Ch.14 – Countess Valentina

Joyce got up and shook Mayor Wilkins' hand. "Thank you for listening, . You made me feel better. And I will certainly consider your suggestions." The table between them bore the remains of a meal and a couple of brandy glasses – the Mayor's suggestion, he claimed that they had excellent old French brandy here, and indeed it had been good. The whole time, morning and lunch time, had been more pleasant – and more constructive – than she had a right to expect. But now afternoon was coming on, and she had something to do, at least, other than kicking her heels in an empty house. The part of the day she had dreaded was over.

"Please do," he answered. "You'd be welcome in Sunnydale, and you'd find plenty of opportunities and friends for your daughter and yourself."His smile did not change as he watched her walk off; and perhaps if anyone had been looking at him continuously over several minutes, as Joyce got up, as she left, and as he was left alone, that unchanging, even unblinking countenance might well have seemed a bit strange, wooden, even perhaps a bit sinister. But people rarely noticed Mayor Wilkins unless he wanted them to.

Ten minutes' walk away, under the hot sun of a Los Angeles afternoon, was the Summers house. As she got there, Joyce's mood plummeted again, being reminded of her coming divorce and of Buffy's false imprisonment. She got in her car and headed for the airport.

…...

In a large international airport people move around by hundreds and thousands, bombarded by ads, surrounded by duty-free shops, and often concerned mostly with the arrivals and departure boards. But that afternoon more than a few people – mostly men – stopped and looked as two tall, beautiful blondes met and embraced in the middle of the arrivals hall. Even in Los Angeles it was not common to see two such beauties together, and more than one man just looked, and sighed, and walked away. But aunt and niece were too burdened with griefs and troubles to give anyone else the least thought.

As soon as they were inside the car and out of anyone else's hearing, Samantha Carter asked: "Aunt Joyce, tell me about Buffy."

...

"Are you telling me that my sister was institutionalized by fraud because Hank stumbled into a nest of perverts?"

"We think so. Both Hank and I. They are not letting us see her and they lied about the circumstances of her arrest. Both our lawyers agree that there is something totally wrong about their claims and procedures. They just look right. But they have records of phone calls that never happened, and what they say about Buffy does not seem to me like Buffy at all."

"Could I have a look at the documents when we get home?"

"Of course, dear. I expected you'd want to."

...

They spent most of the afternoon going through the papers, with Sam muttering again and again "this isn't right... this doesn't make sense..."

Then she lifted her head and looked straight into Joyce's eyes.

"Well, Auntie, our girl's been railroaded. What do we do about it?"

"For today, there isn't much we can do. Tomorrow morning my lawyer and Hank's are starting legal procedures. I also think we should talk to your father. You never know, as a Pentagon general he might know someone who knows someone. Or suggest strings to pull." They reviewed other relatives, other friends, even acquaintances, who could be asked for help and advice – but it was discouraging how many of them had to do with Talbot's one way or another – till it was dinner time. Then, as neither of them was all that hungry, they decided to have a couple of sandwiches each, and watch TV.

It was just Samantha Carter's bad luck that the first movie they found that night while channel-hopping featured the difficult affair between a dashing military pilot and an athletic blonde astrophysicist.

…...

On the other side of the country, General Jacob Carter and Jennifer Hailey found themselves watching the same movie. Most of the time the general did not care for war and military-themed movies, and even now he had plenty to say about the unlikelihoods – both human and technical – in the story. But he still wanted her to get a sense – and a positive sense – of what might be at the end of her tough four years as an Air Force cadet. "And after all," he said with a grin after another derogatory remark, "these guys are Navy, not Air Force."

Jennifer, for her part, was one of the minority of women who had never seen the attraction of Tom Cruise, and she said so. This led to a discussion of the kind of man she would find most attractive ("a big, strong, tall black man with an intelligent face... Denzel Washington, or maybe a young Harry Belafonte... I'm afraid Rashid has ruined Indians for me...") but also to a mention of Sam's unhappy unrequited love, of which General Carter had heard a few times.

…...

"You see, Aunt Joyce, I've always known that I had pretty much given up having a husband and a family. I had exchanged that for my work as a scientist. So, falling in love was crazy in the first place. And then I had to fall for a man twice my age. And on top of that, a man who had never got over his first wife... Love is crazy, Aunt Joyce. Love makes no sense."

"No, it does not," said the older woman, gently holding her niece as she rested her head on her aunt's shoulder and blubbed a few helpless tears, inwardly angry and ashamed at her own lack of control.

…...

Nick Fury went into the clinic unwillingly. The news of who and what had been found in the devastated Hydra base had pretty nearly knocked him out. Dum Dum, everyone's father figure from so long ago that he remembered World War Two; and Gabe Jones, the best and most loyal of friends; not cleanly and bravely dead, but captured and kept under enemy control for years, manipulated God knows how, to the point where they might even have fought and killed on the enemy side. He should have been glad to have them back on his side, but...

But that was nothing compared to the presence of Valentina. Valentina... The woman... ihis/i woman. His fate. His doom from the moment he had first seen her, when a single glimpse of her had extinguished his affair with lovely, sweet blonde Laura Brown like a candle in a hurricane; and Laura had known it as it was happening, and had walked out of his life and never let herself be heard from again. A woman to die for, tall and and lean and yet astonishingly curved – a catwalk model's figure and the grace to go with it. Naturally curly raven-black hair, ivory skin, light and luminous blue eyes in a face framed like no other, and life within like no other woman he had never met. One felt that, win, lose or die, something exciting would happen when she was around. It was barely surprising that she was intelligent to genius level, proficient in half a dozen languages, and musical; or that she knew enough about science, technology and engineering to investigate leaks and steal enemy designs without being misled. She was made to be an agent, and, when offered, had accepted the role without discomposure.

From that moment on he had been hers. She had never been entirely his. She had even been honest about it: iYou have to understand, Nick, I can never be faithful/i. But shared time with her and unspoken jealousy – jealousy accepted, as an inevitable part of what it was to love her – were still more to him than the kindness and loyalty of any other woman. She never rubbed it in, never mentioned another lover unless he asked, and she certainly never gave any indication that any of her lovers rated better or worse in her mind than any other. And it had only been because she had to mention it in planning a mission, that he had found out she was bisexual.

And here now. His life had ended that night five years ago, when he had seen her and Gabe and three other fine agents fall, riddled by the ultimate killing machine. Before that hideous night, he had occasionally wondered whether the Winter Soldier even existed, whether he was only a legend or a bugaboo – the world of clandestine operations was and is, inevitably, a place of rumours, unverified stories, exaggerations. Or whether he was some kind of group operation, a collective of hit-men and operatives hiding behind a single mask. But the man in whose eyes he had looked as he tried to kill him, before a whole mountain collapsed over both, was so individual that he discarded the idea of a collective identity. He felt he could have recognized him if he met him again. And indeed, when he was called to the Hydra base and came just in time to see him defrosted, last of all the eight frozen men, he had in fact recognized him; and only years of training and self-control had kept him from strangling him then and there.

And there she was, in a high-security psychiatric ward. When an agent as deadly as she had been was found to have suffered any psychiatric issue, they were placed in a high-security ward as a matter of course. Still incredibly beautiful, with a haunted, changing expression, looking as if to things only she could see, and breaking into disconnected sentences in any of her languages at random - "...I didn't understand them. But they, they... iquegli armadi sono tutti come.../i they came to me, and I didn't... inein, Herr Doktor, ich habe kein angst, angst, angst/i...ima gli armadi non si muovevano tutti.../i I didn't understand them, them, them, the kid was in the wardrobe, the wardrobe..."

9uhg "You see how it is, Director. In order to be even able to communicate, we would need a psychiatrist with fluent Italian, German, Russian and French. Without that, we cannot be sure of what her ideation is and how she is trying to frame and shape it."

"Can't you find a group of shrinks who have all of'em among them?"

"That would be expensive. And different... 'shrinks'... have different theories. They might get in each other's ways."

"Doctor, I authorize the expense. We need her awake and talking. And not just for the reasons you imagine."

For a few months after her supposed death, an already devastated Nick Fury had received what seemed to be strong evidence that the Countess had been a turncoat.

…...

That evening Joyce asked Sam to sleep in a couch in the same room as her own bed. She had been feeling terribly alone in her house.

…...

Monday morning came, and Joyce woke. It wasn't the alarm clock that woke her, but the sunlight and the sound of Samantha exercising. She had clearly been up for a while – and when Joyce took her in as she was getting up, she burst out laughing. Her niece was half naked.

"You know, if that's the gear you fight in, you'll have men queueing up to surrender. Or to fight you."

"I'm an airwoman, Aunt Joyce. If I fight, I'm covered with gear, and locked in a cockpit, and me and my target are too far to see each other.

"Still, I think you'd have found me even more amusing on the road trip. When I was alone, I'd wash and exercise stark naked. I thought it was practical."

"You must have been very sure you were alone."

"Oh, I was..."

Joyce did not say anything, but her imagination was getting engaged. Not by her niece's nudity; both women were 100% straight, and had known each other for ever. But the idea of road trips, of sleeping beneath the stars, and also of learning martial arts and having graceful katas to learn every morning, took hold of her.

…...

The two women had breakfasted and dressed, and were on their way to Joyce's lawyer, when her cellphone rang.

"Yes, speaking...

"Yes, I'm her mother...

"wha -? I mean, could you please repeat that?"

"Are there going to be any formalities?"

"All right, we're coming to pick her.

"Yes, I said we. Her sister is with me."

And Samantha was there with her, in her Air Force uniform – worn in the hope that it might add a smidgen extra pressure and impressiveness. And she had been listening. And her eyes were huge.

"Aunt Joyce... Did I get that right?"

"Yes. We're going to get Buffy. Now."