Chapter 1
Also, check out my Spotify Playlist I put together for this fic.
(Keep in mind the chapters, though. The tracks are kind of like a soundtrack.)
Paris
Natasha pulled herself up a balcony, her leg wound scraping against metal and then stone, the burst of pain making her suck in a harsh breath. She almost let out a moan but no, she needed to concentrate and mainly, to remain unnoticed. The reason was simple: right now, a number of men crossed the street underneath her, all clad in the same uniforms, carrying sharp guns and expecting another surprise attack by the scarlet spy.
Not today, she decided with a look at her leg, but I’ll sure come back for more.
The balcony wasn’t big, only offering enough space for her, a lonely greenish cactus, and a chair. A glass door led into the house, or more precisely, the apartment, one of thousands in the densely populated urban France. The handle didn’t budge under her hand and curtains prevented the redhead from peeking in.
The light of the streetlamp a few meters away turned the glass into a mirror and she frowned at her appearance. Several cuts parted her black uniform, traces of an explosion hung in her hair, and some kind of mesh had created a net pattern on her tired face.
Well. She wished that was all her little surprise visit had actually left.
Natasha sighed. This mission was stupid. Had been from the beginning. Maybe she should’ve stayed in the dark a few days longer. Maybe she could’ve figured with a really good way in and an even better way out plus a brilliant strategy for the part in between to infiltrate HYDRA’s premises without a scratch. No one had given her the mission, it had been her own choice, born out of emotions she had assumed buried since decades. Curiosity had pushed her into this. It was a great catalyst for risky actions and she had gotten almost all she wanted, except, unfortunately, she hadn’t managed to take it outside.
It was only a few pieces of paper she’d come for, assemblies of letters any child could’ve written out for her. But the knowledge of those exact letters put her life at stake now for having been read. It made a difference. Written by a man in a high government position, now filed in her head as HYDRA, these words could translate to her death. But she was running from police units since a month already, most definitely alarmed by the CIA, who despised her way of coming up with her own missions, so adding HYDRA to the list of pursuers didn’t change much. Natasha had expected them to drop the chase, however, as soon as she had left the building. HYDRA had not recovered to full force after DC yet.
A cat snuck up on her, but instead of swatting it away like she usually did with cats, the spy let it sit right next to her while she intently watched thin gray smoke rising beyond the houses.
She could almost hear Steve’s disapproval. He liked to always have everything planned out so neatly, so organized that felt like on a field trip into the past, to her own training, back under the wings of a burly mentor teaching her how to survive. But then Steve sacrificed himself for his team on a regular basis and she couldn’t say she’d every seen something like that in either her training or the rest of her life, which was either really good or really bad.
No, she couldn’t live so selflessly, not when Steve wasn’t around.
And now he wasn’t, definitely not, he was in Wakanda, her network of spies claimed and she guessed King T’Challa intended on keeping it that way - secret. The public wasn’t supposed to know, they didn’t, according to newspaper headlines and internet conspiracy blogs.
The king was intelligent. He would keep them, Steve and the others, in that isolated little country of his, until the roaring waves of politics smoothed down around the Sokovia-Accord matter, for the good of everyone involved. No need to let the world know he harbored heroes declared criminals by the law of his father, honored regent before him. Maybe they even tried to fix Bucky. A bright flame of hope flared in her, small, but steady like her heartbeat. The Winter Soldier mentioned in the files she’d seen just a few minutes ago.
Natasha knew she couldn’t keep this intel from Steve and she swore she wouldn’t. What the two men had was special. She envied their brotherly bond deeply but never openly, and she didn’t dare to keep any of the two from recovering.
The cat caressed her bare hand with a few sweet strokes of her tail and disappeared towards the roof.
“Adieu, mon ami petite,” Nat whispered and heard the softest reply fading into the night, mirroring the dirty pillars of smoke a few alleys further. The men had left during her musing and she was grateful for the peace.
A man in a familiar attire stepped into her alley and she realized that the repeated shutting of that car doors a few seconds ago must’ve been her cue. Shifting her weight onto the good leg, she moved closer to the balcony’s end, peeking through the metal bars. There was no eyepatch now, no long trench coat, but she recognized his step, how his footfall sounded against the asphalt ground. A friend.
So she bid the not-so-lonely-anymore-cactus farewell and pressed her teeth together when she swung her feet over the handrail to climb down. Just when she hung in the air, halfway down, the armed men returned to the dark street, immediately focusing on her.
“Hurry up, Romanoff,” the familiar voice called, he was already getting back to the car. “We gotta be somewhere. Wanna pick a souvenir?” He pointed at the men running towards their car, guns ready and all that.
“Nah,” she grinned, tired but happy to see her friend, “just go.”
And Nick did, crushing those armed idiots standing in his way with the fury they deserved. He had no respect for anything HYDRA.
Wakanda
It had been a long time. More precisely, thirteen big paintings, four clandestine SIW missions and a hundred and nine workout sessions ago. That day the scientists had started researching Bucky’s brain condition and still, they hadn’t presented any promising findings or solutions.
Steve shook his head, not allowing the frustration to cloud his mind. The pull-up bar under his hands glinted with sweat. His and Sam’s.
No, this morning Steve had interrogated the project’s leader about updates and a release date. The tube was still dark, and still icy. Holding a man still pretending to be dead, a ghost. Still trapped in a dark room resembling the greedy blackness of the night stealing the last rays of light. The thick windows absorbed much of the outside light, securing everything inside like a safe. Or a prison, Steve added in his mind and scolded himself for it instantly. Every time he visited his friend, he felt the same, powerful pain gurgling in his stomach, ripping apart all hope everyone maintained with extraordinary care. Since countless nights, nights of unrest and torment. The 95-year old sighed. With a scientific progress of only 23 percent after so much time, patience was more scarce than snow in the tropic Wakanda.
“You’re doing it again, Speedy Gonzales! Show some mercy,” Sam yowled from far behind and the supersoldier pulled out of his trance, only now realizing he’d taken off sprinting at an ungodly pace. He let Sam catch up and focused on the track.
“How about sparring later?”, the blonde inquired and received a sharp huff and a playful glare.
“Yeah, I’m no fan of dentists. I actually learn from my past, that’s for sure.”
“Oh, that’s what you do now?”
“You should try it too.”
Steve snorted and with a smirk, took off again, leaving a panting Sam behind. But he didn’t run far, because once Sam fell back and out of his peripheral sight, Steve’s mind wandered off again, uncontrollably like a wave with its own tumbling dynamics, back to planning what he prepared for Bucky, armloads of memories collected to be returned to their rightful owner.
Steve couldn’t stop himself soon enough and crashed into Clint with the force of a speeding bull. The archer had zero chance to get off the running track. Now he was buried underneath America’s greatest steroid experiment of all history (aka America’s greatest hope).
“Jeez Steve,” Clint snorted, wiping blood off his scabbed elbows, “You’re not a dog. Even Lucky doesn’t jump at me like that.”
A thousand apologies flew at him, but he just shook his head, grumbling something along the lines of “I’m not getting paid enough for this shit”.
Sam checked for more injuries on Clint’s neck while Steve looked around the room, spotting Wanda, who stood completely apart from them. There was something unusual about her, the way she stared onto the ground. More alarming, however, were the levitating dumbbells from the racks around her.
Worry rushed through Steve’s veins instantly. He remembered that one, scary night a booming crack had shaken him out of bed, the one night he’d almost slept through. Like the others, he’d run towards Wanda’s room with a gun ready, checking for intruders. All they found were a wardrobe split in two and a sweaty, panting, and sobbing Wanda. Loss of control over her abilities only ever occurred when nightmares quenched her heart, when she was under heavy duress.
So Steve approached her, with soft steps and his most soothing tone, calling her name until her watery eyes met his. It didn’t surprise him that the girl fell into his arms for a few seconds. Moments like these made him feel like a father, comforting his strong and brave daughter whose heart cared so deeply about things that it made his ache just the same.
He felt her shift and while she pushed him back a little, away from the radius of the gym’s security cameras, he watched her face turn back to very serious. Natasha probably taught her that, he thought, to push emotions away. To concentrate even if your heart feels like it’s bursting from bitter pain.
A towel floated through the air, right behind Wanda and there was a water bottle right underneath the ceiling. The girl was a mess.
“They took Scott,” she whispered. “It’s all my fault, they’ve taken him and they’ll keep us in here and…”
“Wanda, what did Scott do? Who took him? You didn’t make another bet with him, did you?”
She nodded timidly, not like a child afraid of scolding, but like a person deeply regretting what had happened. On the inside, Steve cursed their empty schedules. Of course everyone had been bored since a few months now and only stupid things happened out of boredom.
“He saw something. At the office floors.”
“And you dared him to get it.”
“Only a copy.”
She stepped a few steps forward to put a hand against Steve’s still sweaty forehead. They’d practiced this before and Steve knew her hands were shaking because she was terrified of what could happen to Scott, not because of what she was about to do to Steve. Her grabbed her hand with his, softly rubbing her palm, her fingers, and her wrist.
“Take a breath. Another one. Deeper. In and out. Okay, now show me,” he ordered.
Sam and Clint stepped into the changing room just before Steve’s vision blurred, leaving him with a single picture: the memory of a file.
It said James Buchanan Barnes in fat, black letters. He gasped. This was a full medical report. One that had never been shown to Steve or the medical supervisor, Dr. N’go, who would have mentioned anything new. Did T’Challa know about this? Why was there a stamp underneath it? Who had read these papers? His eyes widened when he made out a CIA-signature. They shouldn’t even have their location. This was exactly why the four ex-Avengers had been hiding here since five months.
It didn’t take much to see the doom suddenly rushing over the little group in the changing room, dark clouds looming in the sky, hiding all the light. This wasn’t gonna end well, Sam could already tell. He had this feeling again, that tingle in his left biceps. And the biceps never lied.
Steve and Sam stood in the elevator that transported them right into the office compound, straight before the doors to the SIW’s quarter in the royal palace. Both of them were unarmed — hopes remained that Scott could be liberated with diplomacy rather than guns. Also, nobody wanted to cause trouble so short before the big conference tomorrow, the one that had everyone on highest alert, even those not involved were experiencing the overall nervousness. It also explained the extra guards in front of the office hallways, checking everyone for their ID-beads and weapons. For Steve and Sam, it also meant being put into a waiting room because of restricted access.
Just when they assumed they must’ve been forgotten, the door opened and revealed a man in a suit, his face not particularly stern nor marked with the usual tattooed colors of rank. Lt. Lomawu.
Sam had heard rumors that the council had denied the born Wakandan the usual elevation ceremony because he’d studied abroad, in Europe, possibly sending the wrong message to the young generation who was supposed to stay inside the nation. He did, however, not lack the golden accessories that noble fashion loved these days.
As always, he wore his shiny black shoes that Steve hadn’t seen anyone else wear here, a reminder of his past just like the style of his hair that was partly bleached. Today however, his upper arm was bandaged.
“Mr. Rogers, Mr. Wilson, I suspect to know the reason for your uncharacteristic visit.”
“We would like to see Scott.”
“Mr. Rogers, I understand you value Mr. Lang…”
“He’s family.”
“I’m afraid we cannot grant any access at the moment,” Lomawu scanned the faces in the room, “however, we might find a solution for an accelerated release.”
Something vibrated in Steve’s pocket and he pulled out his phone. He raised his eyebrows. No one has my number, this phone is secret, he thought when he excused himself under the interested gaze of the SIW’s leader. He answered, but waited for the caller to speak up. If this was a trap, he wouldn’t give them confirmation of his identity.
“Hey Rogers,” a woman with a husky voice said and Steve immediately knew it was Natasha, smirking, with one hand on her hip.
“Miss me much?”, she asked and every burden seemed to fall from his heart for a second. Of course, he’d missed her, she’d been a constant part of his life. Her eyes were the only ones that grasped the tragedies of his heart.
“Why are you calling?”
“You know you do. How does a road trip through France sound to you?” He looked back to the others, realizing that this wasn’t just Natasha calling, this was a spy. Whatever she wanted, she could’ve also just called an official line. What she did now had probably required the disruption of a number of firewalls and security protocols. Mr. Lomawu hadn’t stopped listening to the call although he seemed to converse quietly with Sam.
“What are we gonna see?”
“How about, everything you missed in World War II? Found a special exhibition you and Barnes would like. We still need a way in, but I know a guy.”
“Course you do.” Steve hung up and turned back to the others.
“What happened to your arm?”, Sam asked the Wakandan, his arms crossed, like always.
“Just a cat that needed to be reminded of its place in the food chain.”
“Must’ve been a big one. Did you kill it?” Sam had heard of the Wakandan hunts but hadn’t been aware they hunted big cats as well, especially when they considered the panther as a sacred animal. Weren’t cats all related anyway? Maybe cousins were excluded from the rule. Families were always messed up, at least to a certain degree. Maybe the panther was the crazy uncle.
“It still lives. Sometimes, Mr. Wilson, things serve a greater purpose, but are just not ready yet, don’t you agree?”
Someone opened the door, stepping in half-way. A man in the honorable position of secretary and second to the SIW’s leader. Mr. Djenge, a representative of the military with a fine sense of character and behavior analysis.
“Sir, your associate is on the line.”
“I’ll be there, thank you.”
Mr. Djenge nodded and moved his tall body out of the room.
“Change of plans,” Steve announced to get their attention and Sam’s face looked like a giant question mark.
“We’re still asking that Scott be released. I also that favor you owe me.” Mr. Lomawu hesitated but finally nodded. He probably hadn’t expected this so soon, only a month after Steve had finished giving a special training session to an assortment of guards in an emergency situation. That was the reason the leader of the SIW owed him, even if he didn’t like to admit that.
“Sam and I need a way out of Wakanda - by tonight.” There was a long pause after that.
“Even if I owe you a favor, I’m tasked with your safety on royal order, I can’t allow your leave.” Lomawu sent a look towards the door, stepping a little closer to Steve. His voice had changed into a whisper. “But if you happen to steal a certain Quinjet, locked away like a gold treasure in Hangar 14, at 1830, when the guards gather to receive new instructions for the conference security protocols, I guess there would be no unit prepared to stand in your way for at least… ten minutes.”
“We’ll hurry.”
“There is one condition. Keep me updated via this secure communication bead. If need for extraction appears, we shall aid you.”
“Fair enough,” Sam agreed, Steve nodded and all three of them shook hands. A strange feeling spread in Sam’s body, a warm fuzzy feeling mixed with strong excitement. Finally. If this is what freedom feels like, I don’t ever want to feel anything else anymore, he thought. A look at his side showed him a smile on Steve’s face. The door opened again.
“Mr. Whittaker requires your attention now, Sir.” Djenge tapped one of the beads on his bracelet, the silver shimmering against his dark skin, and as the two men disappeared in the hallway, a live hologram information of the caller appeared, showing a man’s face. At that Steve and Sam left, not intent on keeping the SIW from their work.
Evening took a long time to finally come, but it came. The two soldiers had prepared and Steve spoke to the others who would stay back in Birnin Zana, Wakanda’s greatest pride, every single one of them a little disappointed. Understandable.
“Wanda,” Steve began, choosing his words carefully, “Bucky is in your hands now. Make sure he’s safe. It’ll only be a few days.”
She nodded and hugged him, accepting the new responsibility that had never slipped out of Steve’s hand before, not by his choice. But finally, there was his opportunity to end Bucky’s suffering and he wouldn’t let that fire die. Clint promised to look after Wanda and to take care of the whole situation with Scott. No one noticed how he slipped an envelope into Steve’s pocket and made him promise to throw it into the mail for him. On it, in black ink, the name of his wife.
Steve and Sam departed after that, sneaking out into the dark of Wakanda, checking their surroundings more frequently than usual on these compounds, considering their guest status, while finding the ways around the majestic palace that led towards the hangars. Lomawu was right, the number of guards on shift had been cut down to a still considerable minimum, so that the two soldiers almost made it to Hangar 14 undetected.
They were clad in the standard uniform of Wakandan guards and maybe that contributed to how far they came as well, but suddenly, just when they passed a strip of dry grass and waist-high bushes, already in eyesight of their hangar, guards appeared. Sam remembered how he’d seen special kinds of ground sensors in a tech exhibition. They must have them everywhere. You couldn’t just get in, you couldn’t simply walk out of the palace.
Great. This is either run or fight, Steve thought with a look behind. He signaled Sam to go ahead, to get the Quinjet and prepare for departure while he took care of the handful of unlucky guards. Steve dropped right there, seeking concealment behind some bushes not big enough to really hide his physique. As they came closer, he took all of them out. The first one he got down with one well-placed blow, the other four needed more persuading to lay down their consciousness. Steve rammed the one left of him into the prickly bushes. His size gave him a clear advantage. That gave him enough time to bring the next down with a kick to the back of his knees. For the first time in long, he actually wished he had his shield back.
From the ground, the guard attempted to activate his alarm-bead to call for backup. Just in time, Steve ripped the bracelet off his wrist. The third guard landed a few punches on him. The blonde’s elbow hit hard into that guy’s ribs and he sank down with a crack. Both left guards, the one from the bushes and the other, attacked at the same time. Instead of pushing into them, Steve pulled the one’s fist towards him, putting off that guard’s balance. He crashed right into his companion, proving to be no obstacle either. On the ground was more movement. One of them came back up. He looked at the bracelet still dangling from Steve’s fingers.
“Sorry, buddy,” Steve said and dodged a kick. He took him into a chokehold until the guard passed out. He hated doing this, but it was still better than killing them for just standing in his way. The Quinjet rolled onto a landing strip some 300 meters away, so Steve started running. The cargo ramp opened and with a final sprint, the supersoldier made it before the jet took off. He got his ride, closed the ramp. Sat down next to Sam. Caught his breath.
“Man, you actually did sweat a little today, didn’t you?”, Sam grinned. “Seems like you finally got a real workout.”
No call came in from the tower, the Golden City’s aircraft-base probably hadn’t managed to get a hold of this situation yet. No one was following them, just like Lomawu had implied. Even if they still tried to send in jets to follow theirs, the two soldiers didn’t notice anyone in the airspace around them. What Steve and Sam also didn’t notice were two guards standing in the hangar, giving each other a handshake upon seeing two ex-Avengers, and actually, the right ones, depart. Then, pulling out their communicative system, one of their special beads the Wakandan population used for so many things, to report to their commander.
“Confirmation of Rogers’ and Wilson’s departure. Further instructions?”
— “Return to posts. Do not engage. Prepare for tomorrow.”