But Until Peace, The Storm (Pt.1)
But if it had to perish twice
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
Fire and Ice, Robert Frost
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As May had promised, the next mission came around, and then another and another. They jetted all across the globe, and James felt the effects on his internal clock even through his basically non-existent sleeping pattern.
The good things were that he had never been so focused in living memory. Worming in and chipping away at HYDRA’s seemingly omnipresent grasp, he felt like he might actually really be making a difference. It helped to abate the ugly voices in his head, telling him that he had spilled too much blood to wash away. He still had to try. He had to hold on to hope and count the things he found worth living for.
The bad things were that the most important of those things worth living for were currently far too far from his reach. He wanted to reconnect with Steve, figure out the connection they undoubtedly shared and see if they could still hang onto it after everything that had happened to each of them in between. With Steve, he missed what might be. Missing you was more than the luxury of quiet mornings and curling up on the couch to watch Star Trek, more than cooking together and talking or just being assured by your presence. It was a constant hollow ache in his chest, the absence of your hand in his…
“Sarge, you’re pining again.”
“…No.” he made a face despite the fact that no other team member could currently see him (probably), being set up around the perimeter while he and Trip sat on the roof across from a hotel in Hong Kong, rifle trained on the window of a known weapons dealer who’d recently expanded his customer list to include HYDRA. Trip was looking through the rifle’s scope, but James could see the smirk curling at the corner of his lips and let out a displeased huff at the ribbing from Skye over the comms. He much preferred the little game of ‘pop culture reference, inside joke, or meme’ the younger agents liked to throw at him, and he hated that game.
“That was a statement, not a question. Take a break, target’s on the move.” As always, May’s stern tone was that was needed to make them fall back in line. James swallowed his annoyance and focused. The mission was simple enough: while the target was out cozying up to HYDRA’s representatives, Skye would get into his room and work her tech-magic on all his electronics – bugs, tracers, Trojans, the entire works. Trip’s rifle remained conscientiously trained on the hotel suite entrance, just in case. James concentrated on the perimeter, keeping his eyes on the small screen in front of him and the feeds from the security cameras it displayed. The arms dealer was just shaking hands with HYDRA’s rep downstairs at the bar while Skye was uploading a tracer to his laptop.
“Time?” May demanded over the comms in her usual succinct style.
“Five minutes.” Skye answered at almost the same time James said “We’re good.”
“No, I’m good.” Skye grinned, pushing the laptop closed again. She patted down her costume – one of the hotel’s maid uniforms – and proceeded to bug the guy’s stuff, minus the cell phone he unfortunately had on him at all times. Four and a half minutes and she was done and out the door.
“You’re great.” James said flatly, the very definition of dead-pan. Skye giggled as she made her way out of the hotel, deftly discarding the maid outfit in favor of a more inconspicuous civilian look.
“Yeah, yeah, see ya at the rendezvous and you can go back to pining for ________.” She teased. Trip failed to smother a snort of amusement as he packed up his rifle and James shot the other man a look carefully devoid of amusement.
“You know who I really miss most?” he grumbled into his comms while he and Trip made their way down a bare and very long staircase.
“Don’t say it’s the cat.”
“Our cat.” James confirmed matter-of-factly, then stopping a moment to mentally curse himself when he realized his little slip-up. ‘Our cat’, like a slightly eccentric suburban couple yet too young to settle down fully, the kind who have just bought a house but prefer to spend their vacations hiking up the Andes or swimming with whales off the coast of Antarctica, but will start having their 2.5 kids within the next five years. Thankfully no one reacted to it, so he was left to ponder the unexpected direction of his thought process for the rest of the way.
The rendezvous point was an older barber shop in the less modern and sky-scraper-y part of the city. The four of them had split up, taking various turns and roundabouts to shake any tails. James was the third to arrive. He walked through to the back where Trip was lounging in one of the large chairs while Skye tapped away at her phone. James took off the last of three hats that had served as a disguise and ran a hand through his hair, which had grown out a bit since you’d cut it.
“So, what exactly is this place again?”
“Old SHIELD field office, but it was shut down in the eighties which is why it wasn’t compromised during the file leak.”
“Lucky us.” James commented, eyeing the other chair warily. On the one hand he was tired, on the other seats with reclining backs were a big no-no. Instead he opted for leaning against the wall next to Skye, arms crossed to keep from fidgeting. Trip was playing around with the chair’s levers while James let his gaze do a more than cursory sweep of the location. The little barber shop was still in use, with an elderly man currently sweeping out in the front, but was otherwise completely unremarkable. Then again, James presumed that had rather been the point.
“Imagine this place, back in the old days…” he began to muse. Skye snorted, which he opted to ignore for the time being. “You’d come in, give someone the password, meet a perfect stranger to exchange intel …”
“There may be hidden doors even.” Trip quipped, smile wide with mirth while he adjusted the back rest, or tried to. Skye muttered something regarding him, a veritable fossil, declaring anything ‘old’ that didn’t at least precede railways. James gave a slightly annoyed snort, but decided not to pay the comment any further attention.
“It seems like somebody read too many Bond novels.” He quipped just as May appeared with a rustle of the curtain half closing off the part of the room they were in.
“Those were only published beginning in the Fifties.” The senior agent raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.
“What? I read. I read things, okay?”
“Spy novels?” Skye questioned, actually looking up from her phone now. “That’s a bit of an overkill, don’t you think?”
He was just about to reply something borderline rude that she wouldn’t take ill because they got along like that, but he didn’t get to the actual vocalizing part because in that moment there was a metallic screech and a dull thud behind them, and when they whirled around on reflex the ground was open where Trip had just been sitting in the chair. A groan sounded from the hole and James could see the dust of decades lazily swirling through the air. He was suddenly extremely glad that he had decided against sitting.
“Are you okay?” Skye yelped, already kneeling at the edge of the hole.
“Just my dignity I think.”
James stepped closer cautiously, wary of the drop but it wasn’t even that deep. Trip looked up at them from beneath, sprawled halfway off the chair, the back of which seemed to have broken off upon impact. Dust was already settling over him in a thin layer.
“So that’s kind of a secret door, right?” Trip joked, somewhat weakly, picking himself up from the floor with a wince. He might have gotten a bit banged up, but seemed largely fine. No major injuries. James breathed deeply to calm his suddenly galloping heart and blinked away the flashing images of a man in blue, red and white falling amidst debris. He lay down carefully, reaching one arm down to help pull Trip back up. May watched the scene with equal measures of fondness and exasperation, either carefully veiled to the uninformed onlooker.
“If you’re done, agents, we have a plane to catch.”
“I can’t wait to get home…” Trip muttered miserably, cautiously testing out whether the fall had impaired his range of movement by rolling his shoulders.
“We’re not going back yet. You –“ she nodded at a wincing Trip, “And I are going to Istanbul and you two are expected in Berlin.”
Skye exchanged one quick look with James before her head snapped back to their SO.
“You’re putting us in charge of a mission?”
“No.” May retorted, and if James wasn’t seeing things there was the ghost of an indulgent smile curling at the corner of her mouth.
They were together until Turkey, utilizing the flight time to go through the next mission briefs and rest before the train would take them north through Greece and the Balkans, then Hungary, Slovakia and the Czech Republic into the capital of Germany. James wasn’t thrilled about being on a train for more than a full day, and neither was Skye, though for different reasons. A plane would have been fine. He hadn’t fallen to his death from any planes, to the best of his knowledge, but the metal arm and the fact that he was technically a dead man as well as a wanted one meant the fewer controls the better.
James jumped out of the train after Skye, onto the platform of Berlin’s main station, and stifled a yawn. He should have utilized the ample time spent on transport to sleep but as always had found himself unable to do so. Apart from his own issues with sleep the exposed nature of journeying this way, among strangers and in public, is far from conducive to relaxation and it’s not that he has no trust in Skye and her abilities, but trust is a problematic thing at the best of times and he can’t genuinely rest and be on the lookout for danger at the same time.
“Anyone picking us up?”
Skye fidgeted a small strip of paper out of her pocket. “We’re meeting our contact at this address. I don’t suppose you’ve ever been here, Sarge?”
Even if he had, he wouldn’t know it now, but at least his command of the language made it easier for them to find their way through the maze of public transportation.
They found the small café eventually, plopping down exhaustedly at a table in a far corner. A bored looking waitress came up to them within mere seconds it seemed.
“Was darf’s sein?” she asked disinterestedly, tucking a strand of chin-length chestnut hair back behind her ear and pushing up her glasses in one practiced motion.
“Do you guys have frappucinos? I’ve been dying for one since take-off!” Skye recited the code phrase dutifully, and the waitress visibly stopped a moment, assessing the both of them quickly before recovering her composure.
“There’s a Starbucks on Alexanderplatz but if you think you can handle some real coffee you’re welcome to stay here.” The waitress quipped, now in English with a strong accent. So far so good.
“Zwei Cappuccinos bitte. Können Sie etwas empfehlen?” James recited his lines dutifully. The waitress nodded slightly.
“Russischen Zupfkuchen. Hausgemacht.”
And with that the contact was made. The waitress left, returning some moments later with two cups and two plates with pieces of cake on them. There was a slip of paper tucked into Skye’s napkin, detailing the actual rendezvous point and when and how to arrive there. At least they had a bit of breathing room before they had to get going again. And cake and coffee. It wasn’t all that bad, James thought as he polished off the cake, which was delicious.
“So, are you okay, Sarge?” Skye began, cautiously sipping her coffee. James threw her a suspicious look. Where was this coming from now?
“Where’s this coming from now?”
Skye shrugged uneasily. “It’s just …we’ve been really busy lately and what I said in Hong Kong was …maybe …”
He didn’t give her anything, just staring at her blankly over the rim of his mug.
“Look, I know you couldn’t call _______ in a while now and I know it can be hard being apart when you’re…”
“When you’re what-“
“…Close.” Skye mumbled. James stared. Skye blushed and coughed a little. James tried to communicate wordlessly what a lousy save that was through subtle eyebrow action.
“Is there a point to this?” he asked somewhat irritably. He’d rather not be reminded of where and with whom he’d rather be at any given time seeing as he’d need to focus on the mission ahead in order to eventually get back there.
“Look, I promised to look out for you and I just want to know how you’re holding up is all.”
He held her gaze for another unsettling minute, desperately trying to not let his face betray his inner turmoil before softening slightly.
“I’m okay. Thanks for caring.”
“Well, if you’re really sure…”
“I am. Thank you.” He flashed a brief smile. Somehow it still felt exceedingly strange to be cared about. Not bad, not bad at all, just …strange. These people barely knew him, or knew too much of all the monstrous things that he’d done, and still cared. He swallowed his cake thickly, wondering at the cosmic movements that placed him where he was now and where he’d been before.
“I mean, we’ve got time. You could write her a post card.” Skye suggested.
“That might raise some questions.” He muttered absently into his cup. A clatter of cutlery on crockery made him wince and look up. Somehow the noise managed to sound affronted, though that might have been his imagination.
“Oh my god,” Skye whisper-shouted, eyes wide, “You haven’t told her???”
“I …well I …no I might have just been a bit vague on the exact specifics and requirements of the agreement between Agent Coulson and I.”
“________ doesn’t know that you’re coming out into the field with the rest of us and you have been ‘vague’???”
James tried to get a word in but Skye was only just gaining steam. He could do nothing but listen dejectedly for about five minutes at the very least.
“She’d only worry, and it’s not like she can do anything so what’s the point?”
“You’re lying to her! You’re actively lying to my best friend!”
“Technically it’s more of an omission. Besides, you haven’t told her anything either.”
That shut her up. For about five seconds at least.
“It’s just …it doesn’t …it’s not right, it doesn’t feel right.”
James sighed. Rolled his shoulders and took care to keep his voice level lest they be overheard.
“Look, it was agreed that no one on the outside needed to know, and that includes ________. It also includes Steve. Sometimes things are necessary even though we don’t like them.”
Skye deflated a bit, glaring accusingly at her empty coffee cup.
“Let’s get these HYDRA bastards.” She muttered darkly. It was time they got going, as a look at his watch told him.
“The sooner the better.” He agreed.
A good hour later of navigating Berlin’s public transport, complete with a very large and very confusing construction site smack dab in the middle of their route (it wasn’t actually, but they’d gotten lost at some point in between and had to take a detour which then led them across the accursed construction site), they are finally trudging towards the address the waitress passed on to them with less than half an hour to spare before their designated meeting time. By now the sky is starting to darken and the bars and cafés that seem to line every single street in this neighborhood are already well crowded. Mostly with young people. Actually almost exclusively with young people. They didn’t stand out much, which was good.
“This should be it.” Skye declared, though she sounded unconvinced. According to both her phone and the street signs they had reached the address from the note, Simon-Dach-Straße 36. As with most of the street, the ground level was home to a bar.
“Himmelreich – what does that mean, Sarge?” Her pronunciation was atrocious, but he decided against telling her that. There was no point to it.
“Um, heaven …heavendom? No, kingdom of heaven, something like that.”
“That’s either very promising or very ominous.”
James only grunted in reply, shifting his bag on his aching shoulders and surveying the building in search of the entrance. It was one of those turn-of-the-century tenements typical for this city, which meant that there would be rows upon rows of apartments behind the façade. He chose not to question how he knew that, just jumped at the chance that presented itself when a doorway next to the bar was pushed open from the inside, a small group of young women piling out and laughing among themselves. Skye followed him through the front part of the building into a rectangular courtyard. It wasn’t exactly spectacular: some greenery, bike racks and a fenced-in area where large dumpsters were arranged according to the color of their lids. The rest of the building rose up around them, more doors leading into its sections.
They consulted the note once more, deciding on trying the second door to the left after some minutes of muted arguing. Luckily it wasn’t locked. Four flights of stairs later, and with only two minutes to spare, they are standing in a small hallway between two doors. One is labelled ‘Dirschau’, the other, interestingly, ‘Novakov’. As far as Russian surnames go, it’s not exactly unusual – in Germany, however …he files it away to look up later. Meanwhile, Skye is ringing the doorbell next to the other door, their destination. There’s a quick shuffling of feet on the other side of the old wooden door and then the waitress from the café is standing there, looking significantly less bored, though her face falls a little and her hand is tense at her hip, no doubt itching towards a gun should she need it. The action is too obvious and tense to belong to a trained field agent.
“Why are you so afraid-“ the woman asked, her accent still as strong as it had been earlier.
“Oh ye of little faith.” James dutifully recited the last pass phrase – Matthew 8:26 – and the woman relaxed, stepping aside to wave them in.
“I thought it might be the pizza person, but this is also good. Did you find everything alright?”
“Pizza?” Skye echoed hopefully, her tone something dreamy, something full of yearning and the woman muttered something or other about her lack of cooking skills as she leads them down a narrow hallway and into a cozy living room already occupied by two other people. One is a tall, lanky man, around thirty, tan and with pitch black hair cropped short, a goatee and an apprehensive smile. The other is a woman of average height, slightly older, athletic build with dark, shoulder-length hair, green eyes and freckles on pale skin. She eyed them coolly, swirling a half-empty glass of wine in her hand.
“Who sent you again?” she asked, voice sharp and with a distinct Irish accent that reminds him immediately of Sarah Rogers who never lost hers even after living in the States for most of her life.
“Calm down, Aileen, everything’s in order.” The German woman, presumably their host by the sure way she moved through the apartment, called over while rummaging through a cupboard for a couple of cups. The Irish woman, Aileen, sent her a disapproving glare.
“You never know, nowadays. HYDRA is everywhere. I’d just like to make sure that-“
“We are here on command of Agent Melinda May. You’re welcome to test us.” Skye threw in, tapping out a challenge with her fingers over her crossed arms. The man sighs in the background and it occurs to James that they don’t even know who these people are, whether they’re really loyal to SHIELD. It might be a trap, HYDRA might have gotten wind of his whereabouts and staged this whole thing, so logically, his mind is running several miles a minute, already mapping out various routes of escape for himself and Skye, calculating how to best take down the three people strategically scattered across the room, and his heart starts beating faster while cold sweat prickles at the back of his neck.
“That won’t be necessary because I already confirmed everything with May and all.is.in.order.” The German woman repeated crossly, handing each of them a glass cup with water from a bottle she opened before their eyes, which is considerate, James finds as he chugs it. It’s summer and hot in Berlin, and he’s been merrily sweating through his long sleeves for more than a day and frankly, he feels absolutely disgusting.
Aileen glowered for a moment, before relenting with a sigh and a bitten-off Gaelic curse.
“You’ve got to understand,” the man starts, moving up to them smoothly and extending his hand in greeting, “We lost our entire team to HYDRA. Barely got out alive ourselves.”
“That’s because around three quarters of our team were HYDRA.” Aileen interjected sourly.
“I’m sure we all have debts to settle with those squid bastards.” The man answered placatingly, “That’s why we’re here, innit? Agent Owen Prescott, pleasure.”
“Aileen O’Malley, formerly Agent 9 of SHIELD’s Special Service.” The Irish woman said curtly, chugging the rest of her Bordeaux in one go before pointing to the young German. “And this is Doctor Jana Loewe, our gracious hostess.”
“Agents Barnes and Skye.” Skye introduced them. James’ eyes narrowed on the German woman. The name didn’t match up with the sign on the door, and it made him suspicious. It might be nothing, it might be something, and he didn’t quite know how to bring it up in a way that didn’t sound accusatory. And then, before he could get any further in the matter, the doorbell rang again and their host dashed off like an Olympic sprinter going for gold.
It was probably unprofessional to get distracted by the now arriving pizzas (genuine Italian, thin and crisp and delicious) but then again, he was positively famished and what use could he be this way. Also it gave him time to formulate a plan.
“So, not to be rude but I noticed how the name on the doorbell doesn’t match up.” Skye said around a mouthful of calzone. Well, or, apparently, the issue would sort itself out. Perhaps he shouldn’t have underestimated his partner. Huh, partner. For all the foggy memories of the Howling Commandos, working as a team, he was still mentally geared to respond to a handler.
He quickly shot a cautious glance at their host but she didn’t seem particularly perturbed or offended, though maybe a tad annoyed.
“You noticed that, didn’t you? Of course you did, you field agent people are trained for this stuff. I’m not, I’m just a simple consultant called in if need be …or I was anyway.” So James had been right in deducing that the woman was not a trained agent. She exchanged a quick look with Agent O’Malley, who silently prompted her to go on. “With the data dump during the fall of SHIELD, all kinds of information were released and suddenly I’m officially on payroll for goddamn fucking HYDRA. You can imagine how that looked.” She snorted unhappily and put her pizza down to wipe angrily at her nose. Skye wore an expression that was sympathetic yet carefully guarded and James tried to replicate it, giving their hostess the opportunity to complete her story. Which she did, after exchanging another look with the other two agents.
“Well, long story short: These two helped me set up a fake identity and I got the hell out of there and now I’m back in my home town, waiting tables. I have a doctorate for fucks sake! I only ever wanted to dig up old crockery, I don’t know what happened.”