Ch. 18

Steve wanted to argue with her. He wanted to put everything out in the open, hash it all out right there and then. But, he saw the underlying tension in her dismissive posture and he knew not to push her.

"Alright, fine. We'll wait until after."

She gave him a curt nod, her lips set in a grim line as she once again went to the bathroom and took out yet another pill bottle, dumping a few of the pills into hand and swallowing them with a small glass of water.

"More ibuprofen?" Steve asked. He began to worry that her confrontation with Moreno's men had been much more serious than she had implied.

"No, it's . . . ginger," she said softly, embarrassment coloring her cheeks.

"Ginger?"

She sighed. "We're going on a yacht. I get seasick. Violently seasick. The last thing I need is to throw up in the middle of this assignment. I'd take Dramamine, but I can't afford to be sleepy during this mission."

"You get seasick?" Steve asked, trying to suppress a grin and failing miserably. She always seemed so tough and in control.

"Laugh it up, fuzzball. Not everyone's perfect like you," she said, her tone more amused than irritated.

"I'm not perfect. I never said I was," Steve protested, sobering a bit.

"Really? So you make mistakes like everyone else?"

"Of course," he replied.

"So, are you willing to admit that putting that information on-line was wrong?" she said sharply.

Steve sighed. It seemed as though they kept coming back to the same spot. "Alma," he began, scratching the back of his neck in frustration.

She held up her hands to stop him. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I said we'd talk later and then I brought it up again. It's my fault. I'm sorry. Let's just focus on the situation at hand. Did you memorize your dossier for your cover story?"

Steve nodded, not trusting himself to say anything.

Alma was back in professional mode, all feelings buried deep, all emotions kept in check. "Excellent. My assumption is that he'll try to test you out, to see if you really are capable of being hired muscle. Remember what I told you about pulling your punches?"

"Yep. I guess if I took down a dozen of his guys, it'd give me away," he gave her a small grin.

Her upper lip twitched in response as she tried not to laugh. "Probably."

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Alma shooed him out of her room so that she could change. A few moments later, she walked into his room, wearing a loose white sweater over tight black pants along with some steel toed black boots. She had applied concealer on her chin and Steve was impressed that he couldn't see the wound at all. He changed also, putting on some brown leather boots along with some khakis and a white button down shirt.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

"As I'll ever be," he said. He realized now why Alma had warned him time and time again about the difficulties of going undercover. He wanted nothing more than to just lead a raid on Pavlov's estate and raze the place to the ground. But Steve knew that this was their best chance of finding out what kind of intel Pavlov had on Bucky. If there was any way to find Bucky and reverse what had been done to him, Steve was willing to do anything to accomplish that.

"And, even with the way things are between us, are you still okay with playing the fake boyfriend?" she asked.

He looked at her for a long moment. "I'll be fine."

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They didn't talk much during the ride to the waterfront. Steve was conscious of the fact that Pavlov's bug was still in their car. Given how tense things were still between them, he couldn't bear to playact as a couple any longer than necessary. He kept sneaking glances over at Alma as she drove.

S.H.I.E.L.D. used to have strict anti-fraternization rules before the organization's disintegration. Steve realized with a start the reason why. If he had been going on a mission with Natasha or Maria Hill or any of the female agents that he knew, he wouldn't even bat an eye. But, at the moment, he was anxious, concerned about Alma's safety. He knew that his feelings for her put the mission in jeopardy, but he couldn't help himself.

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Alma did her best to focus on the upcoming mission as she drove. Part of her wished that she had just left Argentina the moment that Pablo had given her that passport. She could be lying on a beach somewhere, sipping a margarita and reading a magazine while sunning herself.

She sighed. The last thing she wanted to do was have a heart to heart with Steve. No amount of talking was going to be able to bridge the gulf that lay between them. She could see no happily ever after at the end of it. But, when she looked over at Steve, her stomach did a little flip. Well, crap, she thought. I'm in too deep now. She forced herself to look away, to focus on the road.

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As soon as they boarded the yacht, Steve noticed that they set sail, the quiet motors leading them towards open water.

"If you'll just wait here, Mr. Pavlov has some business below decks he needs to attend to. You are welcome to remain here in the main salon," a man in a tux said who had ushered them down a short flight of stairs to a richly appointed room.

"This room is bigger than my old apartment," Steve noted.

"The yacht's nearly seventy meters long. It's even got a home theater room."

"So what now?" he asked.

"We wait. It's a typical power play. He shows his dominance over us by making us wait for him."

"Huh," Steve said.

"It's petty. I bet we'll be here for at least an hour," she said as she sat on the loveseat, patting the place next to her for Steve to sit down. She reached over and picked up the remote, clicking on the big screen T.V. on the far wall. "Hopefully, there's something good on."

Steve settled in next to her, stretching his arm along the back of the small couch. She snuggled in close to him. He tensed for a moment, knowing that it was all for show, all to reinforce their cover story as girlfriend and boyfriend. After a moment, he put his arm around him, rubbing her arm lightly. She looked up at him and flashed him a quick smile, laying her head on his shoulder as she switched channels.

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Sitting on the couch with Alma was sheer torture for Steve. His Spanish was limited, so he couldn't really follow any of the shows that she was watching. There was nothing to distract him from her nearness. He could smell the rose scent of her shampoo on her hair, feel the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. It was all he could do to restrain himself from kissing her.

But, he couldn't stand the idea of her reluctantly kissing him just because they were on a mission together.

So, he waited.

And waited.

Nearly an hour and a half later, Pavlov finally entered the room. "I apologize for the long wait. I was unavoidably detained."

He walked over to them as they rose from the small couch. He shook Steve's hand and then leaned in to kiss Alma's cheek. Steve forced himself not to tense at the gesture.

Pavlov gave her an appraising look. "You know, I've gone over your records. Quite impressive. I'm surprised that an agent of your caliber would betray S.H.I.E.L.D. and go over to the other side. I'm sure that you are aware of my ties to Hydra."

"Well, there isn't really a S.H.I.E.L.D. any more to betray," she said with a calculated smile. "And, I'm a pragmatist. Girl's gotta eat."

"If you follow me, we'll assemble at the helipad," Pavlov said and led them upstairs to an open upper deck. There was a large circle in the middle of the deck with a capital H.

There were at least two dozen of Pavlov's men there, all dressed in dark fatigues. Two of them surged forward from the crowd and on Pavlov's mark, they patted Steve down to search for weapons.

"One can never be too sure," Pavlov said good-naturedly.

One of the thugs turned to Alma with a grin, but Pavlov stepped between them.

"Allow me the . . . pleasure," Pavlov instructed, licking his lips as he approached Alma.

"If you attempt to frisk me, I will gut you," Alma said.

"And how would you be able to gut me, if you aren't concealing a weapon?" Pavlov asked.

"You've read my files. I'm inventive," Alma said with narrowed eyes.

Pavlov backed away, hands up in a gesture of mocking surrender. "You win. Now, I've heard that there was a little trouble in paradise between the two of you," Pavlov said, waving to Alma and Steve.

Alma cocked an eyebrow. "Did a little birdie tell you?"

He smirked. "Something like that. So, are you two still a matched set?"

"Yes," Steve said firmly, stepping forward and slipping his arm around Alma's shoulders.

"And are you still more than associates?" Pavlov asked.

"Yes," Alma replied just as firmly, putting her arm around Steve's waist.

Pavlov frowned slightly, but then shrugged his shoulders. "What a shame. Still, you're worth trying out. Ladies first."

"And what does trying out entail exactly?" Alma asked.

"Well, I'd like to see if you can take down someone. But, don't worry, I'll be fair about it."

He gestured and a woman in navy fatigues stepped out from the crowd. Her dark blond hair was coiled in long braid that came down nearly to her waist. She had strong features and while she couldn't be described as attractive, there was something compelling about her. She was a good six inches taller than Alma, almost as tall as Steve, and she outweighed Alma by at least forty pounds. She sneered down at Alma.

"Alma, meet my . . . . more than associate, Olga," Pavlov leaned down slightly and gave the blond a passionate kiss and she responded in kind. Alma rolled her eyes and Steve shifted uncomfortably at witnessing the blatant public display of affection. When Pavlov finished, he waved at Alma, "Olga, meet my prospective employee, Alma."

"I will destroy you," Olga said in thick Russian accent.

"Nice to meet you, too," Alma said dryly. "What constitutes winning?" Alma asked Pavlov.

"Are you balking at taking someone down? You're hardly worth auditioning if you're so squeamish when it comes to eliminating people," Pavlov said sharply.

Alma gave him a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "You've read my file. I'm hardly squeamish. But I'm not going to kill for free. And definitely not as part of a job interview."

Pavlov inclined his head. "Point taken. You fight until one of you taps out. You win, you get her job. She wins, she keeps her job."

Olga's eyes widened at that. It was obvious she didn't know that she could lose her job over the match.

"Any rules?" Alma asked.

"Just stay inside the circle. And no help from your boyfriend," Pavlov instructed.

Alma nodded shortly. Pavlov escorted Olga to the other side of the deck and it looked like they were arguing.

"Are you sure that you're going to be okay?" Steve asked, once they were out of earshot.

"Sure," Alma said with a smile. "It's not the first time that I've gone up against someone who's bigger than me. Most people I've fought are. Don't worry. This won't last long at all."

Steve nodded. "How do you feel?"

"Honestly?" Alma said as she looked up at him.

"I'd prefer that," he said sardonically.

"Like I'm going to puke all over this beautiful deck of his. I hate being seasick. But, I'll be okay," she reassured him.

Pavlov's men crowded around the edges of the helipad circle, talking amongst themselves in rapid Spanish. A hush fell over the crowd as Pavlov entered the makeshift ring, guiding the reluctant Olga by her elbow. She pulled away from him violently, cursing at him in Russian.

"Olga is being a bit difficult, I'm afraid. But, I assure you, she'll perform magnificently," Pavlov said smoothly to Alma and Steve.

"Good luck," Steve said. He wanted to say something else. Anything else. He wanted to tell her a million things.

"Thanks," Alma said, giving his hand a slight squeeze before entering the circle.

Pavlov's men began to cheer and shout as the two women began to circle on another. Steve couldn't understand what they were saying, but from their hand gestures, he guessed it was something obscene. Steve pushed down an urge to lash out at them, to teach them some manners.

The man in the tux appeared at Steve's shoulder and offered him a glass of champagne on a tray. Steve looked around and saw that all of Pavlov's men were drinking. He took a glass and sipped it. He knew that the alcohol wouldn't affect him and he wanted to blend in with the rest of Pavlov's men.

Olga began with a roar and launched herself at Alma. Alma easily sidestepped her, landing a blow to Olga's ribs as she passed by. Olga turned and tried to punch Alma, but Alma ducked out of reach. Alma feinted with her left fist and as Olga tried to block the blow, Alma struck her with her right fist in middle of Olga's chest. Olga doubled over in pain and Alma snatched her braid, yanking down hard and followed up by kneeing Olga in the head. There was a sickening crunch as her nose broke and blood flowed freely down her face.

Steve winced, wanting to turn away. He had thought that Alma was severely outmatched, but he could see he was wrong.

Olga began lurching towards Alma, spewing every imaginable curse at her. Once again, Alma easily evaded the larger woman. Alma came behind Olga, unhooking the belt from her pants and, in a lightning quick movement, Alma slipped it around Olga's neck, pulling back tightly. Olga fell heavily to her knees, frantically clawing at the belt around her neck, trying in vain to shake Alma off. After a few seconds more, Olga fell flat on her face and tapped out in desperation.

"It seems we have a winner," Pavlov said smoothly and nodded to two of his men.

Alma got off of Olga's back, taking her belt with her. Pavlov's men helped Olga up and escorted down to one of the lower cabins. Pavlov followed them, patting Olga on the back and murmuring reassuringly to her.

"You were magnificent," Steve said, his eyes wide.

Alma gave him a wink as she laced her belt around her waist. "I told you I had mad skills."

Alma began to look around the deck, sizing up Pavlov's men. Steve noticed that she seemed a bit anxious. "What's the matter? You've won. It's all downhill from here."

"We've been going full speed for at least two hours. This yacht's at least twelve miles away from shore. I don't like it," she said.

Steve nodded and was about to take another sip of his champagne when he caught Alma's eyes. She did a quick shake of her head and he realized that for some reason she didn't want him drinking. He wanted to explain to her that he'd be fine, but from the determined look on her face, he could see he'd lose that argument. He set the glass down on a nearby table.

Pavlov returned, a small smile on his face. "You performed admirably, my dear Alma. I have decided to retain Olga as she has certain other skills that I . . . enjoy. However, I am definitely looking forward to having you as part of my team."

"Thank you. I appreciate the job," Alma replied.

"And now for your boyfriend. I've read up on you, too. Allen Davis. You've got quite an interesting history."

Steve nodded, his stomach roiling at the mention of his cover's long list of crimes.

"Now, a friendly piece of advice, Alma. I am sure you could do much better than this ruffian," Pavlov said.

"She's mine," Steve said, advancing on Pavlov, not bothering to hide the threatening tone in his voice.

"Yours, really? Well, let's see if you can channel that aggression into something useful, shall we? We'll have you go up against Bruno," Pavlov said, indicating a larger man that emerged from the crowd and stood in the middle of the circle.

Steve wasn't worried at the man's size. He could easily take down a dozen men without even breaking a sweat. His only concern was making sure that he walked the fine line between an experienced fighter and a superhero.

Steve entered the circle and began to size up the man across from him. He had his fists up in a classic boxing pose. Steve planned on going a few rounds with him, maybe even letting him get in a punch or two before knocking him out.

As they started to circle one another, Steve's head began to ache. Bruno swung at him, and Steve ducked the blow, but he stumbled a bit when he tried to regain his footing. He felt woozy, almost dizzy. All of a sudden, Steve could feel his body shutting down. His eyes widened as his feet felt leaden. He slowly began to sink to his knees. He shook his head to try to clear it, but his thoughts were becoming muddled. The champagne. They put something in it, he thought.

"Quick! Before it wears off!" Pavlov shouted urgently.

Two men surged forward from the crowd holding the magnetic handcuffs that Steve had seen before, when the Hydra agents tried to take him down in the Triskelion's elevator. He tried to stand but he couldn't muster the strength to move.

All of a sudden, two daggers whizzed past Steve, hitting Pavlov's men, causing them to drop their handcuffs. Steve looked around and saw Alma fighting one of Pavlov's men.

Seeing her in danger sent a bolt of adrenaline through him. Slowly, he began to rise. Pavlov's men stepped back, clearly knowing who Steve was and what he could do.

Steve gave them a merciless grin as he clenched his fists. It looked like he was going to get his raid after all. "Alright, guys. Who's first? I've been dying to teach you some manners."

One brave soul ran towards him. With one blow, Steve sent him flying across the deck.

"Who's next?" he said with a smile, finally enjoying himself.

"I think you've done enough damage for one night," Pavlov said. He was near the bow of the ship. Beside him, two of his men held Alma while she struggled against them.

Pavlov was pressing a gun to Alma's right temple.

"No! Don't!" Steve shouted.

"I wondered if all that playacting was just for show or if there might be something underneath it. I can understand; she is quite lovely. I wonder, when I shoot her and toss her overboard, will you continue to waste time fighting my men or will you jump overboard to save her? My bet's on the girl," Pavlov said. "You are the hero type after all."

"No, please don't hurt her!"

"Ah, it seems that I have your attention after all. Good. You know, I really must get the name of your forger. Exquisite work. It wasn't until my man found a page of your dossier in your car when he planted the bug that I got suspicious." Pavlov fished a paper out of his jacket pocket and held it aloft. Steve's heart sank as he recognized the missing paper from his cover story file. "Imagine my delight when we ran a facial analysis and got a hit. Steve Rogers. Captain America himself. We're going to pump every single last drop of blood out of you. We're going to replicate that super serum and make a thousand, no, a million more super soldiers. All dedicated to Hydra. This is the dawn of a new era." Pavlov was nearly panting in his excitement, waving his gun around for emphasis.

"Just let her go," Steve said evenly.

"Oh, I hardly think we're going to do that," Pavlov said. "She's amazing leverage. I'm sure that with her around, you'll be quite compliant. And, I have to admit, I am eager to see what all the fuss is about. I'm sure she'll prove to be a fun, new plaything," Pavlov said.

"Oh, hell no," Alma said, as she stomped viciously on the man's foot to her left with her steel-toed boot. When he let go, yelping in pain, she sideswiped the leg of the man to her right, causing him to topple. Then, she launched herself at Pavlov, desperately clutching for his gun.

Then, a shot rang out.

Alma stumbled back against the railing, her eyes wide as she looked down at the hole in her white sweater.

He's shot her in the heart, Steve thought as he began to run desperately towards her, pushing Pavlov's men out of his way left and right as they tried to slow him down.

"Oops, well, I guess it's plan B," Pavlov said nastily as he viciously kicked her overboard.

Without thinking, Steve launched himself over the railing, and dove into the cold water after her.