Rage
There had only been a handful of moments in Steve’s life where he had actually thought he wanted to kill someone. Years ago (to him, to the world it was nearly a century ago) he had told a man that he hated bullies, and he didn’t care where they came from. Killing wasn’t his goal. Saving people was. If he had to kill people to protect innocents, he would do it, but the killing itself was not what he sought. He did not seek to cause someone pain, or make them suffer until death. He had always just wanted to stop them from hurting others.
The Red Skull was his first exception. A person – or more accurately, a thing – that made so many people suffer and die, just to save itself. When he saw Bucky fall from that cliff, to what he had thought was his death – something had snapped.
He had wanted to kill Red Skull. Not just to stop it. But to get revenge. He wanted to enjoy it.
The thought had scared him at the time.
Then HYDRA in SHIELD happened, and a man he thought had been an ally and team mate had been a traitor. Rumlow was a termite infestation, that simply kept coming back and growing everywhere no one wanted to see him. Killing innocents, murdering peace keepers around the world, and making grabs at biological weapons he could release on large populations. Steve had wanted to kill the man for a long time, only for the traitor to blow himself up, kick-starting what he considered the worst event for the Avengers. One that, he recognized, could have been mostly averted if he had come clean to Tony years ago.
Steve rubbed at his eyes, emotional turmoil practically making him sick. There was a new name on his list of people he wanted to kill.
Secretary Ross.
He had never seen her so badly hurt. So shaken, scared, and weak. Two months of torture was what it took. Two months of her being on the run, followed by two more months on the Raft, making the straight jacket and collar they had forced Wanda to wear look like a pacifier in comparison. Guilt was gnawing at him. While he had not known she had been taken, he still should have been watching out for her, ready to jump in and protect her when things went bad. Instead, they had simply been waiting in Wakanda, hiding away while she had been struggling to survive.
They had watched a series of surveillance videos, all of which proceeded to get worse and worse. Watched her struggle to move in a growing pool of blood, occasionally being given water or small bits of food. Watched as she, finally recovered from what must have been a significant concussion, bit a man who tried to feed her, almost biting the finger clean off.
There was no sense of victory in that, considering she was beaten brutally into the floor, unable to fight back or resist in any way. After she was unconscious they had brought in the gag.
They didn’t bring her food for a week after. Only when she was too weak to move at all did they come back. It was another week before Ross finally showed up in a recording. Even on camera, the smugness on his face was palpable. The self important way he walked into the cell, knowing he had won. He knew she couldn’t do anything to him. Even if she hadn’t been kicked and punched half into a coma, she was bound and starved and too weak to stand on her own.
Steve shook with rage.
It was something he had never been able to understand. Men like Ross, taking pleasure in another person’s torment. He should have done something. He knew Ross had an extreme dislike of Natasha, even when she had been on his side. Perhaps it was the way she stood her ground and refused to do what he asked. How she always seemed to find her own answers, her own path, and was not at all interested in dealing with government bureaucracy. Or maybe Ross just didn’t like the fact that a woman like her would be able to kick his ass without breaking a sweat in an ordinary situation? It didn’t matter, really. Steve should have known. Should have looked for her, or gotten her out of the country into a safe place as soon as he knew she had been on the run.
They had expected Ross to simply rub it in like the pretentious prick he was. And he did. And she ignored him. Remained curled up in a ball on the floor of the cell, motionless and not even making a noise – it wasn’t as if she could speak.
Her lack of a response pissed him off, quite clearly. A moment later he stepped closer to her, before driving his shoe into her side, rolling her onto her back. They had only been able to watch as the secretary stomped down hard on her chest, clearly winding her, while pressing down hard to keep her pinned on her back.
“You will give us what I ask. I promise you that,” Ross had said, his angry voice distorting slightly on the camera microphone. He had then knelt down, clearly putting all his weight on the leg he had on her chest, judging by the way she writhed under him and seemed unable to breath. Suffocating beneath his weight. Steve nearly broke his hand punching a wall, although by now his serum had healed away the bruise.
The recordings only got worse. They had watched, horrified, as Ross pulled a long, sharp blade from his coat, and began to slide the blade across her torso, leaving long bleeding lines over her bruised skin, all the while she struggled to draw a breath.
Only when she went limp did the man finally let off, leaving her bloodied and unconscious on the floor of the cell.
Steve had been surprised, having always expected Ross to be the kind of man that made others do the dirty work. He hadn’t expected to see the Secretary directly involved in the torture himself. It only served to fuel their resolve to hunt him down and make him pay for what he had done. And if the glimmer in Tony’s eyes was anything to go by, there was definitely something the billionaire was planning to do.
With all the rage coursing through his veins, it was difficult for him to get out of the room and walk down the hall. He hadn’t seen her since they had taken her in after getting her off the quinjet, mainly because he knew he was useless to help there, and didn’t want to get in the way. And also because he was so angry.
But now, with horrific images playing in his mind, and knowing she was awake in random fits and bursts, he knew it was time to go to her.
To him, she had never looked more frail. Petite, sure. When he had lifted her unconscious form out of the wreckage of of the bombed camp, she had looked very small in his arms. But she had bounced back quickly, up on her feet as soon as she regained consciousness. Later on, even when she had been shot she was quick to recover, once she was no longer actively bleeding out. The strangest thing about it all was that she wasn’t super. She had no serum, or quick healing, or increased durability. All of her strength and endurance came from her past, and all of the experience she had.
Experience getting hurt.
Her skin was pale. Just a few shades darker than her white hospital sheets. Her unnatural thinness stood out, and was difficult to ignore. Fortunately she had nutrient IVs to help her put weight back on, and also to hydrate her. She was wearing an oxygen mask at the time to help her breath as she continued to fight the respiratory infection.
Four days of antibiotics and she had finally started to show improvements. At least she was out of the danger area.
He found himself staring at the splint on her arm, the one that had been brutally broken during Ross’s last visit. A week before they had rescued her. He had watched the man approach her, trying to be kind and gentle. An exchange for her giving him the whereabouts of Steve and his team. She had been there for two months. Beaten almost daily. Starved. Mocked and ridiculed. From the looks of how she had returned before, waterboarded or at least, half drowned. Despite all of that, and despite the team having not come for her, she had shaken her head, refusing him.
He wanted to be proud of her, but he had only managed to feel more horrified, because of what had happened after. She should have spoken. They could take on Ross’s men. They could move. Steve and his team would be able to protect themselves. She didn’t deserve to suffer over protecting people who hadn’t been there to protect her.
Steve had almost gotten sick watching Ross step on her arm, grabbing her wrist, and wrenching brutally. The crack of the bone was picked up by the camera. That had gotten a response from her, probably the first one since her return to the cell that day before. A pained, writhing, excruciating response. Then Ross had left, and someone else had taken his place, cutting deep lacerations into her skin all over her torso. Most likely, the ones she had still been bleeding from when they had rescued her.
It took her so long to pass out. So many cuts, so much blood. They left after that. Then when she had woken up, they dumped something on her that made her writhe and scream until she passed out again. No doubt, the alcohol that had smelled so strongly on her when they had found her.
Steve’s hands were shaking again. There was no one to hit. No punching bag to take his anger and guilt and pain out on. Just him, this hospital room, and an extremely fragile friend.
He collapsed into a chair instead, wanting to simply sit next to her and wait for her to wake up, so he could talk to her and apologize. She wasn’t conscious now, but he hoped she would be soon. The doctors told him she woke up intermittently, then fell back asleep. While it had been several days, she was still sick, and her body was only just beginning to recover from the effects of starvation, dehydration, and sleep deprivation. The combination of her sickness and injuries would also mean she needed more rest, and would take most of her energy until she was further along into her recovery.
He thought back to all the times they had worked together. Her joking about his age. Teasing him about his dating life. Trying to find him a girl to hang out with. The way she fought and took down men much bigger than herself. His heart ached at the thought that that person, the joker, the fierce spy, would be gone forever. Never able to recover from the physical and mental wounds of her torture.
From the way Clint had spoken earlier, it had not been the first time. He didn’t want to think about it having happened to her more than once. Once was enough. Once was enough for anyone. No one deserved this.
“If you think any harder, your head will pop,” a weak, hoarse and quiet voice spoke up. He flinched, startled, and looked at the bed. Sleepy green eyes looked back at him, shadowed with emotions that she was holding back from him. The effort to speak was clearly taxing on her, as she almost immediately began to cough. Fortunately it seemed like her coughing was less severe than before, and she recovered faster from her breathlessness. Despite that, her exhaustion was clear in the paleness of her skin and the bruise-like shadows under her eyes.
“I’d like to pop someone’s head,” Steve said, trying to make it a joke, referring to Ross. Except she flinched immediately, body tensing, and he felt like he had both been burned and had also been thrown back onto the ice.
She was scared. Of him. She thought he wanted to hurt her.
“Ross’s head,” he added softly, not sure how to change his response in a way that she would believe it. Even now, she eyed him warily, as if gauging whether he was being honest or not. She seemed to relax, after a moment, and he hoped it was because she trusted him.
“Why would you care?” She eventually said. His blood felt like ice at the words. He didn’t understand, but he had an idea, of what she meant. “I betrayed you. You should be happy,” she continued on, her tone almost lifeless, full of self loathing and pain, as well as acceptance.
Steve stared at her in dismay, and she almost immediately dropped her eyes, tensing as if to be hit.
“No matter what happened in the past, you are my friend. All of us care about you. Don’t forget that,” Steve whispered, not sure if she would even believe him.