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A touch more of the WIP
After the buildup, the actual op was almost anticlimactic. It turned out to be a joint Hydra and AIM base, but they were so busy infighting that Steve had already knocked out the first three guards before the alarm was raised. By that time, Sam had uploaded Friday to the computer, and locked the base down.
Oddly, with the doors locked, and Captain America standing by in a suit that bore a closer resemblance to the Winter Soldier's tac gear, most of the agents seemed loathe to fight.
Most of them. A few decided to give the new material Tony'd invented a workout. It absorbed a good amount of impact before Steve or Sam ever felt it, and the underlying kevlar alloy kept anything from penetrating. He'd have a few bruises that would heal in under an hour from a couple of near point blank shots, but otherwise, things went smoothly. Sam didn’t have a scratch on him.
Right up until they opened solid steel door, and Steve got a look at the chair behind it. Several techs were clustered on their knees at the back of the room, fingers locked behind their heads.
"Oh, shit,” Sam muttered, trying to mom-arm Steve out of the room. "I've got this one."
Steve, of course, ignored him, brushing past the arm like it wasn't there. His eyes swept the room, narrowing as they took in the cryo unit, the chains set into the wall next to the coiled hose and cold water spigot. Most of all, his eyes lingered on the chair.
He stared at it for a long minute, eyes sliding to the drain beneath it, the red stain that lingered on the right arm’s shackle. He saw Sam cringe out of the corner of his eyes as his hand tightened on the shield.
Cap,” he started, voice soft. When he didn’t move, he said more urgently, “Steve.”
Steve heard his voice from far away. He looked at the techs who were kneeling, waiting for them to secure them and call the FBI, just like every other base. Not a bit of fear, or remorse. They’d ripped Bucky’s memories, his self, and they didn’t care that he was a person. “Which of you is in charge?” he asked flatly.
No one put their hands up, but two of the techs looked towards the third. “You, huh. Good. Get up.” He pulled a small hard drive out of his belt. “Download everything you have on Project Winter Soldier.” He could hear the hard, cold edge in his voice. The tech stared, obviously confused, and his frustration boiled through. “Now!”
The sound of his gun clearing leather seemed to motivate the man to move, grabbing the drive and darting to the nearest computer. Steve moved to stand behind him, gun held steady in his hand.
“Are you going to kill me?” the tech whimpered.
“I don’t know yet. Should I?”
“Steve,” Sam said, voice sharp. “Don’t-”
“Did you wipe him? How many times?”
“No, never-”
“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Steve snapped. “How. Many. Times?”
“Twice,” one of the techs said. “I didn’t know--they told us he was a volunteer.”
“Twice,” he replied, musingly. “Maybe I should kill two of you. Since it was only twice, after all.”
“Please,” the lead tech begged. “This is all the information on him. We didn’t know!” He shoved the hard drive at Steve with a trembling hand.
Sam stepped between the man and Steve, taking the drive, and sliding it into his belt. “Steve. Enough.”
“Was it enough when he was screaming for them to stop?”
The tech who had been silent up until then moved with surprising speed, grabbing for Sam, producing a scalpel from his lab coat. Before his grip even tightened, Steve’s shield came down on his forearms, the crack of bone loud against the soft sobs of the lead tech.
The report of Steve’s gun was even louder. Sam flinched. back, giving him a reproachful look that said plainly that he thought the bullet was overkill.
Steve was starting to respect the overkill option more and more. The press was even making note of it. He’d heard whispers that being a fugitive had changed him, like he wasn’t just as much of a goddam walking weapon as the Winter Soldier was. Probably more so. Bucky hadn’t chosen a bit of what he had.
Sam pulled out two pairs of zip ties, and was giving Steve a look that he easily interpreted as “Done now?”
Steve nodded, walking to the chair, and using fists and shield to rip it in half. He didn’t stop until there weren’t any pieces larger than his fist left. When he turned back, Sam was eyeing him nervously.
Ignoring him, he went to the two bound scientists, looming over them. “Whatever the FBI does to you, it’s not nearly enough,” he spat. “God may forgive, I don't.”
He stalked out of the room, and Sam followed in his wake. Once the door sealed again, Sam blew out a breath. “Do you like making the FBI deal with urine-soaked techs? Is this some weird passive aggressive thing from you and Sharon’s breakup?”
“There was no breakup, Jesus. Quit listening to Clint,” Steve muttered. “There was no relationship. We dated a few times, it was too weird, we didn’t go out again.”
“I can kind of see that.”
“She grew up hearing about me from Peggy. She didn’t want me, she wanted the guy she’d heard the stories about. When she realized that the guy she'd built up in her head didn’t bear much resemblance to Steve Rogers, she let me down gently. For a Carter at least. No bullets involved this time--very civilized,” he added to hear Sam snort a laugh.
After a moment, Sam sobered. “You know you’re fucked up, right? Like in need of massive amounts of therapy.”
This time, Steve laughed. “Sam, just over four years ago, I was fighting World War Two. Of course I’m fucked up. I had a therapist, and Bruce was working on an antidepressant for my enhanced system.”
“So...”
“Bruce disappeared, and my therapist was Hydra. It kind of screwed any urge I had to continue working with the medical profession for a while. The one Bucky and T’Challa assigned to me is nice, though.” He shrugged. “They were using everything I told them against me. Hydra, that is. I think they were hoping I’d kill myself and get out of their hair.”
“Wow,” Sam muttered. “Just when I think I’ve found the depths of their assholery, something new comes up. Objection to shooting them all retracted.”
“Technically, I already decapitated my therapist. He was on the first helicarrier. It was cathartic.” His comm chirped, and Steve held up a finger, touching the earbud. “Go Widow,” Steve said.
“I hear you got a jump on things.”
“Yeah. We had a body outside our hotel. Decided that we were better off starting the party early.”
“And how was that party?”
“Whole lot of Hydra. So, not the best. But I got to shoot a tech in the face, so that was something,” Steve chirped.
“So fucked up,” Sam muttered.
“Tell Sam that stopped being news three years ago,” Natasha shot back. Another click, and Steve could hear Sam’s breathing in his ear, and knew she’d opened the channel to both of them. “Sam, seriously. I have SO many stories of how fucked up Steve is. This is actually much better.”
“He just shot a tech in the face point blank.”
“Yeah. What’d the tech do?”
“Made a grab for Sam.”
“Mm. Anything in his other hand?”
“Scalpel,” Steve admitted. “To be fair, I didn’t really wait to see. Figured if he was dumb enough to go for him, he was dumb enough to have a syringe like they did in Brussels.”. He glanced at Sam. “They shot Clint up with some major drugs. He was tripping balls for days. I shot them in the face, too,” he added.
“I just texted you the address of the hotel. They’ll be waiting for you when you’re done at the base.”
“Sharon just texted. FBI is here to mop up. Talk to you in a few, okay?”
By the time they finished handing off the base to Sharon, the sun was burning through the morning haze, promising another hot day.
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