Bumfuck Nowhere
“We’ve got three heat signatures on the radar,” Rollins said on approach.
Steve checked his pistol and holstered it before turning for his shield.
“Smith,” Rumlow said. “Ready to exit in 30 seconds.”
“Sir,” Smith said, standing by as Johnson checked his chute.
The operator lowered the jump door, and Smith jumped at Rumlow’s, “Exit now.”
Steve watched the other man disappear into the dark before the jump door closed, and the quinjet left their sniper behind.
“Right,” Rumlow said and indicated to the blueprints and terrain maps in front of them. “Radar has three heat signatures in the building,” he said.
“Here, here and here,” Rollins indicated the places on the building blueprint where the signatures had been detected. “One party is immobile, either deceased or unconscious—”
Steve eyed the heat signature to confirm the other man’s words.
“Another,” Rollins gestured to the spot where he had pinned the second individual. “Is moving erratically in a vertical motion—”
“And the third?” Steve asked when Rollins paused.
“Appears to be moving at a natural rhythm.”
“We will touch down here,” Rumlow said. He gestured to a field some distance from the old lab Jane Foster and Darcy Lewis called their temporary home. “The tree line will act as cover for the quinjet—”
Rumlow turned to the rest of his team. “Report states that Lewis sent out a distress signal at twenty-three hundred hours.”
This mission, like every other, came with a hyperawareness. They knew the time the distress call went out. They could all repeat it down to the minutes and seconds it took to get from their offices, beds, loved ones and other duties, suit up, and roll out. They knew how many klicks their destination was from the base where they had been stationed. They knew how many weapons were stored in the weapons lockers on the quinjet, what each member of their team carried on his person, who to follow and who to lead. They knew everything down to the birth marks on their neighbor’s backs, each other’s strengths and weaknesses – even those the world thought Steve Rogers didn’t have – to the point that Steve knew, if Fury ever lost his mind and tried to take him out, he would deploy these very men to do it.
No one else would stand a chance.
Steve let his gaze fall over the grim faces of his team. Rodriguez who quirked his lips at him, and Rollins who hooked his thumbs through the straps on his vest as he waited for Rumlow to finish his spiel.
Like every other mission, the air buzzed with anticipatory tension. Tension for the jump point. Tension for the landing. Tension for the trek from the quinjet to their target and the myriad of unknowns that lay between them and their goal.
“We’ve lost two hours on them,” Rumlow said. “And we don’t know what we are walking into. Intel has no credible threats registered on Foster and Lewis at this time. So, we operate on the assumption that it is one of the three most likely organizations. One is AIM. Foster’s tech is highly weaponizable, if they get their hands on whatever she’s been working on, we could see anything from the development of a ray gun to a highly unstable rainbow bridge into space. Second possibility is Hydra—”
Steve’s head shot up at that. Rumlow stared at him. “Most of you know that there is still a Hydra Underground waiting to rise again. These guys are notoriously organized, heavily armed and they’ve got a big fucking hard on for anything to do with Norse goddamn mythology—”
Rodriguez snorted. Rumlow’s eyes shot to his medic. “Care to enlighten us on the third possibility, Rodriguez?” he asked.
Rodriguez coughed and wiped the humor off his face.
“Third could be the Ten Rings,” he said. “AIM is the likely culprit, I think we can all agree, but the Ten Rings have been more active stateside over the last decade since the rise of Iron Man and the incident with the Mandarin a couple years back. Motives could be anything from the possibility of a bridge to space, to the black-market trade of highly weaponizable goods to the kidnapping and selling of Jane Foster, herself, for the use of her intellect. Darcy Lewis, in the latter scenario, would be seen as collateral and likely dispatched at the out—”
The pilot’s voice crackled over their comms. “Approaching the landing point, Commander.”
Rumlow gestured back to the map.
“We exit here,” he said. “Split into two teams. Rollins and Anderson you’re with me. Rodriguez and Johnson, you’re with Cap.”
He gestured to a highpoint on the map with good visuals on the building itself. “Smith will have eyes here,” he said.
“Cap,” he looked at Steve. “Take this route here. Approach from the southwest and await my orders. Rollins, Anderson, we take this route here and approach from the opposite direction. STRIKE Charlie will come in from the north side and take exterior and the roof. We will enter hard at ground level. Best case scenario, two of those heat signatures are Foster and Lewis. And whoever breached the lab, did it alone. Worst case scenario, they’ve covered their signature somehow and there are more waiting for us on the ground—”
As the quinjet lost altitude, they split to do a last-minute gear check. As the loading bay door lowered toward the ground, they lined up in their respective teams and disappeared into the darkness.
--
“Charlie One approaching from the Northeast,” a voice crackled over Steve’s comm as the other STRIKE team approached.
Steve, Johnson and Rodriguez were lined up against the Southwestern wall of the lab. They were pressed around the corner of the building, with visuals on the unmanned entrance. Rodriguez, who brought up the rear, was ducked under a window. He took a glance—
“No sign of movement on the southwestern entry,” he said.
“Copy,” Rumlow said. “Southeast entry, no sign of life—”
“Charlie Two has roof access,” came another voice over the comms.
“Hold position,” Rumlow said.
“Copy,” Charlie Two said.
“Smith,” Rumlow said. “You’re my eyes out here—”
“You’re clear on the perimeter,” Smith said from his sniper’s nest. “Whoever’s inside is keeping clear of the windows.”
“Heat sensor still detects the three bodies,” came the tech operator on STRIKE Charlie’s quinjet. “No further activity detected.”
“Alpha One and Two enter ground level first,” Rumlow said. “Charlie hold position. Our directive is to get Lewis and Foster out, neutralize threats at your discretion—”
“Alpha Two copies,” Steve said for his team.
“Charlie One copies.”
“Charlie Two copies.”
“Alright Cap,” Rumlow said. “We move in three—”
Steve got a visual on Rumlow as he counted the last two numbers silently, gloved hand raised in the air. Knowing Steve had eyes on him, he made a series of signals. Steve signaled back his copy. And then they moved in.
The two teams fell in together seamlessly as they approached the main entrance.
Rollins took point. Steve, behind him, took breach.
Then came Anderson, as third operator. Rumlow came fourth, as tactical command. Johnson, fifth as rear security, and Rodriguez, the team medic, entered last.
Steve made quick work of the door and backed off as Rollins pushed in, weapon raised to neutralize any immediate threats. Steve kept his shield over his left forearm, his pistol pointed over it as he backed up Rollins. Anderson, with his forearm against Steve’s back, had his weapon up to cover right—
“Hey,” came a voice from above them, laced with heavy vocal fry.
In unison, the team reacted. Six guns pointed up toward the pitch-black balcony that overlooked the main entry point.
And there in all her pajama clad glory was Darcy Katherine Lewis.
Rumlow let out a series of curses that would’ve made Fury blush.
“Hold fire,” Rumlow said over their comms. “We have eyes on Lewis.”
It seemed like the entire team had heaved out one long exasperated breath. All but Steve broke formation almost immediately on Rumlow’s command.
She was busy tying her hair up into a messy bun, with a hair tie in her mouth, and a pair of fuzzy purple slippers on her feet.
“Didn’t know you guys were stopping by,” she said around the hair tie, before removing it from her mouth and spitting out a stray hair that it had left behind.
Rumlow flipped his visor so that when he spoke, she could see the look on his face.
“Someone called in a threat,” he said, in a tone that brooked no room for an argument. Steve had seen seasoned SHIELD agents cower under the weight of that look before. Had seen dangerous men and women clam up when faced with the bite in Rumlow’s voice. Even Barton avoided Rumlow on a bad day.
But Darcy Lewis only nodded. “Oh,” she said and then shot them a sheepish grin. “Yeah.”
“Oh yeah?” Rumlow asked. “What do you mean ‘Oh yeah?’”
“Well…” she said, seeming almost startled by his tone.
“Did you call in a fake threat, Lewis?” he asked.
“I mean…” Darcy pushed off the railing she’d been leaning on and eyed him warily. “I called… so…”
Rumlow muttered something unintelligible and absolutely scathing. “Goddamn it, Lewis,” he said, and jammed a finger into his comm as though it would activate it. “Call off Charlie. False alarm—”
Strike Charlie confirmed with Rumlow twice, the other team’s commander both perplexed and annoyed, before pulling out.
“Why’d you call ‘em off? “Darcy asked, looking from Rumlow to Steve and then back to Rumlow.
“You scrambled two fucking STRIKE teams Lewis,” Rumlow said. “I know it’s all pop tarts and coffee in your little manic pixie dream world sweetheart, but pulling shit like this? It’s not fucking funny. This isn’t a goddamn game.”
His words sliced through the air like a knife.
“I know it’s not a fucking game,” Darcy said back, staring down at them with a level of hurt that Steve hadn’t thought possible. “I said I called you, didn’t I?”
“Well then where the fuck is the fire, Darcy?” Brock asked, throwing up his hands at the empty building around them.
And just like that, the tiny, extremely vulnerable, prick in her exterior patched itself up like it had never been there at all. Steve blinked at her sudden transformation. Darcy Lewis reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out a lollipop, waving it in their direction.
“We put it out, Rick!” she said, frantically unwrapping the candy and muttering a curse. “I called two hours ago!”
She flicked the wrapper away from her hand, but the sticky plastic clung to her fingers. She huffed and swiped it against her pants until the wrapper came loose. Darcy wrinkled her nose and stuck the candy in her mouth. She clutched it between her teeth and stared down at them, talking with a lisp around her confection.
“I couldn’t wait around all freaking day—”
Brock blinked up at her, nonplussed.
“Now, come on,” Darcy said and waved them up the stairs. “We have cold pizza.”
--
They climbed the stairs in a loose sort of formation. Everyone, including Rumlow, was confused about whether or not they were still in an active emergency situation or not.
Steve kept his pistol out. Rumlow, he noticed, kept his weapon up too.
Up the stairs, and down a short hallway, there was the glow of a light.
“Jane prefers rooms without windows,” Darcy grumbled. “Apparently being able to see the passage of time outside the lab is bad for her muse—”
She glanced over her shoulder to make sure they were still following, frowning down at their boots.
“You should really work on making more noise,” she told the team. “If I didn’t look back, I wouldn’t know you were there at all.”
Rollins humored her. “That’s kind of the point, Darcy.”
“Huh,” she said, as though that thought hadn’t occurred to her. Then she shrugged and led them into the lab.
“We’re just in here,” she said.
Steve blinked in the sudden fluorescence. The team naturally fanned out as though waiting for this supposed threat that Darcy had alluded to, but also suspicious that they were perhaps the only dangerous things there.
A brown-haired woman in an oversized sweater lay face down at the desk in the corner. Beneath her head was a pillow of clipboards, paperwork and manila folders.
But the real cause for concern – Steve processed the mess of the lab with a pit of dread sinking in his gut—
“That’s Harvey,” Darcy said, and waved her lollipop in the direction of a man levitating at the far end of the room. He had been caught in a force field of some kind, and Steve watched in muted horror, as the field lifted the man and then rapidly dropped him at a speed that shouldn’t have been humanly possible. He levitated for a second above the ground before being lifted again. Over and over again, the man – Harvey, Darcy had called him – was caught in a perpetual loop. Levitating with him was a glob of something very wet, a stapler, and a gun.
“We don’t know where he came from,” Darcy said. “But he was wearing this.”
She tossed a bit of Kevlar at Brock. He caught it easily and flipped it over. Steve looked over his shoulder at the offending item.
“Hydra,” Rumlow said, as Rollins stepped in.
“Alright Lewis,” he said. “Turn it off so we can get him out of here.”
Darcy cringed and looked guiltily over to Steve.
“Any way you’d be willing to close your ears, Captain America?” she asked.
Steve raised an eyebrow. “Afraid not, Miss Lewis.”
She flushed and turned back to Jack. “I can’t figure out how to turn it off,” she said in a low voice. “He hurled an hour ago and passed out. And I don’t know his name. I felt bad when he was puking and decided to call him Harvey—”
Rumlow closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“You named him?”
In what Steve was now recognizing as a nervous habit, Darcy stuck her lollipop back in her mouth and bit it, hard. There was an audible crunch. She pulled the mutilated candy out of her mouth, chomping neurotically on the bit she had broken off.
“Hydra goons are human too, Rick,” she said, before going for another bite. “If he dies in a magnetic loop, levitating with his own vomit, he deserves to have a name.”
Rumlow stared at her with eyes that wished for death. Rollins shot Anderson a loaded look. Steve sighed and went over to the doohickey that controlled the force field. He took his shield off his back and slammed it into the control panel on the wall, watching with satisfaction as the field deactivated and the Hydra agent hit the floor.
“Holy shit,” Darcy said.
Steve turned back to her. “Sorry about the tech,” he said, not feeling sorry at all.
“Can I hold your shield?” she asked, unfazed by his destruction of her property.
From the desk in the corner, Jane Foster let out a snore and curled a little more tightly into her spreadsheets.
“Not this time, Miss Lewis.”
She pouted but shrugged off his rejection. “Fair enough,” she said and then glanced around at the gathered agents. “Pizza?”
As if on cue, Rollins’ stomach growled. Jack shrugged and shot Rumlow an apologetic look. Rumlow rolled his eyes and waved him off.
“I could eat,” Jack said with a grin.
“Cap,” Rumlow said. “Help me get this asshole to the quinjet.”
Steve, much more comfortable with completing their current mission, was glad Rumlow had tagged him into the task rather than someone else.
He stepped forward and hauled up the wrecked Hydra Agent, while Rumlow handled his gun.
“Johnson,” Rumlow said.
“Sir,” Johnson said, looking up with regret as he hovered over the box of pepperoni slices. “Clean up this mess.”
Johnson deflated but complied with his orders while the rest of his team dug into their meal.
Darcy frowned at Brock and Steve as they set about restraining the unconscious agent and hauling them out, but at Rumlow’s glower she kept her mouth shut.
“If any other assholes, that aren’t our assholes, come through this goddamn door before I’m back, take ‘em out, and keep them alive.”
There was a smattering of ‘copies,’ ‘sirs,’ and ‘rogers,’ from the team and one “aye, aye, captain,” from Darcy.
Rumlow sighed and looked at Rollins. “I got questions for these guys,” he said. “And I want my goddamn answers.”
Rollins nodded once, glancing from Rumlow to Steve with an odd look in his eye. “Understood,” Rollins said.
A silent exchange passed between the STRIKE commander and his second. An exchange that set Steve’s teeth on edge though he couldn’t say why.
Then the exchange ended. Rumlow turned back for the door and gestured for Steve to follow.
“Come on, Cap,” he said. “This guy’s not gonna arrest himself.”