Steve's words were to the point. "I need some answers Sharon, and I need them now." His attitude, on the other hand, was all about protection.
Sharon stiffened, her fingers curled around the wooden arms of the interrogation chair. Fury had insisted she take a seat; a hard seat with a straight back in the center of a nearly empty room. She half hid the contemptuous glare. "What's this about? You just gave me your proverbial pat on the back fifteen minutes ago. Now I'm the proud owner of the hot seat?"
"I asked questions, you answered them. You know how this works. Now, it's his turn." Fury nodded towards Steve and abdicated the floor.
She huffed, "I have a few questions of my own, so let's get this going."
Steve roamed around her, his not well-hidden anger driving his steps, his thoughts raced, tripping over the worry that he couldn't reach Sam or the clinic; couldn't reach Bucky. "Lost him again, Rogers." His own internal voice was growing; adding to his building thesis that auditory hallucinations were contagious.
He settled against a wall to Sharon's left; looking for its steadiness, his gaze took in the room. Fury sat at the edge of his desk, in front of Sharon's chair. Natasha mirrored Steve's position on the right. He brought his eyes and focus to bear on Sharon.
"Why? That's my question. I want to know why?"
"Why what?" She snapped.
"Why betray us. Why sell us out?"
"I didn't sell us out. Your precious Dodger is with Hydra, he never left them."
"Bullshit. He despises them. He brought you credible intel, tagged operatives, and took down three of the biggest operations in the Northeast."
"That's what he wants you to think. But he knows the truth. Cut off one head, two more shall take its place. What he did was an annoying itch to them; a game to satisfy your pathetic need to believe in him."
"Back to you. Why betray us?"
"I just told you. I'm the one trying to protect us. I'm trying to get that insanity you call a boyfriend into custody. But you're too busy thinking with your dick to listen to reason."
Natasha didn't miss the shift in Steve's shoulders, the twitch of a muscle in his jaw. She could see her own words echoing in his head.
"Don't worry about my dick. Worry about your own ass. Why betray us?"
"Have you asked him about the Widow? Why he didn't tag her? Why he let her go? How about that whole 'Mother' thing. Has he explained that yet?"
Steve's brow furrowed for a split second recalling the tagging argument; and the one time he'd asked about the widow, how Bucky retreated to the solace of a voice in his head instead of talking with Steve. A faint tightness crossed his chest.
"This isn't about what he tells me, this is about you; what you know, what you've done."
Sharon crossed her legs and smiled. "How about the classic tale of the Winter Soldier and the Red Room? It's a fascinating story, really. Sokolov filled in all the first-hand details. You should ask him about it. Everything you'd need for a great drama; intrigue, politics, betrayals, torture, oh and of course love. Requited and unrequited; lovers found and lost." She flourished a mocking hand to her heart.
"Ancient history." Steve brushed it off but Natasha could hear his wheels digging ruts, wide and deep. She guessed Bucky had never told him about the Red Room. A fleeting picture of Steve's ruminating brain distracted her from the exchange.
Sharon taunted, "He never told you about Alena? Tragic. Like his life, a grand pathetic tragedy."
It took three determined strides for him to reach her; his hands on the armrests trapped her in the chair. "If you think your stories will shake my faith in him, you're wrong. You can't win this game."
Sharon answered with a defiant glare. "I've already won, look at you. You're ruined; on the run, no shield, no home, all for that Hydra thing. So how's it feel to be sleeping with the enemy?"
Steve's anger sent a flush of redness to his face and a spasm across his back. Their eyes stayed locked. He never moved to touch her, but she leaned towards him, eyes darting to his lips, head tilted softly, daring and inviting.
"Enough." Natasha barked loudly to jolt the impending moment. "I think it's time for a break. Right Sharon? I for one have had too much coffee." She darted to snake an arm between them and grabbed at Sharon's jacket pulling her from the chair. "Let's you and I go to the little girl's room."
Steve was pissed. Not at Bucky, never, not about this anyway. It was all Sharon's fault. He knew Bucky had secrets; he let Steve know on an every other day basis "Ain't gonna tell you what they did to me, Steve, no way, no how, so quit ferreting around."
This was different, Sharon taunted him with his past; said a name, implied a story, true or not. Steve was loathed to admit; he was jealous of Sharon for knowing and jealous of Alena, whoever the hell that was. She was a secret Bucky kept from Steve. That hurt in a strangely rational yet irrational way.
Steve joined Fury to take up positions on either side of the ladies room door, waiting for the inevitable brawl that was about to break out. He suppressed the urge to go in and watch, feeling oddly voyeuristic yet satisfying; maybe a bit guilty that he wanted to watch. It didn't take more than a few seconds before he could at least enjoy the sounds of Sharon getting her ass kicked.
"You self-righteous bitch." Sharon spit out words and a good amount of bloody drool after Natasha unleashed her pent-up frustration in a flurry of punches and a satisfying elbow to the jaw.
Sharon regrouped. She started a left straight punch but pulled it to throw a vicious roundhouse kick that rocked Natasha into the hot air dryer.
Undeterred, Natasha pushed forward.
She jabbed a left, it was blocked. She followed with a quick right uppercut, landing in that sweet spot right under the ribs.
A gratifying "oofff" was short-lived.
Nat took a knee to her groin, she countered with a rattling headbutt, added a leg sweep to bring her to a jarring thud on the tile floor.
Sharon rolled to her feet. "You know he's crazy; damaged goods."
"Correction." Natasha bounced lightly.
"We don't say crazy."
She unleashing a rapid-fire onslaught of side kicks; knee, stomach, cheek.
"It's pejorative."
Sharon was left sprawled face-first on the counter. She spit blood into the sink. "Pathetic then."
Natasha stepped closer but Sharon drove her shoulder into her chest slamming her backward against the stalls.
A knee to Natasha's belly; repeat the knee. She sucked in a breath.
Sharon wrapped an arm tight around her neck; a knee grinding into her thigh.
A sharp elbow jammed into Sharon, shaking her.
The chokehold tightened.
Natasha drove her hand back snaked between her legs, her fingers dug deep; snagging a fistful of crotch.
The move brought a flash of Barnes's "I bit his dick off" story from two nights previous. She nearly lost her grip from laughing at the quick picture of Steve's horrified look as Barnes launched into the gory and filthy details of the encounter, embellished at every telling.
The point was well taken. The choke hold gave a fraction, enough for her to turn and drive a palm against her carotid sending a fiery jolt to Sharon's brain; breaking their hold.
They separated.
Sharon laughed between her panting; "Why are you defending him?" She angled for position.
Natasha counter-angled impassively, calculating, maneuvering. She threw a foot against the counter, pushed off to leap forward for a sweet landing on Sharon's shoulders. She wrapped around her upper body; an arm snaked around her neck. Natasha took a few seconds to reflect that Barnes would truly appreciate the move; especially since it wasn't being used on him.
She whispered in her ear. "Because he's my friend."
Sharon staggered backward reintroducing Natasha's back to the air dryer; several times. Her grip loosened; Sharon spun to her left, backed into the stalls, spun again.
Natasha lost her grip. Her feet hit the floor. She scrambled to regroup.
"How quaint, a friend. I'm sure he's your BFF."
They circled again slowly; assessing.
"I know what happened in the Red Room." Sharon was persistent if nothing else. "The lovely Alena. I know what came out of that little tryst of his. He hasn't told you about that has he?"
Natasha countered. "So, still got a thing for Rogers."
"Hand of Hydra; you don't just walk away from that. He has reasons to be loyal to them. He hasn't told Rogers about her, has he?"
Natasha didn't bite. "Gave up your job, your reputation. All for someone who left you standing at the airport."
"Gullible idiots. You bought the whole poor me story. PTSD. He's so full of shame."
Natasha took a step back. Paced left then right, another step back. "Men. They don't get it, do they? Always thinking in the moment. Always about sex. Has to be hard for you to know he'd rather be with a man. A dysfunctional asshole that needs constant reminders to eat, shower and put the toilet seat down."
Sharon huffed a laugh. "I know what you're doing. Whatever I might have felt for the other self-righteous idiot is long gone." She waved a dismissive hand at the doorway.
"Well the love part might be gone but the jealous part is still around." She stepped back yet again. "I'd love to hear more of the Red Room story though. How about we share some girl talk." Her girlfriend smile was followed by a cartwheel that ended in a side kick that landed Sharon hard against the wall of mirrors over the sink; shattering the glass.
Steve and Fury finally dove in when the sound of the battle died down. They found them in a stall. Natasha riding Sharon like a mechanical bull at a sleazy honky-tonk bar; except the bull's head was in the bowl sucking down gulps of toilet water. Arms and legs flailing wildly to remove the rider after the longest eight seconds timed out.
"How'd it go?" Steve quizzed as they headed for Fury's office.
"Fulfilling." Natasha tossed her hair back from her face.
"Great. I love it when a plan comes together."
"Steve, we need to talk about what she told me."
"Right. We'll go over it with Fury."
"No. I need to tell you some of this without him." She held her step.
"I don't believe anything Sharon has to say about him. I want to know where Sokolov is, and whoever Sharon is working for."
"It's not that simple."
"None of this is simple."
"No. But that story from the Red Room days, he had an affair."
"So. Ancient history. I"m supposed to be jealous?"
"Well you are but that's beside the point."
"I am not jealous of a dead person." He whispered.
"You nearly climbed in Sharon's lap when she said her name. Just saying."
Steve was bone tired. He pictured Bucky striding in; all cranky attitude, sass and a big scoop of his moody shit to rescue him from this mess. He'd hand over the bike keys, wrap himself around him, and go anywhere; New Jersey, Maine, the Grand Canyon. Anywhere but here. He closed his eyes and stifled the long-suffering sigh that itched to be expressed. "OK. Shoot."
Bucky was not a happy man.
"Don't you want to know about Sam?" Alex molded her body to the passenger door; poised to sacrifice herself to the roadway at his first twitch in her direction as if she could outmaneuver him.
"Birdman? No."
He pressed the groaning truck to its maximum speed leaving a whirlwind of churned up dirt heading for the storage facility that housed their gear.
"Really. You should hear about Sam."
"Sam. Birdman. Falcon. Whatever."
"Whatever? That's so high school. I thought you were super old."
"Are you reconsidering the no killing rule? I think now would be a good time."
"Ok. Once again I hate agreeing with you. But yes. It is officially on the table."
Alex took a deep breath. "Great! Sam..."
Bucky furrowed his brows, "Nooo. Not you."
"You just said it was on the table."
"Wrong. I wasn't talking to you." He dropped his head on the steering wheel.
"We're missing Hydra right about now, aren't we, Soldier?"
"No. No, we are not. We are missing Steve."
"Hey! Pay attention Dodger!"
The front tire caught a crater of a pothole, sending the truck bouncing sideways to sail across a ditch, landing in a field of old corn stalks. The engine died on impact.
"Fuck. Just fucking great." He slammed the dashboard with his fist and tried the key again and again; nothing.
"Dodger."
"Do not speak."
Bucky climbed out and slammed the door. Not as hard as he wanted to; he still had some sense that the truck was theirs and needed to be preserved. At least for now. He was haunted by a cadre of ghosts but it was Wilson's words that nagged at him, "We can't have nice things if we wreck stuff."
Bucky walked away.
He tried to understand why Steve left him behind.
He hated it. Hated that Steve was protecting him. That was his job. Protect Steve; always Bucky protecting Steve. Not this, being vulnerable shit.
"So what, I eat spoiled food; big deal I forget the phone. I barely showered for seventy years, why shower now?" He kicked at the dirt and groaned at the sky.
"Stupid punk. I'm supposed to be protecting you not the other way around."
What really hurt was the look; sadness. Steve tried to hide it but Bucky always saw it. "I'm an assassin, dork, I see this shit." It hurt to see Steve's regret for what they'd lost, hidden behind Steve's Rules and jokes about messy hair, ice cream and cleaning his room.
"I'm not your dumb kid." He mumbled into the night air.
"Alright. Tell me about Wilson." Bucky pushed Alex into the driver's seat; he moved to tinker with the engine.
"You sure?"
"Yes. I. Am. Sure."
"He went after Steve."
"That's it? He went after Steve. And left me asleep, naked, alone, vulnerable." A head wag for emphasis.
"No. Yes. Well, he left you with me."
"I'm so reassured." He muttered openly.
"You may be reassured but we are not reassured."
Alex countered. "I saved you from Hydra."
"I have no words right now."
"This is new. You've been so chatty lately not like before without your mind."
Bucky rested his head on the fender,"Did he say anything before he left me in your expert hands?"
"He said to bring you to the compound when you woke up."
"Soldat. This does not fit with our protocol."
"Interesting. Then he took off after Steve? With his bird wings? Took off after him?"
"Ah. Yeah with the wings."
"Soldat. Didn't we see that?"
"Well, that settles it then. Must be a party at the compound everybody's there. Except us."
"We should go there. Steve said so." Alex turned the key.
"Right. Steve said so." Bucky slammed the hood down and let the Voice have his say.
"Well, first of all, Steve said do not go there. You don't want to go there.
Fury wants you there so this has to be a bad thing.
That blonde woman who works for Hydra is there, who the hell knows where Mother is but we're betting she's not far away from the blonde woman so that means she's there too.
This junior Hydra agent doesn't know what she's talking about .
You're not fooled by her right?
No. You're not fooled. She's trying to trick you into going.
What about Wilson? You think she killed him? No!
Probably locked him in the basement or sent him out for ice cream."
Bucky felt certain the Voice was mocking his loose and tangential thought process. He started to understand Steve's constant look of confusion and felt sorry for him.
Steve opened the throttle of the bike and sped down the highway towards their fate. Natasha held tight to his waist. Ultimately, the throw down in the bathroom persuaded Sharon to give up Sokolov's location. Fury and his crew weren't far behind.
The Upstate New York countryside had several de-commissioned missile silos all just waiting for some rich individuals to drop serious cash at rehabbing them. Fury had found one; Sokolov had found another.
"Everyone's moving underground." Natasha bemoaned the lack of a view.
Steve wasn't holding out much hope that they could wrap this up fast and by some miracle, he'd find Bucky asleep back at the clinic. The lack of communication was a dead give away.
He pushed the speed and replayed Natasha's questions before leaving.
"What's the deal with the medic protection detail?"
"Friends close; enemies closer."
"Sam will keep an eye on her."
"Counting on Bucky's bullshit meter. It's directly proportional to his level of paranoia, which as we know is at ten."
"Twelve." Natasha had countered.
"What?"
"Not ten. It has to be twelve. Numbers have to be divisible by three. Or is it a multiple of three?"
"Right. The numbers thing. OK, twelve."
"Rogers. What is wrong with you. I thought you knew him."
"I do know him. Pretty well, I think."
"Intimately. We heard."
Steve covered the blush with jumping on the bike. "Wasting time here."
Now he pushed the bike harder. Crouching into the wind, he pushed aside the Red Room story; compartmentalized the regrets of things not said, deeds not done. He pushed down deep the sorrow for Bucky's past and put his hope for the future on a shelf in his mind where he could clearly see it but it wasn't in the way.
He focused on the immediate task: take down the Widow and the man calling the shots.
He'd deal with the aftermath of telling Bucky the truth after it was all over. Sitting on that shelf next to his hope for the future was a pair of handcuffs. The plan; lock himself to Bucky and throw away the key. If he ever saw him again.