But Until Peace, The Storm (Pt. 2) – Bridge of Spies
I stood with the Dead, so forsaken and still:
When dawn was grey I stood with the Dead.
And my slow heart said, ‘You must kill, you must kill:
‘Soldier, soldier, morning is red’.
Siegfried Sassoon – I stood with the dead
After that somewhat tense dinner, Skye and James got the welcome chance to wash up and rest before the next day. And despite the fact that he was completely beat his frazzled mind would once again not let him sleep. And if he slipped under anyway it would neither be rest- nor peaceful, he could tell by the darkness already lurking around the edges of his consciousness. Add in the nerves from the upcoming mission and it was clear he didn’t stand a chance at a much-needed respite. He rolled onto his back with an annoyed grunt, stubbornly telling himself that he just needed to find a comfortable position.
“Sarge, you awake?” Skye asked from the couch above him. Since they had to make do with limited resources Jana’s little apartment was their accommodation for the duration of the mission and since there were five of them in a three-room-apartment they had to make do with air mattresses and sharing rooms. Except Prescott who got a room to himself because he snored atrociously. James could hear the man even now, through the solid brick walls. Dugan would have been jealous.
This arrangement placed Skye and James in the living room, where he chivalrously took the floor because Mrs and Major Barnes didn’t raise a complete lout. Besides, the couch was tiny – he wouldn’t have fit on it anyway. But he had been asked a question, to which he now grunted affirmatively in place of a more elaborate answer. Skye sounded equal parts exhausted and anxious, so he didn’t attribute her being awake solely to her surely messed up circadian rhythm.
“Would you rather be back at HQ now?”
He’d rather be on a couch – a rather specific one that stood in a certain apartment in Bethesda – but it was no use wishing for things he couldn’t have. Skye had rolled around and arranged herself so that she was peering down over the edge of the couch cushions, chin resting on her crossed wrists like this was a sleepover party. She must have read his thoughts from his expression because her own grew sympathetic. He could barely make it out in what little light came through the curtains.
“I mean, that mission tomorrow – it’s gonna be tougher than any you’ve been on with us so far. Do you regret signing back up for this?”
“I’ve been doing this sort of shit since before any of you were born.” He felt compelled to point out,beyond caring how petulant he may sound. Skye made a face at that, shifting and unwittingly moving more into the blended orange-silver light cast by moon and street lamps.
“Yeah gramps I know I just …You have every right to want out, not back in.”
He considered this a moment. What right did he have, really? The deeds of his time as the Winter Soldier, however incomplete his recollections of those may be, were so horrific that to leave them unanswered for would weigh just as heavily as having done them in the first place. He shook his head reflexively.
“I’m most effective in the field, so that’s where I must be.”
Above him, Skye released a tiny little sigh and rolled back over, flopping down on her back. He shifted again, making the air mattress squeak quietly in protest.
“Do you trust me?” Skye asked after a few moments of silence. James weighed his answer carefully, having been caught off guard by the question. There were definitely things he didn’t know about her, as well as the rest of the team, things none of them spoke about beyond vague allusions. Like what had happened to them during the fall of SHIELD. Then again Skye was your friend, and he’d gotten to know her quite a bit in the short time since they’d met.
Apparently his silence had stretched on too long for Skye to bear, because she shuffled back into her previous position and peered down at him again.
“I mean, I know this is … you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to but I …you’re my partner, kinda …ugh, I’m so tired. Am I even making sense anymore?”
James’ lips quirked upward just the tiniest fraction. He adjusted the position of the heavy metal at his side so it didn’t press all the air out of the mattress with its weight while also not pulling on the flesh it was attached to too much before giving his carefully deliberated answer.
“I trust you to have my back out in the field, and you can count on me to do the same for you,” he swiftly reached up his other hand and gently flicked her nose, like he might have done to his siblings when they were all still young. “…Partner.”
Her broad grin was oddly gratifying. It warmed him like the lazy Brooklyn sun in late summer.
“Hell yeah,” she retorted, a great deal more cheerful and less tense. She tucked one arm under her head and curled up on her side facing him with eyes already drooping shut.
“Sarge and Skye, team extraordinaire, reporting for kicking ass and taking names!” she yawned deeply and he let out a soft laugh.
“Skye and Sarge,” he threw in softly, “Sounds way better.”
“If you say so…” she grinned sleepily, “HYDRA quivers before them!”
James laughed again, and drifted off some minutes after.
He woke again to the rather irritating feeling of being poked in the cheek, hesitantly yet repeatedly. He grunted something that was supposed to amount to ‘Stop it’, rolled over and pulled the pillow over his head for protection. A prolonged beat of peace and then he was poked again, a short fingernail gently digging into his shoulder this time. He really didn’t like that. If Rosie and Jules were going to start tickling his feet within the next few moments they’d get what was coming to them. He whined lowly and grabbed the blanket tightly when he felt it being pulled away, curling in on himself.
“Hey…” a voice called, “Get up.”
“No,” James whined in response and pushed the pillow down more firmly to drown out the voice, or voices, surrounding him. “It’s Saturday.”
“I regret to have to inform you that it is actually Thursday. Now get up.”
“It’s too early!” he protested weakly, tightening his grip on blanket and pillow.
“It’s half past ten and you’ve had no less than four complete REM cycles.” The voice declared matter-of-factly. “Get the hell up, Barnes.”
“Don’t wanna…”
“Well, that’s too bad.” And then the blanket was whipped away, leaving him wincing when all the lovely warmth evaporated in a huff.
“Wow, he’s really not a morning person, is he?” another voice joined in, this one strongly accented. He wished they’d just stop talking and let him sleep, let him chase the lingering traces of that recurring dream he’s been having lately. He grunted in annoyance and secured the pillow over both his ears, not that it did much good. A phone rang shrilly, and the accented voice turned to answer it. By now he was too cold and too annoyed to even try staying asleep anyway, so he reluctantly shoved the pillow away and pushed himself up. His first order of business was to scowl at Skye very darkly. It left her largely unimpressed.
“Wakey wakey, partner.” She said drily before going back to working her special kind of magic on the laptop on the coffee table in front of her.
‘Have mercy.’ He retorted. Granted, it did sound every bit like ‘Fuck off’, but at his core it’s what he meant. Skye stuck out her tongue at him and continued working. James heaved himself up from the wobbly air mattress and trudged into the bathroom, then into the kitchen to retrieve a cup of coffee. Their hostess was sat there by that time, offering him some breakfast. He’d never seen such a wide selection of meats. Not even mentioning the cheeses, jams and other spreads – one could be led to assume the woman was holding a banquet.
Two cups of coffee and a generous amount of toast later – and he’d only gotten through half the meat selection – he was feeling both alive and human enough to brave the living room once more.
They’d gotten through most of the mission specs the previous evening. Apparently there was some sort of alien artifact that had gone missing from its SHIELD containment during the HYDRA reveal. The thing was, of course, fatally dangerous, which was why it had been locked up and sealed away (more tightly so than himself) and never experimented on (very much unlike himself). Agents O’Malley and Prescott had previously been part of a special unit tasked with assessing and, if necessary, bringing in 0-8-4s like this one, and Dr Loewe, being an accomplished archaeologist, had often been called in to consult on whether the newest find was indeed alien or not.
The artifact in question though had been under SHIELD lock-up since 1946, captured from a straggling HYDRA unit by none other than founder and first director Peggy Carter herself. O’Malley had looked reverent when she’d recounted this. James had wondered whether any of the Commandos had been with her then; it seemed right that they would.
In any case, O’Malley and Prescott had finally been able to track down the fatally dangerous alien thing (furthermore to be referred to FDAT) and naturally, because of its immediately lethal alien nature, HYDRA had wanted to get their grubby, world-domination-seeking and terror-spreading paws on the FDAT. And apparently whoever had procured the damned thing was now coming out of the woodwork to offer it to the highest bidder. In a feat of espionage and deception worthy of fiction, the agents had managed to intercept the communications relayed between supplier and prospective customer, laying the groundwork for the operation that was now beginning to unfurl.
According to the plan, one team of agents would meet with the unknown seller, pretending to be HYDRA, while the other team would then meet with the actual HYDRA representatives, pretending to want to sell them the FDAT – oh, and then abduct them. Or ‘take them in for questioning’, as it were. ‘What could possibly go wrong?’ Agent Prescott had said after finishing the outline, laughing weakly and quickly swallowing a large gulp of wine. There were, of course, lots of things that could go wrong. For one, they were so severely understaffed that they might as well just burst in guns blazing (guns they didn’t really have, either), grab the FDAT and play a round of catch with it and that might actually be less dangerous than the actual plan.
And the worst thing was that this wasn’t even the most dangerous or foolhardy thing James had ever done, not by a long shot. The benefits of growing up with Steve Rogers. And fighting in a World War. And other stuff (he wonders whether that should count).
The point is, the lot of them might well die, but if that’s what it takes to prevent HYDRA from getting a cosmic death rock it’s well worth it.
“Why can’t the aliens ever send us nice things.” He was muttering into his coffee now, glaring at the file on the table in front of him that contained what little there was on the FDAT that apparently killed upon contact.
“Like what?” Skye scoffed while typing away on the laptop before her.
“Dunno, a cookbook? Party music? A goddamn space ship flight manual for all I care, why’s it always gotta be death and destruction? That’s pretty inconsiderate. Irresponsible, really.” Death and destruction that HYDRA and people with equally as unsavory motives would then try to utilize for their own ends. It had been the same with the Tesseract back then.
“Potential Martian disco music aside, Thor’s pretty nice,” Skye muttered, half under her breath, “At the very least his biceps are.”
James only grunted in reply, annoyed at extraterrestrial life forms and very much terrestrial evil organizations in general and at no one in particular. Outside in the hallway, Jana was on the phone again, pacing in front of the open living room door. She was currently speaking with O’Malley, who was out finishing up preparations. She and Prescott both were, but apparently she’d gotten lost on Berlin’s streets. Apparently, apart from the construction sites everywhere, there were occasionally lanes that simply became turn lanes without any warning or sense.
“No, you’re almost there. Double back and then take a left, then right onto Hasenheide. The park needs to be on your right. You need to pass the Sputnik and…” James’ vision went black like a burst lightbulb before the ‘k’ sound was fully articulated. Since he had only been sitting on the very edge of the chair, he dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes, not that he noticed that anymore.
Waking up the second time that day happened not to insistent poking, but to worried faces hovering above him. This fact notwithstanding, his first response was panic, complete with sky-rocketing pulse and no air in his lungs.
“Hey, easy,” Skye said, intrepidly placing a grounding hand on his heaving chest, “You’re safe. We’re in Berlin on a mission. Are you with me, Sarge?”
He had grabbed at her wrist on pure instinct, but the grip was weak. There was no danger in it. A pillow had been placed under his head, he noted, but other than that he was still laying where his fall had deposited him on the living room carpet. He supposed it would have been too much to ask of the two much smaller women to lug his heavy frame around.
“What happened?” he finally managed to croak out, after calming down enough to return to a sustainable breathing pattern and heaving himself up into a sitting position.
“You suddenly keeled over and were out cold for around ten minutes. I was kinda hoping you could tell me what that was about.”
A very good question. One that he, unfortunately, didn’t have an answer to beyond ‘HYDRA hid landmines in my brain apparently’, which, okay, worrying but expected. All in all it could have been worse, seeing as he still knew who he was, and where, and why, and who the people around him were. Worst case scenario: whatever failsafe HYDRA had installed in his head knocks him out while also resetting his hard drive, erasing all the hard-won progress he’d made so far. Or it would send him into a mission headspace so complete that, once activated, he’d have slaughtered every single person present. Whatever trigger word had fallen only did the first and he was immeasurably grateful that for once the universe wasn’t completely screwing him over. And he hadn’t even hit his head on the way down, so double yay!
This feeling had no chance to persist however, as the front door clicked loudly and then Agent O’Malley was standing in the doorway, eyeing him critically.
“How are you feeling, Agent Barnes?” she said in the kind of clipped tone that spoke of utmost displeasure. When he failed to provide an answer, the senior agent frowned and strode into the room, prompting him to quickly scramble to his feet to try and preserve at least a shred of dignified competence, even if it was a losing battle.
“Does this kind of thing happen often?” O’Malley inquired sharply.
“No ma’am.” This was literally the first time. And he had no idea what had triggered it. It must have been a word, maybe a phrase. The inner workings of his fractured mind were a maze in which the jangling of keys could send him into a full-blown panic attack. O’Malley crossed her arms and squared her shoulders, her gaze challenging.
“Listen, Agent, you’re here because Melinda May vouches for you, and I trust May with my life. Moreover, I trust her with the life of my remaining agent and my consultant. Most importantly I trust her with my mission, so when I asked for back-up and she sent you, two operatives I have never even heard of, I am understandably wary, but I trust Melinda May. But now you just black out for no apparent reason. You’ll understand my concern at this.”
“Yes ma’am.” James dared reply quietly, having somehow assumed a rigid military stance that would have done his drill sergeant proud. O’Malley, apparently not as easily placated, shot him a withering look.
“We are about to mount an operation that will see us into the direct line of fire, with no back-up, no extraction plans. We are outgunned and outmanned and the whole thing is hideously dangerous even if we were equipped to full capacity, so I will ask you this only once, Agent Barnes, and I expect a truthful answer: Are you ready for this mission, or are you a liability?”
James stole a sideways glance at Skye before returning his gaze to Agent O’Malley’s. He was about to go face to face with HYDRA, and while he’d taken every care there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t be recognized. Who knew what else they had buried in the recesses of his psyche, just waiting to be triggered by a simple word? And that was on top of all his other issues. Going into an actual combat situation for the first time since SHIELD fell and he’d dragged Steve out of the Potomac, there was no telling what might happen with him, how he might react. His mere presence was putting these agents in danger, and, save for Skye, they didn’t even know who they’d let into their midst. But if HYDRA got a hold of the deadly alien artifact there would be casualties. People would die, targets because of who they were or what they did, or even just caught in the crossfire. He couldn’t allow them to acquire another weapon with such destructive force if he could do anything to stop it. He straightened his posture and looked O’Malley straight in the eye, unflinching.
“I am ready.”
It was evening before the final and crucial stage of the plan began, the sun hanging low in the sky westward. They were headed in that direction now, with two motorbikes and a black sedan, all equipped with communication devices in their ears that allowed them to be in constant contact with each other. Jana, being a native of the city, functioned as their navigator as they drove first south until they reached the city’s Autobahn, the A 100, then west for around twenty minutes. They left the A 100 bearing south-west, leaving Berlin behind and approaching Potsdam. As it were, they’d started in the former Soviet sector, crossing into the American and the British ones respectively before eventually returning into the formerly Soviet zone when crossing the city limits. If there was any sort of metaphor to be gleaned from these facts it wasn’t exactly accessible.
“We there yet?” Skye whined as they drove through a seemingly endless stretch of woods. She was in the car with Jana and Prescott, while O’Malley was on the other motorbike, bringing up the rear behind James.
“Almost there.” Jana said calmly while O’Malley muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘We’ll get there when we get there.’
Already the greenery was clearing up ahead, giving way to a wide body of water traversed by a large bridge with iron beams rising up on both sides, a single arc over the middle point. The structure seemed vaguely familiar; James felt it niggling at the back of his mind, like a faded movie reel. Night time, fog, and somber men in long coats and hats, cars parked on both sides of the bridge, facing each other from the opposing shores. The men walking towards the middle, about to meet under the arc. He was just passing under the arc now himself. A shot from above, a shadow vanishing before one of the coat-clad figures had even fully crumpled to the ground. James gasped in a shuddering breath, hands tightening on the handlebars a moment. O’Malley pulled up next to him, looking disapproving despite the fact that her face was completely obscured by the helmet she wore.
“Have you by any chance misplaced your accelerator, Agent Barnes?”
“No ma’am.” He gritted out, speeding up again to compensate for the velocity he’d lost while distracted by his flashback. O’Malley gave a terse nod as she let him take the lead again, though she still seemed displeased.
“You okay there, Sarge?” Skye asked immediately. He could see her turn in the backseat to look back at him, so he waved.
“I’m fine, kid.” Other than the realization that I likely shot a man here, probably decades ago. By the time the little episode had concluded they were already well clear of the bridge either way.
Minutes later they pulled up at a shabby looking garage or workshop of some sort. There did not appear to be another soul present but O’Malley had them do a perimeter check just to be certain. They then concealed the bikes and waited in tense silence, Jana waiting with the bikes and Skye taking up a position that would allow her to provide them with covering fire if needed. O’Malley tugged her blazer in place and directed a terse look at the two men, who were posing as the muscle in their little charade. In the distance, James could hear the crunching of gravel under tires as another vehicle drew nearer. O’Malley gripped the briefcase that contained the payment for the FDAT and gave them a nod.
“You’ve all been briefed. This is it.” Her eyes lingered on James a moment, silently challenging. “Don’t fuck it up.”