hall that led to his entry and found the little half bathroom on her left. Stepping inside, she turned on the sink so that the water would run warm and looked at herself in the mirror for the first time since she'd gone on the run.
The white henley she'd worn was ruined, stained with dirt, blood, and soot, completely beyond repair with several tears as well. Her face was ashen beneath the dirt with bruising under her eyes belying her exhaustion. Her hair was a matted mess, chunks of hair spilling loose from the top knot she'd tried to wrangle it in. With a glower at her reflection, she yanked the elastic free and let it all tumble down to her shoulders.
Sam appeared in the doorway, holding a navy towel in one hand and an unopened box of Irish Spring soap in the other. "Sorry," He apologized with a little smirk. "I don't have any girly scented body wash lying around."
Despite herself, she laughed, accepting his offering. "I don't care what it smells like as long as it gets me clean." She told him. "Thank you."
"You need a new shirt, that thing is toast." He gestured to what she wore. "You can borrow one of mine. Fortunately, I'm not a bulky muscle guy like our mutual friend upstairs so it shouldn't be too big on you."
"You're a lifesaver, Sam." She called after him when he retreated to go do just that.
Though her ribs protested the movement, she yanked the henley up over her head and tossed it aside before ripping open the box to get to the bar of soap. Then with a determined glower, she stuck her hands and the bar under the water in the sink and got to work. She washed her upper body as best she could around the tape and sports bra she still wore. The skin exposed was mottled with deep dark purple bruising and abrasions from the Triskelion fall and explosion at Camp Lehigh.
She worked the lather up her neck and scrubbed at her face, before cupping her hands and rinsing off as best she could. She'd worked with worse accommodations in the field. A sink with warm water would suffice. She dropped her knees and got to work on her hair next.
She was using the towel to dry off her damp hair when Sam returned with a soft gray cotton t-shirt with the faded word Army stamped across the chest. "Holy-" His eyes rounded with horror and concern when he saw her bruising. "What the hell happened to you?"
She grimaced, glancing down at herself again. "I fell ten stories."
Sam gaped at her. "How are you not dead?"
"Captain America and his Shield broke my fall." Rebecca gave him a wry grin. "Cracked a few ribs though."
"Geez," He handed her the shirt. "I don't even know how you're standing."
"Necessity and some Vicodin I swiped from a hospital." She admitted, gingerly pulling on the borrowed shirt. "Thank you."
"I was a medic for Pararescue." He told her. "Do you want me to re-tape your ribs, check everything else out?"
"You have supplies? I lost most of my stolen goods." She used the towel to rub over the ends of her hair, soaking up any excess water.
"Yeah, let me get my kit. You're lucky you don't have any internal bleeding, you could have died." He shook his head in disbelief and wandered off to retrieve his supplies.
Rebecca hung up the towel to dry and wove her hair into a plait that draped over her right shoulder. Having done all she could do to clean up, she left the bathroom after rinsing out the sink and made her way back to the kitchen, following the scent of freshly brewed coffee.
"Figured you guys would need the caffeine," Sam had a large first aid kit set out on the island counter while coffee percolated into a carafe behind him. "Should be done by the time I finish taping you up."
Rebecca approached him and lifted the hem of her shirt up. Sam used medical scissors to cut through the tape she'd put on herself and peeled it gently away, revealing even more nasty bruising.
"Damn girl." Sam winced in sympathy. "I'm going to palpate along your ribcage okay? See how many you might have cracked and make sure there's nothing more serious going on."
"Don't worry, I don't think you're trying to cop a feel." Rebecca snorted in amusement and even he let out a little chuckle.
As gently as he could, he ran his fingers over her ribs, pressing in certain spots causing her to flinch in discomfort. Satisfied with his diagnosis he pulled out medical tape of his own and began to rewrap her ribs in a more snug and secure manner than she had done for herself in a sitting position.
"I think you have fractures in four ribs," Sam told her, giving the roll of tape a final jerk to tear it loose from her body. "You didn't bruise any organs that I could tell, which is really lucky considering how far you fell. You are a walking miracle. You need any more pain meds?"
"No, I don't want to lose my bearings. I'll take just enough to keep the worst of the pain at bay. I can rest when this is over and I'm not running for my life." Rebecca shook her head in denial. "I will take some of that coffee though."
"Help yourself." Sam chuckled, moving to open a cabinet full of drinking glasses and ceramic mugs. He took a mug down for her. "There's cream in the fridge and sugar in that little bowl next to the coffee pot.
"Sam really, thank you, for all of this." She told him honestly. "I'm not sure what we would have done if Steve hadn't met you. I only have two close friends in this city, one might be involved in the hunt for me and the other, well I'm sure is being watched in case I contact her and she's not cut out for...field work."
"I don't know you, I barely know Steve, but he seems to live up to the reputation he was given. And you telling me you want to protect your friend who's not, let's say athletically inclined," Sam chuckled when she grinned at his choice of description. "Tells me you're a good person too. Vote's out on the redhead, but it looks good cause Steve and you are with her."
Rebecca took her first sip of strong, hot coffee and moaned in appreciation. "God, I'm running on literally no sleep you have no idea how good this tastes right now."
Sam laughed at her reaction just as heavy footfalls sounded on the stairs and moments later Steve joined them in the kitchen.
"I'm going to make breakfast," Sam informed them. "If you guys eat that sort of thing."
Rebecca raised her hand in appreciation as she swallowed another mouthful of coffee. "I can't speak for the Avengers but my mere human self does."
Steve let out a huff of a laugh in amusement. "Thanks, Sam, for all of this."
"You going to enlighten me on what "all of this" actually is, or am I going to be left in the dark on this one?" Sam asked, looking directly at Steve.
"I think he's earned the right to know," Rebecca added her opinion, for whatever it was worth these days. "He is risking his neck for us."
Steve nodded in agreement. "It's a long complicated story, you sure you want to get involved?"
Sam smirked. "I wouldn't have opened my door if I didn't."
"All right then, just over forty-eight hours ago, the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. was assassinated-" Steve began.