Hunting for a hulk
Natasha was distraught. As near as anyone could tell, reviewing security footage from all over the property, he vanished while running the obstacle course in the wooded section. That was all. He went in, he did not come out. He did not leave by either my gate or any of the manned gates. He didn't trigger the pressure sensors on any section of the fence. Everybody, including security not on duty, geeks, even the people in the caf and in Promotions came to help us search the woods, meter by meter. Nothing. Hawkeye took me up in a helicopter and I scanned the entire property for his heat signature. Nothing.
It was literally as if he disappeared into thin air. Thor went back to Asgard and had Heimdall look for him. He was nowhere on the planet; Heimdall would have been able to see him if he were dead, but there was nothing. Dispirited, Thor reported to us that Heimdall would search the nine realms, but it would take some time. It was a lot of territory to cover.
We supported Natasha the best we could; she kept to herself as much as possible and did as much work as she could. Nick sent her off to get field intelligence about our top three candidates for a female Smith, which at least diverted her attention from wondering and worrying about Bruce.
A few weeks later, she was back with photographs and we were able to positively eliminate one of the candidates for the top job. Both of the other contenders were definitely baddies; the only question was which one was ours, although they would both bear watching.
Autumn was a pretty grim season this year.
One night I was woken up by Steve having a really terrible nightmare. He'd been plagued with them periodically since he was brought out of the ice. I persuaded him to talk about it; he described memories from the war that he had suppressed, culminating in his ditching the Valkyrie in the ice. Then he was defrosted and shortly thereafter, Nick got him involved in the Avengers Initiative and the Chitauri invasion. Then he helped bring down HYDRA and SHIELD, Sokovia, been an outlaw, and been redeemed. There was also Bucky, finding him, helping to free him, getting his best friend back. As I listened to him talking, I was sick; it sounded like a terrible case of PTSD, and nothing had been done to help him.
"I understand that a lot of WWII vets came back traumatized from their experiences." I said quietly. "They tried to mash a strange shaped peg into a round hole after they went home and a lot of them had a hard time with it, especially the guys who had especially hard experiences, like the troops at Bastogne or the ones who liberated concentration camps. Nobody knows the extent of the problem because psychology wasn't very advanced and there was a stigma anyway. Things are better now, though. They know how to help combat vets like you. What you've been through is enough for two lifetimes. You could see Constance if you wanted, or there are other options. Sam would know how to get you help through the VA. It's not a reflection on you as a man. The miracle is that you've been able to keep it together for so long."
We talked about it some more, and ultimately he said he'd talk to Sam. I felt slightly better; Sam would be able to get him help. He'd worked for the VA.
It wasn't long before he was seeing somebody at the Seattle VA. I told him I would respect his privacy and not pry, but I was always willing to talk if he wanted. I also had to face the fact that I hadn't seen that he was struggling. Con had to tell me shape up; Steve was good at hiding his pain and troubles and I wasn't responsible. But I loved him; I felt that I should have seen.
Once again we had Thanksgiving at the Bartons' and Christmas at my place. Natasha was absent for both, and the loss of two of our members was tough. It was a dreary holiday season overall, but brighter for me because of Steve.
But as spring approached, he started having the nightmares more frequently, and finally, one beautiful spring morning in April, he told me he needed a break from our relationship.
"What?" I asked stupidly. "What does that mean?"
"It means that I can't do everything. I can't do the therapy, the Avengers, and be the man you deserve."
"I don't even know what to say to that. What I need is you. In any form. Any way I can have you."
He looked away. "What I feel for you is making it harder to deal with the PTSD." I stepped back in shock. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said it like that. But I worry that I will fail. I can't save myself and the public and be there for you. And I need the Avengers. I need to know that I'm out there, making a difference, doing something positive. "
I didn't know where to go with that or know how to get through to him without making his problems worse. He wouldn't listen to me. So I begged.
"So what, exactly, are you saying? Steve, I love you and would do anything for you. Let me help you. It won't be forever. Please." He wouldn't relent. "You're so frustrating!" I exploded. "It doesn't mean that you're any less a man for leaning on a woman for help."
"Yes, I am!" he snapped back. And the words hung between us.
"Would you have said that to Peggy?" I asked softly.
"No," he said tautly after a moment. "But she knew me before. When I was weak and all I had was determination. I'm not that guy anymore. I don't want to be. I like being strong."
"And you think I make you weak?" I said, biting off the words.
"I think the nightmares got worse after we got together," he snapped. "What I feel for you has brought up things I just want to forget."
"Then be your version of a man, Steve. Alone, too proud to ask for help getting through your troubles. Just be honest. You don't want a break, you just don't want to be vulnerable. I don't do breaks. I am committed to you. A relationship is there for the bad times as well as the good times. I'm not a cup of coffee that you can put down and walk away from and come back when you feel like it. You're either with me or you aren't." I spun on my heel and left. I didn't cry until I got home.
I stopped running the obstacle course with him or working out in the gym with him, doing it in the late afternoon instead. I started eating at odd times to avoid him in the caf. I rarely saw him unless it was at a meeting. Everybody knew we'd broken up, but not why, and nobody asked me questions. I couldn't have answered. It was like he'd physically ripped out my heart, it hurt so much. The later love comes, the harder it hits, and I felt like I'd been pummeled to within an inch of my life.
Even work, for the first time in my life, was dull and unengaging. I did what I needed to do, but there was no joy in any of it. And Thor asked a big favor; Torburn's mother had been seriously injured, and I was asked to allow Torburn to return to Asgard until she healed. She was expected to recover fully, but they thought her favorite son would help keep her spirits up. Of course he had to go.
Even the discovery that Ms Smith was a former HYDRA operative known as Madam Hydra; Captain America had run across her before, didn't cheer me up. She was currently known as Viper, and she seemed to be living up to her name. We put together a plan to go after her; she was setting up shop in an isolated area near Kazakhstan, so civilian contacts would be few.
And so I found myself on the quinjet, getting ready to storm a heavily defended position. Yay. What was not to like? Natasha was back, and although she wasn't recovered from the loss of Bruce entirely, she was doing a lot better. I hoped that I'd be able to say the same in time. I listened to the assignments being made, reminders about what we needed to accomplish. I did better with Captain America, in his suit, than I did with Steve Rogers. I could just look at the suit, not the man. It was a lot easier to interact with the hero. I nodded acceptance of my assignment, and I moved out with the others when the ramp went down.
I was feeling pretty good as we got deeper into the mission. I'd had the opportunity to damage some bad guys with Mr Pointy, and that, unfortunately, cheered me up. Things were going well until I came face to face with a guy in a metal mask. Not one of the ones on my team, regrettably. And he was completely out of my weight class. In two moves he had disarmed me and snapped Mr Pointy's pole. Shit.
"Who are you?" I asked, gripping Martha and DB.
"Crossbones," he said in a tone full of satisfaction.
"I'm sorry, who?"
He seemed angry that I hadn't heard of him.
"Crossbones." I shook my head.
"I used to be Brock Rumlow," he said, almost to himself.
"Sorry, not ringing a bell."
That seemed to make him madder. He grabbed my throat and punched me. I could feel my nose break with a sickening crunch, and the pain was blinding. "Your boyfriend knows who I am," he snarled, then threw me across the room.
"I don't have a boyfriend," I said thickly. "If you mean Captain America, that's so over."
Smoothly and swiftly, he crossed to me, grabbing my left wrist. "I think I can still hurt him," he said, then slammed my arm on the corner of the stone wall where it became a window. My upper arm broke with a wet crack and the shoulder dislocated. I screamed, trying to keep myself from falling. He ripped off his mask, revealing a horrifically scarred face. "This is what he did to me," he growled, pacing away. If rabies had a sound, it would be this guy.
He came toward me again, and I knew if he got his hands on me one more time, I was going to die. So I reached for my waist, snapped the handle straight, and the urumi whispered damage and pain as it uncoiled from my waist. I didn't wait; I immediately began to swing it, the tones from the blades discordant and eerie. It took him by surprise; it almost sounded like it sizzled when it hit the stone floor. I didn't dare let him become acclimated, and went on the offense. The metal blades cut into him savagely where he wasn't armored, damaging the metal where he was. A few more passes, and he was on the floor. The odd thing was that he wasn't screaming in pain. And I wanted him to be. The horrible thing is that I didn't want to stop until he was still and the blood had ceased to flow.
"P?" a voice asked cautiously, as someone edged into the room beyond my current range. Momentarily distracted, I backed off Crossbones for a moment although I kept the blades shrieking. "P, who is that?" Natasha asked.
"Said his name was Crossbones," I said, coughing from the blood running down my throat, returning my attention to him. The smell of urine and feces rose from him.
"That's not possible," she said. "He's dead."
"You keep saying that. Well, he said that his code name was Crossbones and that his name was Brock Rumlow, so maybe he's not who you think he is. Doesn't matter, he's shortly not going to be anybody's problem." I stepped forward as she started to mutter over coms.
A metal hand caught my wrist. "P, we need to interrogate him," Tony said calmly. "And you look like you could use some treatment. Come on, here's Sam. Let him take a look at you." His voice was gentle but firm. I took another look at the meat on the floor and turned. I flicked the blades one more time to get the blood off, then awkwardly captured the blades. I needed two hands to put them back in the sheath, and I only had one.
Sam stepped up and we walked back to the quinjet. He helped me up onto the med table and took off my mask, very carefully. The blood that had been trapped underneath streamed down my chin and throat to be absorbed by my suit, and he hit the button to activate the AI as he packed my nose as gently as he could. Then I braced myself as best as I could as he put my shoulder back, seeing stars, and listened to the treatment recommendations from the AI. Then he put an inflatable cast on my arm and numbed my face and did something to my nose, which hurt even through the numbness. He gave me a massive dose of ibuprofin because I won't take opioids (don't like the feeling) and I felt the jet rise as Clint headed for home. It was quiet in the jet. I didn't even know if we'd gotten Viper and right then I just didn't care. I fell asleep and didn't wake up until we landed. Medical was waiting and they hustled me and my victim to the clinic where they checked my nose, set my arm, and looked at my shoulder. Then they made me stay overnight for observation, which was fine but irritating as nurses came in every time I managed to get some sleep.
I made it out in time for the team meeting, where I found that although we hadn't captured Viper, we'd hurt her. Literally; she'd been wounded too, but we had enough information to screw with her bank accounts and her stronghold was in ruins. So, yay us. As usual, our cams were put up for analysis. Mine got special attention because of my opponent. We watched the exchange in silence, and I was reminded that I'd need a new poleaxe after Mr Pointy's destruction. I hadn't brought it back with me. There was a lot of discussion about whats-his-name, since he was supposed to have been blown up in Nigeria. He was still in the clinic being patched up. I paid only passing attention as I chipped fingernail polish off my thumb. I tuned in again when Nick asked if I had anything to add. I just said no, and the meeting soon wrapped up.
Cap caught up with me as I waited for the elevator. He looked all tragic and sad, and I cut him off when he tried to take on blame for my condition.
"Not everything is your responsibility," I said as crisply as I was able. And when he opened his mouth again, I just shot him a look and stepped out of the elevator just before the doors closed. I'd rather take the stairs.
Bucky caught up with me outside. He wanted to talk about my performance , so I listened as he praised my toughness and gave a few notes he had. I stopped him when he said "Steve--". He looked at me with a certain amount of sympathy, and walked on. I turned and went back up to Nick's office. I took the elevator this time.
I came out with a certain amount of satisfaction and a hell of a lot of relief. I took a nap in my workshop, then went into the city for a haircut. I was tired of being me. I got my hair colored an uninteresting brown as well as a shorter cut, and after that I went home. I'd told the horrified stylist that I'd been in a car wreck. I stopped by campus again and picked up some makeup that the scientists had developed that would cover any bruising, no matter how extensive. I looked like a racoon.
The next morning, I packed up Sigurd and we set out on a road trip.