Saxony, 2016
Schkeuditz, Saxony, Germany
June 24th, 2016
Squashed uncomfortably in the backseat of a Volkswagen beetle, Ghost found herself going over their ‘plan’ again, with considerably less enthusiasm.
Steve had called for aide from the other Avengers – that was as specific as he had gotten, another point of personal annoyance. They were going to try to make it to their high-speed aircraft he kept calling a Quinjet, that was being kept in an airport hangar of one the most populated airports in Germany. Then, accompanied by all these…Avengers, they were going to fly to Siberia and attempt to apprehend a murderous squad of super-soldiers.
Ghost had many problems with this half-baked plan, though most pressing for her, was the pain her knees were suffering, jammed into the back of the Beetle's driver seat, and the stench of her two-day old clothing. The heavy collar still around her neck was gone at least – one well timed jerk of her partner’s arm had shattered the electrical current generator, and another had sent it clattering into the next room. Absently, she reached back to rub at the implant at the top of her spine, scratching at the raised scar tissue around it.
She could see her partner look at her in her peripheries and dropped her hand. She didn’t need him worrying. She was thinking about Stark’s technology, the little device that had stopped her dead.
“This shouldn’t take long.” She was brought out of her reverie by Steve’s voice. They’d turned off the highway onto an offramp, and had followed it to beneath an underpass. Another car was waiting, and as she watched, a young blonde woman got out of the driver’s seat. Steve got out, and met her before the bonnet. She could see the woman’s moon eyes, could practically smell the pheromones from her seat.
The woman opened the boot of her car, and Ghost leant forwards at the sight of the Captain’s shield, Wilson’s wings, and what looked to be some of her and her partner’s gear. She hadn’t realised they’d confiscated it from the flat.
“Can you move your seat up?” Her partner addressed Wilson, and she eyed his legs, as similarly cramped as her own.
Wilson had his seat back all the way – but he didn’t even spare her partner a look. “No.” There was a beat of tense silence, and then her partner shifted over. It pushed them together, touching all the way from their shoulders to their ankles. She listened to his imperceptible sigh, and fought the quirk of her lips. Wilson met her eyes in the mirror, and for a brief moment, they shared a look of amusement. Her partner awkwardly extracted his metal arm from between them, wiggling it up and over her head so it rested atop the back of the seat instead. She tilted her head back briefly to lean against it for a moment. His tight face relaxed slightly.
To her surprise, the Captain suddenly squared his shoulders, and leant towards the woman to kiss her. From the front seat, Wilson let out a low chuckle, and her partner huffed a pleased breath. They were both smiling at the sight, and she remembered her partner’s notes about Steve’s loveless past. She tried to muster a similarly pleased look as he turned back to look at them. She could practically hear his fondly exasperated sigh as he took them in.
They pulled up beside a large white van in the empty parking lot.
She was not that surprised to find the airport mostly abandoned; neither Stark or this Thaddeus Ross struck her as unintelligent, and Steve’s plan was hardly genius. It made sense they’d evacuated the airport, in order to protect civilians that might have been caught in the crossfire.
Wilson and Steve got out, Steve making a beeline for an older man with a bow strapped to his back, taking his hand firmly. Her partner snorted quietly; “Everyone’s got a gimmick these days.” Ghost was less focussed on the archer, and more interested by the small young woman that had slipped around the side of the van. She was hovering uncomfortably behind the archer, arms folded tightly across her chest. She could not be long out of her teens – and yet, there was an achingly familiar darkness in her blue eyes. “What?”
“The girl…” She breathed – and as if she had heard her, the dark-haired girl looked at her. As their eyes met, Ghost had the strangest sensation of fingers on her skull. How interesting. Whatever the girl saw on her face must have startled her; she was the first to look away, eyes blown wide. Ghost was hardly offended by the gesture; it was a by-product of who she was. Her partner folded the seat down for them, and she eased out of the tiny vehicle. Her legs ached at the sudden extension after being cramped for so long, and she resisted the urge to rub at her tight muscles.
“-How about our other recruit?” She caught the tail-end of their conversation. Her partner leant against the roof of the car with a casualness she knew was artificial. He was trying to portray ease to put them at ease. It was perhaps childish – but she did not care to do the same. It wouldn’t have mattered if she had broken into cheerful whistling and produced a cake – she would inspire unease all the same. The girl looked at her again as the archer threw open the van’s sliding door.
“He’s rarin’ to go!”
There was a man inside the van. “Had to put a little coffee in him…but he should be good.” She frowned at his laconic form, food wrappers spilling from his chest as he was startled awake by the loud sound. He was handsome, in a boyish kind of way, though the circles under his eyes and the lines of age at the corners of his mouth and eyes told her he was perhaps nearly as old as the archer.
He got awkwardly out of the van. “What time zone is this?” As she watched him come to full consciousness, taking in his surroundings, his eyes widened. He was staring at Steve. He took a few stumbling steps forwards, mouth dropping open. “Cap-Captain America…”
Steve took his hand and shook it. “Mr. Lang.” So, this was the one that shrunk. She looked at her partner, sharing a brief beat of humour as Ant-Man kept pumping Steve’s hand.
“It’s an honour.” He said seriously, before looking down in vague surprise. “I’m shaking your hand too long. Wow! This is awesome!” She almost laughed, raising a brow at the star-struck man. Lang turned to look at the girl. “Captain America,” he pointed out again, “Oh, hey – I know you too, you’re great!” For the first time, a little light and warmth loosened the self-conscious set of the girl’s face. Lang was still going; he reached out as if hypnotized and squeezed the width of Steve’s biceps. Beside her, her partner smirked. “Jeeze,” He clapped his hands together, “Look, I wanna say, I know you know a lot of super people, so…thinks for thanking of me.” Lang looked at Wilson next, pointing a finger gun at him. “Hey, man!”
Wilson’s reply was not as friendly. “What’s up, Tic-Tac?”
Lang gulped, “uh, good to see you. Look, what happened last time, when I-”
“It was a great audition, but it’ll never happen again.” Wilson was quick to interrupt him, and she was surprised at her friendly flare of interest. What exactly had happened between them?
“They tell you what we’re up against?” Steve interrupted the awkward moment. His voice was different; it was a tone she was coming to associate with the Captain. It was only then that Lang’s eyes made their way to her and her partner. She watched some of the joy drain from his hazel-eyes.
“S-something about some psycho-assassins?”
Ghost looked away from the man, focussing her eyes on the clear sky above the terminal. It was unseasonably cool, but clear and bright. Too bright, she thought, for such a dark day. “Мы должны двигаться.” She muttered to herself, though loud enough for her partner to hear.
“We should get moving.” He repeated her words loud enough to catch the attention of the others. She kept her gaze on the cloudless blue above them. The PA system sounded overhead, the German making her body begin to sing with anticipation. Her partner looked at Steve. “They’re evacuating the airport.”
The Captain nodded and turned to address them all.
“Suit up.”
The clothes that had been retrieved from the flat weren’t much more than her last pair of jeans; black denim and fraying at the knees; her navy tank-top, tight and thin enough to make her want to wrap her arms around her exposed torso; and her old boots.
She strapped the only knife she could find to the outside of her thigh and turned to her partner. He had at least been afforded his old combat vest, though the rest of him was as similarly underdressed for the fight as she was. He was crouched over the laces of his boots and straightened after double-knotting them with a frown.
He looked her over, eyes lingering on her exposed décolletage and bare arms, before dropping to the single knife at her side. Wordlessly, he unclipped one of his knives from his belt, and flipped it, catching the end of the blade between his fingers; offering her the hilt. She had to step closer to him to take it, wrapping her fingers around the less familiar grip. He caught her wrist as she made to stow it on her own belt, gently running his fingers over her still-healing bones. His face was suddenly open, vulnerable. She leant towards him as if drawn by a magnet. “Darlin’, listen, I need you to know-” His eyes darted over her shoulder, and he snapped his mouth shut, face growing guarded again.
Ghost turned and met the hesitant eyes of the young woman. She had a bundle of dark red leather in her hands, and as Ghost looked at it, she thrust it forwards. “This is for you.” She had an accent, though her words were clear. Sokovian. Ghost could place it at once. “If you want it.” The girl tacked on hurriedly.
Ghost took the leather from her, unfolding it to reveal a jacket. Not just leather, she realised, looking at the subtle plates of Kevlar reinforcement around the bust and torso lines. The girl was already wearing one that looked similar, though longer, and with a collar that exposed her throat, and a tail that split like a conductor’s coat. “Thank you.” She murmured, not wanting to frighten the timid thing further.
“You don’t,” The girl blurted suddenly, and her pale cheeks coloured spectacularly. Ghost frowned slightly, confused. “Frighten me, I mean.” Suspicion made her want to take a step back, but before she could, the girl’s hands came up and together – almost in prayer. “I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to do it, I swear. Sometimes I can’t- it just happens.” The girl swallowed nervously, eyes darting between Ghost and James, who was standing silently behind her. For a moment, her eyes flared scarlet, and Ghost felt that same stroking sensation. Red light danced around the girl’s fingers, and Ghost remembered something;
“Unless – you don’t know about the Witch and her brother. Oh no – you mustn’t. That little concoction of madness was devised out of your jurisdiction…Though the Avengers picked them up, I’m sure they’re just like you.”
The incoherent mutterings of a foolish man became suddenly clear.
“Witch.” She spoke in Sokovian and watched the girl’s eyes widen.
“They used to tell me about you; their first successful experiment. You were legend.” The girl whispered back, voice tight with sudden emotion. Behind her, James shifted, confused. Ghost took a step towards the girl. She didn’t flinch. “You’re really not afraid of me?” She sounded wondering, a little awed. Slowly – slow enough that the girl could step away if she wanted – Ghost extended her hand. The girl was still, and Ghost rested her hand on her shoulder. She could feel the young woman’s body heat through the thick material of her jacket. She wondered if the girl could feel the ice in her own skin.
“I am only afraid of one thing.” She told the girl quietly, and smiled at her as gently as she could. “And you are not it.”
The girl smiled back, a little manically, and she watched the moisture build in her round eyes with a shocking impulse to embrace the thin woman. It was a sensation she had not felt since she had first laid eyes on a skinny red-head that hadn’t known how to throw a punch. “My name is Wanda. Wanda Maximoff.” The girl volunteered suddenly, and Ghost took a step back again as Wanda ducked her face, dashing a hand under her eyes.
When she looked up again, Ghost was sure to meet her with a smile. “And I am Ghost.” She turned slightly and gestured to her partner. “This is James.” Wanda nodded to him, smiling slightly as he raised a friendly hand. “I am glad to have met you, Wanda.”
“Me too.” Wanda sounded genuinely pleased, and Ghost felt warmth bloom in her chest.
“Давай.” Come on. Her partner touched her elbow lightly. She nodded, and smiled one last time at Wanda as she turned to follow him. The jacket wasn’t an exact fit; too short on the arms, tight on her shoulders, a little loose at the bust and around her torso. But it would do. It was better than nothing. It smelled faintly of spice; paprika and clove. She did up the fastenings on the front as she moved towards the Captain.
No – she realised. Her Captain now.
Her partner didn’t like the plan, she could see it in the tense set to his shoulders. She wondered what he had been about to tell her. She didn’t like it much either. She never liked being apart from him.
But the Captain was right – out of all of them, she had the best chance of getting to the Quinjet undetected. It still didn’t mean she was happy about it. Steve had gone out to face the Iron Men alone; Lang his only companion, shrunken and hiding on his shield. Ghost had thought she had seen it all – but she could admit to being surprised at the sight of the man becoming miniature.
She watched, and she waited. She was in the Grey, invisible, intangible.
The Iron Man was monologuing. It echoed through the Captain’s comms and into her own ear. He sounded arrogant, American to his detriment. It grated on her. She was in the delicate stage of pre-action, so perhaps her irritation was more her own than fault of the man she did not know. Adrenaline was keeping her on edge. Anticipation was making her anxious. She paced, phasing in and out and through and around the pillars of the airport’s lower support.
The Black Panther had re-joined the Iron Men, and though she hadn’t seen Natasha, she had no doubt she was somewhere close. It didn’t take her long to find her; her ex-student approached the captain from his left, and by the hard look on her face, she could tell she was spewing whatever nonsense the Iron Men were. Something like disappointment, almost like betrayal, selfish and nonsensical made her look away.
Then – from seemingly nowhere, a new figure appeared. Small, lithe, clad in red and blue. A child? So, the mighty Tony Stark required children to fight his battles for him. Ghost stilled to listen, straining against the distance and the deadening of the Grey. He sounded young.
“We found it. The Quinjet’s in hangar five, north runway.” Wilson’s voice buzzed in her ear, and she watched as the Captain squared his shoulders. It was time.
When the fighting began, it took every little bit of her self-control to turn her back and walk away from it.
Where was she?
Natasha didn’t break with the rest of her compatriots.
She was not so rash. Lang had already handed Steve back his shield, and she knew the gauntlet had been thrown down. There was no stopping it. But maybe she could stop Aleksandrina…
Steve looked at her – just long enough that she could see the resolution in his eyes. Then, he was off after T’Challa, and the kid had leapt from the top of the van, leaving her alone.
Natasha took a breath, closed her eyes, and brought herself back twenty years. She breathed in the Russian snow, and tasted blood in the back of her mouth, and pictured the spectral form she had been seeking for so long. She was a child again; fresh and moulded to the image of a woman she barely knew. Where was she?
The halls always seemed particularly menacing at night. The shadows pooled at the ends of the long, white passages, and every door was a black square of nothingness. The cold was also extra biting; and with her handcuff dangling loose from her wrist, Natalia scrunched her bare toes against the icy tile.
Where was she?
Ghost had been away for two days now. Natalia knew it wasn’t Academy business; she’d seen men in unfamiliar uniform outside in the garden, and no one had been able to tell her where her teacher was. Natalia was put out by the abruptness of it – and secretly, more than a little afraid of the possibility that Ghost might not come back at all.
And yet, something had driven her from her cot. Most girls worked out how to pick the handcuffs that secured them to their beds a few weeks into joining, and Natalia had known since before she had come to the Academy, but tonight was the first night she had ever left her dormitory.
Natalia wrapped her fingers around the freely swinging metal to dull the clinking and rounded the next corner with far less confidence. The cold was spurring her back to bed, and the thought of punishment was growing more real.
And then she saw it; the barest flicker of light from under an unfamiliar door.
Natalia knew it was tempting fate to linger – there was no telling who or what was behind the door – and yet she paused in front of it. After a few minutes, the light shuttered off.
She had turned to go when she heard it – well, not so much heard, as felt it. She whirled, heart leaping into her throat, freezing under the eyes of the figure that had appeared in the doorway.
Ghost stood in her spectral form; gauzy and greyscale, though the ice of her eyes was still eerily sharp, pinpricks of refracted light in the darkness of the hall. Natalia could feel the pseudo-burn of punishment to come, and was about to beg for mercy, when Ghost stepped back through the door. A beat. Then a click, and the door swung open.
Natalia swallowed, and stared into the blackness beyond. And then she stepped inside.
Ghost’s rooms were near bare – but for an overwhelmed filing cabinet, a small desk, two chairs, a thin mattress, and a row of watches on the wall. She couldn’t see much – the small lamp that sat on the desk didn’t illuminate much apart from the wood it was sitting upon – but Ghost didn’t seem to need it. The woman was sitting on her mattress, solid once more, and though Natalia still felt a queasy mix of fear and anticipation, she crept towards her teacher, and crouched before the mattress.
“Где вы были?” Where were you?
Though she whispered, her voice was loud in the still silence of the room. Ghost slumped slightly, and in the dimness, she was able to make out the slack exhaustion on her features, the jerky slide of her eyelids. “Делать вещи.” Doing things. Ghost’s voice was slurred and thick, and it made her feel sicker.
Natalia leant a little closer, tugging her nightdress down over her bare knees. “Какие вещи?” What things?
Ghost’s head tilted towards her lethargically, and Natalia could feel the frost of her eyes upon her – far colder than the depth of the Russian night. “Секретные вещи. Скрытые вещи.” Secret things. Hidden things. For a moment, the pale fullness of her lips quirked in a deadly half-smile. “То, что могу сделать только я.” Things that only I can do.
Natasha opened her eyes, and turned away from the two men locked in combat. In the next moment, she was running in the direction of the hangar.
“Natasha?” Tony’s voice sounded in her ear, piqued with confusion and concern.
Natasha didn’t stop running, eyes fixed on the shadows beneath the airport’s main building, on the clear path that lead to the northern hangars. “Alek-Ghost is heading for the Quinjet.” Her voice came short, and she cursed herself at the slip, unsheathing her batons, “she’s unaccompanied.”
“I don’t see her!”
Natasha almost smiled. “No shit.”
The sudden explosion from behind her sent her flying, knocking the breath from her lungs and her feet from under her. She tumbled, drawing her hands to her face against the wave of heat from the massive ball of flame that passed over her. She skidded, catching the glass of the building shiver with the shockwave, and a flash of something else – the momentary distortion of air, like a mirage.
There.
Tony landed beside her, and she caught his gauntlet as he reached for her, letting him haul her up with ease. She bit her lip, and then turned to gesture in the direction she had seen Aleksandrina. “We need to block off that walkway, she’s-” Tony was already turning, and in the next moment, two tiny missiles zipped from his shoulder. The resulting explosion brought down the supporting pillar. Natasha couldn’t help the flare of anger that made her rip away from his support. “Was this part of the plan?” She asked through clenched teeth. Tony’s featureless mask studied her for a moment.
“Well, my plan was to go easy on them.” His sarcasm set her teeth on edge, and she looked back at the still smoking pile of rubble where the walkway had been. “You wanna switch it up?”
Ghost hurt.
Having a bunch of cement and metal dropped upon her wasn’t exactly a pleasant feeling, and it was a struggle to drag herself out of the pile. It was only the grace of her reflexes that had saved her from a certain death.
It was beginning to wear on her now; the Grey exhausting her as she drew upon it. She craved the familiar security of her partner by her side. She didn’t know how Stark had known where to aim, but clearly, she had grown lazy and dependent on a second pair of eyes.
Fury hastened her escape, hand over hand, fingernails cracking and bleeding on the concrete as she heaved herself from the rubble. She forced herself to her feet, abandoning intangibility in favour of speed and purpose. The open hangar was right there-
Ghost broke into a sprint, and in her peripheries noticed the other members of Captain’s band of wayward heroes falling in behind her. Barton and Wanda, Lang with surprising speed, then the Captain himself, already gaining on her head start, mouth held in a tight line, and then – and her stomach flipped and heart soared – Wilson and James, making a beeline for the Captain’s left flank. She could make it – if she just kept running, if she allowed the others to distract Stark’s team, then she could-
Her only warning was a bright yellow beam of light. White heat and sudden immense pain brought her to her knees, and before she could regain full control of herself, before her senses could return – a hand had fisted itself in the leather of her borrowed coat, and she was lifted into the air.
It was a man – but, no – she realised with a sick surprise, not a man. A-a robot? It looked like a man, though it was red and silver, and where his irises should have been was a spinning delicate overlap of circular circuitry. And it was looking at her, as if it could see her invisible form. Panicked, she phased out of tangibility. Somehow, impossibly, it phased with her, grip still secure, the outlines of where they touched a bright yellow. The stone in the centre of its forehead pulsed once, and she felt that same pain, her vision whiting out for a moment.
As carelessly as a toddler with a toy, it cast her aside.
Ghost thudded painfully into the cement at the Captain’s feet, and wheezed for breath. Steve was already stooping, and for the first time, she felt none of the discomfort she usually did as his hands came under her elbows to haul her upright.
“Captain Rogers!” The computer-man called to him, and she felt the Captain’s hands flex where he supported her weight. She still felt oddly weak, whatever that yellow stone had done making her lungs tight and her limbs like jelly. “I know that you believe what you’re doing is right,” New hands, familiar hands took her from the Captain, and she swayed into her partner’s grip.
“Ты в порядке?” Are you alright? His voice was low, urgent, and she looked up to meet his wild eyes.
“Я думаю так.” I think so. Ghost grit her teeth and forced herself to stand on her own.
“But for the collective good,” The thing was still speaking, and though it sounded human, she couldn’t help but bare her teeth at it. Stark and Natasha dropped before them, and Ghost could feel the other woman’s eyes on her face. “You must surrender now.” It’s voice was impossibly gentle, soothing – and she felt the phantom pain roll through her again. The three others – the Panther, the boy, and the other man in Iron – dropped from the sky, assembling in a loose reflection of their own line. Natasha – Natalia – was still looking. Ghost could not meet her eyes.
Though she was weary, she knew what was going to happen. She stepped out of her partner’s grasp, and took a slow steadying breath. She had been spilling blood for over one-hundred years. She had survived shadows and enemy and ally alike, and she had fought to stay alive since she had first been conceived. She would fight now, and she would survive.
“What do we do, Cap?” Wilson’s voice came as if from far away; and she could feel the frost descending upon her.
She reached out, just for a moment, whisper-quick – and grasped her partner’s metal hand. She did not turn to look at him, did not expect him to either, and when he squeezed her hand once, briefly, she drew away again. “Вместе.” Together. She whispered to him, and him alone.
His voice was a sigh, a promise; “Всегда.” Always.