You are not hidden
There's never been a moment
You were forgotten
You are not hopeless
Though you have been broken
Your innocence stolen
I hear you whisper underneath your breath
I hear your SOS, your SOS
I will send out an army
To find you in the middle of the darkest night, it's true
I will rescue you
- "Rescue" by Lauren Daigle
Steve was beginning to feel restless. The doctor had told him the recovery time from his surgery would be about a week, but that wasn't taking into account his enhanced healing. Even so, Steve had to stay home for a couple days before he'd be able to handle the long drive to A New Hope, so he had to put off visiting Jake for a while. He tried not to feel too guilty about it. He'd make it up to Jake afterwards. He'd bring him his stuffed lion. Besides...it wasn't as if Jake seemed to care much if he was there or not.
He tried not to think in those terms. He tried to just focus on the little things he could do around the house. He attempted to start reading War and Peace, though he kept forgetting who all the characters were. For the first time in what felt like a year, he pulled out his sketchbook and started a drawing of Jake.
But he was eager to get back to his semi-normal routine. Visiting Jake was one of the few things he had to look forward to these days, as disheartening as those visits usually were. At least then he could feel slightly useful.
Sam, excellent friend that he was, had been keeping him company while he was stuck at home, and insisted on cooking all his meals for him even though Steve protested that he wasn't completely helpless. On the morning of the third day since the procedure, Steve sat at the kitchen table, listening to Sam's chatter about how to make the perfect crepe every time as he expertly flipped one over in the pan. Steve smiled to himself, spreading strawberry jam on the one Sam had just given him.
Just then, there was a quiet knock on the door. Steve and Sam shared a puzzled look, but when the knock came again, Steve got up to see who on earth it could be.
When he opened the door, his gaze was drawn downward to the small boy standing in the hallway. "Jake?"
Jake stood ramrod straight, looking up at him with a stony expression that betrayed none of his thoughts. He seemed completely calm, his hair neatly combed, wearing a grey T-shirt and jeans that Steve had bought him ages ago, like it was perfectly normal for him to be here.
Jake was here. Here. Why was he here? No one was with him. How had he gotten here? Had he walked? There was no way...
Before Steve could figure out what to do or even how he felt, Jake spoke up. In a flat, emotionless voice, he said, "Zemo sent me to give you a message. He said, 'Your friend Bucky is under my control now. I have broken him out of prison, and I am taking him back to Siberia, where he belongs. If you don't believe me, you may wait until the media confirms it. As of nine o'clock this morning, you have 72 hours to come find me. Bring your son. If he's not with you, or you come too late, I will kill Bucky.'" Then Jake thrust both fists into the air and yelled at the top of his lungs, "Hail Hydra!"
There were too many things to process all at once. Steve was still trying to wrap his mind around how Jake was here, on his own, miles away from where he was supposed to be...
Jake's last words still ringing in his ears, Steve sank to one knee so he could look his son in the eye, moving slowly so as not to seem like a threat. As ever, Jake followed his movements warily, but there was something...different in him now. He didn't look timid or skittish like he usually did, glancing up at Steve and then hastily hunching down as if to protect himself. No, now he stood straight and looked Steve steadily in the eye, with a steely gaze that was almost...hostile. He looked a bit like when he was throwing a tantrum, but now he had perfect control over himself. It sent a chill down Steve's spine.
"Can you...explain things to me a little more, buddy?" he asked gently, his mind still whirling. "Who is Zemo?"
"Dr. Broussard."
Steve pinched himself. Surely, this was all just a bizarre dream. He kept waiting for someone to jump out and yell April Fool's, even though it was August. That was the only way any of this made sense. The doctor they'd brought over specifically to work with Jake...was working for Hydra? Was everyone at New Hope in on it? Was Dave in on it? Had he unwittingly sent his son straight back to the people he'd rescued him from in the first place?
And Bucky...Bucky was... But no, he couldn't think about that just yet.
Steve's attention snapped back to Jake, standing at attention in the doorway. "Here, Jake," he said, standing up and stepping out of the way. "Come in and—"
"You can't call me that anymore," Jake snapped. "You have to call me J01."
Steve almost thought he could hear his heart crack. He stared down at his son, feeling like he was looking at a stranger. And it felt as though Jake were telling him they were strangers. Naming him was one of the first things Steve had done for him, one of the first things he'd given him in an attempt to help him discover who he was. If Jake had asked him to change his name to just about anything else, Steve would have been happy to do so. But to call him by the ID number Hydra had given him, like he was no more than the impersonal test subject they'd wanted him to be... He could never bring himself to do that.
After an awkward silence, Steve cleared his throat and gestured for Jake to step inside. "Have you had breakfast yet?"
Jake balked, and for a moment surprise broke through his stoic demeanor. He shook his head, not seeming to know what to do with this unexpected reception.
"Come on in, then," Steve said gently, "and we can get you something to eat." When Steve reached out to usher him inside, Jake whipped out a small pocket knife, the blade of which he whipped out with a practiced motion. He pointed it threateningly at Steve.
Steve backed away, raising his hands. "It's okay, buddy," he said softly, trying to ignore the way his heart ached, and his arm twinged where Jake had cut him before. "You're completely safe here."
It took a bit of coaxing, but eventually Steve managed to convince Jake to take his usual place at the kitchen table. He set the plate with the crepe on it in front of Jake, who alternated between watching Steve's every move and staring hungrily at the food. Sam, who'd been silently watching the proceedings from the stove, drew Steve aside.
"You believe it?" Sam asked under his breath.
Steve glanced over at Jake, who was tentatively nibbling at the crepe now that their backs were turned. "Well...I doubt Jake could have come up with all of that on his own..."
Before they could discuss it any further, there was another knock on the door. Steve could only stare at it. Surely, he was about to wake up any minute...
Sam was the one who got the door. He peered through the peephole, then swiftly opened the door. Natasha stood on the welcome mat, fist raised as if she were about to knock again.
She glanced around, taking everything in. Her gaze lingered a second longer on Jake sitting at the table, poised as if to hop down from his chair and run at a moment's notice. Belatedly, Steve wondered if he should have hidden Jake before Sam opened the door.
But Natasha didn't comment on Jake's presence as she marched into the apartment. "I'm assuming you've heard what's happened?" she asked Steve, pulling out her phone.
"About Bucky?" Steve asked, at the same time Sam said, "So it's true."
Natasha nodded. "Someone broke him out of Rikers in the middle of the night. They called us in first, but it won't be long before the media gets wind of it, if they haven't already." She pulled up something on her phone and held it up so they could both see. "And you need to be ready for it."
Steve leaned in closer to see what looked like footage from a security camera. It showed a view of a long, narrow hallway lined with doors, each with a small window and a little hatch. As they watched, they could see a man wearing the Rikers guard uniform striding down the hallway. He stopped at one particular door halfway down the row, looking through the window at its occupant. The man seemed to be talking, but there was no audio, so they couldn't tell what he was saying. He stood there for a minute or so, then pulled out a ring of keys and unlocked the door.
He briefly stepped into the cell, then walked back out, followed by a man in an orange prison uniform. Steve didn't need to see his face, hidden behind a tangle of dark hair. He didn't need to look for the empty left sleeve to know it was Bucky. His gait, the way he stood, the single hand cuffed to the chain around his waist, everything was clearly him. He calmly followed the guard down the hallway, towards the camera. Bucky stared straight forward as they walked, not betraying a single emotion. As they approached, the guard looked right into the camera, as if he didn't care who recognized him.
A jolt ran through Steve as the video came to an end. That guard's face...was his.
Zemo had disguised himself to look like Steve, so that everyone would be looking for the wrong person. Just like the man who had disguised himself as Bucky in Vienna...
"We managed to convince Ross to let me come first for 'reconnaissance,'" Natasha said briskly, stuffing her phone back in her pocket, "so just to make sure, Bucky's not hiding in the back room or something, is he?"
"What? No, that wasn't me, it was—"
"The guy from Vienna, obviously," Natasha spoke over him. "Same M.O.; he probably framed Bucky just so he could get him in position for this. Only question is, where are they going, and what do we do about it?"
"I have the answer to one of those questions." Steve explained the message Jake had brought them. He glanced into the kitchen, where Jake was now standing beside his chair, watching them all warily with his knife in his hand.
Natasha nodded, taking in this new information with concern written all over her face. "Okay...so you guys need to get to Siberia as soon as possible. I'm pretty sure I can get a Quinjet to you in a couple hours, and I can give Zemo's name to Tony, see what we can dig up on this guy—"
"Wait, can you actually help us?" Sam interrupted. "What about the Accords?"
Natasha scoffed. "You really think we're just going to sit on our hands when this guy is running around with the Winter Soldier? By the time the stuffed shirts realize they're after the wrong guy, it'll be too late to stop whatever Zemo's plans are."
Sam crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "You know, this is what we call an 'I told you so' moment..."
"We don't have time for that," Steve said, beginning to pace back and forth as he thought. He was itching to run out there right now and chase Zemo down, but he knew they needed to plan carefully. If they ran in half-cocked, it would only put Bucky in even more danger. And if they could use a Quinjet, that would give them a few more hours to prepare before their time ran out. "Is there any way you could give us a bit of a head start? We can't have anyone stopping us on the way out."
Natasha was already nodding. "Clint, Wanda, and Vision are ready to lead everyone on a wild goose chase on my signal. We just needed to find out what your plans are, so we can misdirect them. And if you're going to complain about us putting our necks on the chopping block," she added when Steve opened his mouth to protest, "we can make it look like this Zemo guy is the one who gave us the bad intel. Trust us—we're professionals." She smirked.
They had already seemed to think of everything. For a moment, Steve was overwhelmed by the realization that everyone—whether they'd signed the Accords or not—was apparently ready to drop everything to help them. "Thank you," he said, struggling to find the right words. "I don't...know how to repay..."
"Hey," Natasha said, cutting into his fumbling words, "this is totally an Avengers-level threat. I wish we could all face it together, but...right now, this is the best we can do."
It was more than Steve had expected...but apparently, he'd sold them all short.
"Cap..." Sam interjected. "You noticed it too, didn't you? The way Bucky was acting. Zemo must've used the Words on him."
Reluctantly, Steve nodded. Bucky had been too calm in the video. Even if Zemo had somehow been able to fool him into believing he was Steve, Bucky would have been at least a little nervous to escape the prison that way. But his expression had been completely blank. That meant Zemo knew the Words, and Bucky was completely under his control now.
"Think we're a match for him?" Sam asked.
Steve remembered the last time he'd had to fight the Winter Soldier. He remembered a knife stabbing between his ribs, falling to the ground, gasping for breath... He remembered Winter dropping to his knees, screaming at the top of his lungs when he heard the words that took control away from him. Had Bucky reacted the same way when Zemo had spoken the Words to him in his prison cell?
"There's not a whole lot we can do to help," Natasha said apologetically, cutting into Steve's thoughts. "But...Tony said there was someone who might be able to." She fished a small device out of her pocket and handed it over.
Steve looked down at a little device that looked like a modified smart watch. The only thing on the screen was a simple grid of streets; he thought he recognized some of the names. In the middle of the screen was a pulsing red dot. "What is this?"
"A potential new recruit Tony's been keeping his eye on. He said maybe you should recruit him instead."
"Who?"
"Have you heard of a guy called Spider-Man?"
"Looks like he's on his way. Positions."
Sam nodded curtly, then ducked around the corner of the narrow alleyway they'd chosen for their meeting place. With the help of the watch Tony had given them, and a Twitter account called SpideySightings that exploded with blurry images and videos every time Spider-Man made an appearance, they'd finally tracked the elusive guy down. It helped when they'd found a backpack tucked away behind a dumpster, attached to the wall with something that looked suspiciously like a giant spiderweb. With any luck, Spider-Man would be returning here for his belongings.
Ever-so-casually leaning against the wall at the entrance of the alleyway and pretending to mess around on his phone, Sam glanced over at the car parked at the curb. Jake still sat in his booster seat where they'd left him, watching every passerby intently out the window. It made everything twice as hard, having to bring Jake along with them, but they didn't really have a choice. All they could do was finish this as quickly as possible and get everyone back home safely.
When he heard the sound of a surprised voice, Sam glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then stepped back into the shadowy alleyway. Steve stood at the other end, facing someone who could only be Spider-Man. He didn't exactly cut an imposing figure, not in blue sweats, a red hoodie and ski mask, and...were those welder's goggles?
Though Sam just stood there quietly and unthreateningly, Spider-Man flinched and whipped around to look at him. He looked quickly from one of them to the other, seeming to realize that he was cornered.
"Wait, you're..." Spider-Man pointed a gloved finger at Steve, his shocked voice getting higher and higher with each word. "You're-you're-you're C-Captain America!"
"Steve Rogers," he replied, holding out a hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Spider-Man."
"Whoa..." Slowly, as if he couldn't quite believe what was happening, Spider-Man shook Steve's hand.
"I'm sorry we had to meet this way," Steve said briskly, getting down to business, "but we don't have much time. We need your help."
"Dude..." Spider-Man breathed, staring down at his hand. Then he seemed to register what Steve had said, and looked back up in surprise. "Wait...you need my help? With...like, Avengers stuff?" His voice almost cracked on the word Avengers.
"Not officially," Steve said. "But we're short-staffed at the moment, and there are lives at stake, so we don't have a whole lot of options—"
"Hang on," Sam said, stepping closer and giving Spider-Man a critical once-over. "How old are you?"
"What? Uh, I mean..." He cleared his throat and crossed his arms defensively, then said in a much lower voice, "I'm 35, so what?"
With an irritated click of his tongue, Sam yanked off the red ski mask before Spider-Man could stop him. Sure enough, beneath the mask wasn't a man at all, but a teenage boy with tousled brown hair. Was he even old enough to shave?
"Hey!" the boy yelped, snatching at the mask.
Sam held it out of reach with an exasperated sigh. "Cap, he's just a kid!"
Steve ran a hand through his hair, looking disappointed. With a shake of his head, he said, "We can't take him to Siberia."
"Siberia?" Spider-Man made a quick gesture, and a small web shot from his wrist, snagging the mask from Sam's hand. The kid grimaced at the sticky webbing now plastered all over the fabric, and half-heartedly picked at it as he glanced between them. "What's in Siberia?"
"Never mind, kid," Sam said, as Steve made to pass them and head for the mouth of the alleyway. "Just go on home."
"Hey, wait!" He grabbed Steve's arm, making Steve look down at his grip in surprise. "You...You said you needed my help, right? So let me help!"
Steve gave him a long, assessing look. "What's your name?"
He let go of Steve, drawing himself up to his full height and squaring his shoulders. But he still looked so much like a kid, gazing up at Steve with wide eyes. "Peter."
"I've seen some of your work, Peter. You've already saved a lot of lives, and I admire your courage. But this situation is too dangerous for you to get involved in."
"I can do it!" Peter said immediately. "I promise I can do it, sir; I've dealt with all kinds of criminals before. I won't let you down!"
"Just drop it, kid," Sam said gently. "What we're up against isn't just a bank robbery or a car chase. This is above your pay grade."
"Joke's on you, 'cause I don't get paid at all," Peter mumbled, fingers still worrying at the webbing on his mask. He looked pleadingly from one of them to the other. "You said there were lives at stake, right? And you need all the help you can get? Just try me! I can hold my own!"
Steve's expression softened a little as he gazed down into Peter's eager face. "And what will I say to your parents if you get hurt or even killed on my watch?"
Peter went very still. "Nothing. They're dead."
But though Steve looked sympathetic, he was unyielding. "Who's taking care of you now?"
"My Aunt May."
"Does your aunt know that you're Spider-Man?"
Peter looked down at his mask and shook his head glumly.
"So what will she think if you don't show up tonight?" Steve asked, hands on hips. "Or tomorrow night? What will she say if you come home, injured and unable to explain how you got hurt?"
Peter shrugged, scuffing his foot against the ground. "Usually I just pretend I'm being bullied," he mumbled. "I mean, I used to get bullied, before whatever happened..."
"We're not just talking about a black eye or a sprained ankle," Sam interrupted. "You could get seriously injured. The last time we went into a situation like this, it took us weeks to recover." Well, he had taken that long to recover after Crossbones had shot his leg. Steve had been fine after a few days, but that wasn't the point.
"But that's exactly why you need my help!" Peter cut in earnestly. "And now that I know about it, there's no way I can rest easy, knowing you're risking your lives when I could've done something! When you can do the things that I can, but you don't, and then the bad things happen, they happen because of you—"
"No," Steve cut him off. "No. I know what it is to lose a family member. To ask yourself, over and over, what you could have done differently if you'd only been there, if you'd only known..."
Sam knew Steve was probably thinking of the children he'd lost from Project Legacy. Maybe he was thinking of his mother, too. He and Peter looked at each other for a long moment, a thread of understanding running between them.
"I can't put your aunt through that. I won't. That's final."
He turned to leave, but Peter let out one more desperate plea. "Yeah, well, what about you? How come you're letting your family worry about you, but it's not okay for me?"
Steve glanced over his shoulder. "Because it's my family I'm going to save."
And because it would probably count as kidnapping and child endangerment, Sam added silently. He glanced over at Peter, taking in the mutinous look on the boy's face. With an aggravated sigh, he said, "No means no, okay? Do not follow us. Turn around and go back home right now, hear me?"
"But—"
"No buts!" Sam jabbed a finger at him. "Or I'll knock your butt into next Tuesday! And don't think I won't just because you've got super strength or spiderwebs or whatever. Got it?"
"Okay, okay, I got it," Peter mumbled, holding up his hands in surrender.
Sam glanced back as they left, and his last glimpse of Peter showed the boy watching them go with a troubled expression.
Sharon stared blankly out the window as the Uber took her on the familiar route to Leyla's house. On the outside, she was perfectly calm and collected, but her mind and her heart were racing. They had been ever since she'd heard the news.
Steve Rogers has broken Bucky Barnes out of prison. Obviously, it wasn't true. She hadn't needed the call from Natasha to confirm that. Steve hadn't texted or called since it had happened, but she wasn't surprised by that. She worked for the CIA, after all. If there was a record of him calling her, she could lose her job faster than you could say conflict of interest. He wouldn't want her to risk that.
She could feel a hysterical laugh rising inside her, but she shoved it down. No time for that now. She had to keep her wits about her, if she was going to be any help to anyone.
Sharon also tried not to let herself think too hard about what Steve must be going through right now. The terror of knowing that someone had snatched Bucky away from what was supposed to be a secure facility. The frustration of not being able to do anything about it openly, knowing that everyone assumed he'd been the one to break Bucky out in the first place. The anxiety, bordering on desperation, resulting from Jake getting pulled into this mess. And he must be utterly furious at this Zemo guy for what he was doing to his family...
No, if she spent more than a moment or two imagining what Steve was feeling, she would be completely overwhelmed, and then she might get sloppy. Right now, she just had to focus on what needed to be done. That would help Steve more in the long run. If they all got out of this in one piece, then they could deal with the emotions.
When the car pulled up outside Leyla's house, Sharon practically ran up the steps. Before she could do more than reach for the doorbell, the front door swung open, revealing a worried Leyla. "I gotta say, you've got a real talent for picking troublemakers..."
"It wasn't him," Sharon said shortly, pushing past Leyla and taking the steps two at a time, making a beeline for her room.
"You're sure about that?" Leyla asked, following close behind.
Sharon tossed her bag onto her bed and turned back to Leyla standing in the doorway. "Positive."
Leyla stood there for a moment, taking in her expression. Sharon half-expected her to demand an explanation, reasons, proof...but she didn't. She just nodded once and said briskly, "How can I help?"
"You can tell anyone who asks that I came here two hours later than this," Sharon said, turning back to her bag and opening it up, pulling out the supplies she'd need. "I lied about which flight I caught."
Leyla sounded offended at that. "You know I'm good for more than just an alibi, Sharon..."
But Sharon was already shaking her head, rummaging around in her bag for her lockpicks. "This isn't just about losing my job anymore. I could very well end up in jail at the end of this. I've made my choice, but I'm not dragging you down with me. Okay?"
"Okay."
Sharon looked up in surprise; she'd expected much more of an argument. But Leyla had already left. Maybe she was offended that Sharon didn't want her help?
No matter. They could patch things up when all of this was over. Sharon closed her door and quickly changed into clothes that were a bit more suited to sneaking around and moving quickly, and soft-soled shoes that wouldn't make much sound. Then she double-checked to make sure she had everything she needed—utility belt, loaded pistol, gloves, something to cover her face... She stepped out of her room, hoping the duffel bag she'd brought would be big enough, and nearly ran into Leyla at the top of the stairs.
Leyla leaned casually against the railing, as if she'd been waiting the whole time. She'd changed into black clothes similar to Sharon's, her hair that she usually left in a free cloud of fluffy curls now pulled back in a tight bun. A couple of tell-tale bulges made it clear she was armed and ready.
"No—Leyla—you're not coming," Sharon haltingly protested.
"Funny," Leyla said loftily, pretending to examine her nails even though she was wearing leather gloves. "I don't remember giving you permission to order me around, Agent Carter."
"I'm serious! If they see you, they'll arrest you and you'll probably end up in jail for the rest of your life!"
Leyla arched an eyebrow. "And you won't?"
Sharon was overcome with the desire to stamp her feet. She resisted, because that was childish—and because it wouldn't make a very satisfying sound in these shoes. "Look," she said impatiently, "he's my boyfriend, so it's my responsibility to help him. This has nothing to do with you."
Leyla pushed off the railing to close the distance between them, using the two inches of height difference to full advantage as she stared down into Sharon's eyes. "Oh, really? Nothing to do with me, huh? My best friend's getting ready to break the law and risk everything she's worked so hard for, and it has nothing to do with me? You gonna keep saying that when I have to come visit you in prison for the rest of your life? Even when I might've helped you keep from getting caught in the first place?" She planted her hands on her hips, the hint of humor in her voice fading away as she said, "You don't get to ask me to respect your choices, and then not respect my choice to help you. So just shut up and tell me where we're going."
The frustration and impatience were washed away by a wave of gratitude and affection as she took in Leyla's stubborn expression. She should keep arguing...she shouldn't let Leyla put herself in danger like this...but then, some would say that Leyla should be telling her to walk away from this. And yet, all she'd needed to hear from Sharon was a single word, and she hadn't tried to dissuade her, not even once. All she'd done was offer to help. And she clearly wasn't taking no for an answer.
Sharon pursed her lips. "You know, I can't exactly shut up and tell you where we're going at the same time..."
Leyla smirked triumphantly and started down the stairs. "Pick one, then. I called in a favor with my buddy Sharif; he's gonna lend us his car so they can't trace the vehicle back to you. He lives just a couple blocks away; come on..."
"Wait," Sharon said, hurrying after her, "you didn't tell him what we're doing, did you?"
Leyla laughed, opening the door. "How could I? I don't even know what we're doing!"
Despite the urgency of the situation and the serious nature of the crime they were about to commit, Sharon couldn't keep a grin from spreading across her face.
Steve couldn't remember when he'd felt more anxious about an upcoming battle. He'd faced worse odds than this before, with even less support, but there was something different this time. One could argue that the stakes had often been higher than this, when he'd faced opponents who threatened the safety of the entire world. But Zemo had targeted his family. It felt as though he'd specifically arranged everything to be as personally difficult for Steve as possible.
Once more, Bucky had no control over his actions, and they would most likely be forced to fight each other. Steve only had Sam to watch his back, and Sam didn't even have any of his gear this time. They'd emptied Bucky's gun safe to arm themselves, but Steve was worried about Sam's safety in the upcoming battle. He wasn't enhanced; he didn't have any powers to help him survive whatever Zemo had in store for them. The rest of their friends were doing what they could to help, which Steve appreciated more than he could say, but none of them could actually come along as backup. Even their last-ditch hope had fallen through when they realized Spider-Man couldn't help.
Worst of all was that they had to bring Jake into the battle with them. Steve didn't dare call Zemo's bluff and show up without him, for fear of what he'd do to Bucky if they didn't follow his instructions. Having to keep an eye on Jake and make sure he wasn't in danger would make it that much harder to fight. Even if Sam hung back to stay right by Jake's side the entire time and keep him safe, that left Steve to face the Winter Soldier and Zemo on his own. And the last time he'd fought the Winter Soldier, he hadn't exactly come out on top...
All these worries kept churning around and around in Steve's head as they made their way to the rendezvous point Natasha had given them. He didn't have a solution, and he had a sickening feeling that he wouldn't be able to come up with any on the flight to Siberia either.
Steve pulled up next to the abandoned warehouse Natasha had identified as the hiding place she'd chosen for the Quinjet. How she'd gotten it there without someone noticing was anybody's guess. It would be a narrow fit through the huge doors in the side of the warehouse, but they were at the very outskirts of the city, so they should be able to make it high enough to evade detection without too much trouble.
When Steve opened the car door and reached to unbuckle Jake from his booster seat, Jake whipped out his pocket knife and pointed it threateningly at Steve. "Easy, Ja—" Steve stopped himself in the middle of Jake's name, his chest twinging with pain as if the knife had pierced it after all. Raising his hands in surrender, Steve took a step back. "I just want to help you out of your seat. Can you do it yourself?"
Instead of responding, Jake simply unbuckled himself and hopped to the ground, holding the knife between them and glaring up at Steve as if daring him to come closer.
Steve chose not to comment, and led the way into the warehouse, making sure to keep his distance. Sam grabbed the duffel bag with their supplies and brought up the rear. They might have to touch Jake once they reached their destination whether he liked it or not, but for now, it was best to keep him as calm as possible.
The huge doors had been left open, letting the afternoon sunlight stream into the warehouse. As he entered, Steve's gaze immediately landed on the Quinjet, sitting there waiting for them just as Natasha had promised. A moment later, he glanced over to the side, where an old, beat-up car sat in the shadow of the Quinjet. His footsteps slowed as he saw two people leaning against the trunk of the car, apparently waiting for them. Had Natasha decided to see them off after all...?
No. That wasn't Natasha. It was Sharon and Leyla.
Glancing over his shoulder, he shared a surprised glance with Sam. He hadn't told Sharon anything about what was going on, knowing that she wouldn't be able to help because of her job. So it was best to just keep silent, unless...
"You here to arrest us?" Steve called out as they closed the distance.
"There—you see?" Leyla said to Sharon, pointing at him. "What'd I tell you? He doesn't lead with 'why are you here?' or 'it's so good to see you!' The first conclusion he jumps to is that the world is against him. I bet he doesn't even thank us for the presents we brought him—at great personal risk, might I add."
Steve looked inquiringly at Sharon, who rolled her eyes and reached to open the trunk. "Pay no attention to the drama queen behind the curtain."
She popped the trunk open, pulled aside an old blanket—and there, sitting between the spare tire and jumper cables, were his shield and the Falcon wings. They even sat on piles of cloth that appeared to be their old uniforms.
Steve could only stand there, blinking in shock. He'd been trying to prepare himself to go into this battle with nothing but his fists and a few guns, but this...this might give them the edge they needed. The wings would give Sam the extra maneuverability that helped make up for his lack of enhanced strength when fighting someone like the Winter Soldier. And the shield might even spell the difference between life and death.
He looked up at Sharon, who was watching him with a highly satisfied smirk. "You...You did this for us...?"
"Oddly enough, I'd prefer my boyfriend to stay alive. So, yeah."
"Wait, wait," Sam said, reaching in with his free hand to grab his wingsuit. "You two broke into the Avengers compound and got all this stuff out without being spotted?"
"What, like it's hard?" Leyla scoffed.
Steve stared at Sharon, who was smiling like she'd just handed him something from his Christmas list, rather than breaking into a high-security facility to steal government property for him. How could he ever deserve her? "Aren't you going to get in trouble for this?"
Sharon shrugged. "Maybe I'll just play dumb—you know, like you asked me to get it for you and I didn't realize you weren't supposed to have it."
"I don't think you could convince anyone you were that dumb," Steve chuckled. How did she manage to look so adorable when talking about breaking the law and lying to the CIA? She just looked at him, smiling, her eyes sparkling...
"Hey, kiddo, wanna help me take this stuff into the jet?" Sam said, breaking into his thoughts.
Steve glanced over at Jake, who stood half-forgotten at the back of the group. He stiffened when the attention shifted to him, raising the knife and backing away. There was an awkward moment of silence as he just stood there, glaring at them.
If Sam was bothered by this response, he didn't show it. "Come on," he said, slinging the duffel bag over his shoulder so he could free a hand to grab the uniforms. "You can check out the inside of the Quinjet; it's pretty cool."
Jake hesitated, then reluctantly followed Sam at a safe distance.
"I'll give you a hand," Leyla offered, hefting the shield and following Sam over to the ramp leading into the Quinjet. "Wow, this thing's a lot lighter than it looks..."
"I know, right?" Sam said. "I'm Sam, by the way..."
As they headed over to the Quinjet and the sound of their introductions faded away, Steve returned his attention to Sharon. "You really didn't have to do this...but thank you."
"It's the least I could do." She gave him a rueful smile. "I don't suppose there's any way I could convince you to let us come with you as backup?"
Steve was already shaking his head. "I don't want you to jeopardize your job any more than you already have. And...I don't doubt your skill, but this is the Winter Soldier we're talking about. He's in a whole different league."
"I figured you'd say something like that," Sharon sighed. "That's why I knew I had to get you your shield, at least."
His heart swelled as he took her hand in his. "I owe you one."
Her smile softened. "No, you don't."
The words came to his lips almost before he was consciously aware of them, because he knew they were true without having to think. "I love you, Sharon."
He pulled her close and kissed her, hoping it gave her at least some small inkling of just how grateful he was for what she'd done. For everything she'd always done. He didn't deserve her, couldn't repay her, but here she was, and he didn't ever want to let her go.
Sharon's fingers gently combed through his hair as she kissed him back. Somehow, her touch seemed to rejuvenate his strength. Maybe it was the reminder that he wasn't alone. Maybe it was a reassurance that, no matter what happened, she would be here when he returned. Maybe it was the silent message, whispered right into his heart: I believe in you.
When at at last they broke apart, Sharon looked deep into his eyes, one hand stroking his beard. "Just make sure you come back in one piece, Steve Rogers."
"Yes, ma'am."
Sharon's eyes flitted away from his face, and her smile became a little embarrassed as she took a step back from him. Steve glanced over to see what she was looking at, only to find Sam and Leyla standing nearby, Sam unabashedly holding up his phone.
"Really?" Steve asked, his insides squirming with embarrassment—but nothing could really take the edge off the deep contentment spreading through him.
Sam lowered his phone, shrugging unapologetically. "Hey, I gotta record it so we can show Bucky!"
"Why?" Steve demanded, but Sam wasn't listening to him anymore.
"I wouldn't say no to a copy of that myself," Leyla commented.
Sam smirked at her. "For that I would need your number."
Leyla put a hand to her heart in exaggerated surprise. "Are you seriously trying to hit on me right now?"
"Any other time, there's a good chance you'd catch me wearing an apron and helping a four-year-old with a coloring book, so this is my one chance to make you think I'm cool, right?"
"And who says it's not cool to be good with kids?" With a coy smile, Leyla plucked the phone from Sam's hands and started tapping away, presumably entering her number. Steve shared an amused glance with Sharon.
But they couldn't stand around talking forever. Time was ticking away, and they all had places to be. "Be careful," Sharon murmured, squeezing Steve's hand one last time.
"You too," Steve said, slowly backing away. They didn't say goodbye, letting a silent promise hang between them. The conversation wasn't over yet.
Finally, Steve turned and marched up the ramp into the Quinjet, not looking back. Sam was at his side, walking with a spring in his step. "I think she likes you," Steve commented with a smirk.
Sam grinned, unperturbed by Steve's teasing tone. "What can I say? She has good taste."
Steve chuckled, but he sobered once he caught sight of Jake, already strapped into one of the seats. As they made their way to the cockpit, Steve reflected that Jake was sitting in the very same seat as when they'd brought him home in the first place. They were going back to the beginning, where Project Legacy had begun. Where the Winter Soldier had begun.
As he started up the Quinjet, Steve looked over at Sam, whose expression was deadly serious. "Ready?"
Sam nodded firmly. "Let's do this."
A man of many companions may come to ruin,
but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother.
- Proverbs 18:24