SHADOW

CHAPTER 45

"So…you want to explain to me what the hell it is you're planning on doing now?" Sam asks me in an undertone, when we're safely back on board the quinjet.

"I don't think you're the only one wanting an explanation, Sam," Natasha throws over her shoulder from the cockpit.

"You knew about this already, didn't you?" Bucky accuses Steve, replacing his gun onto a wrack with more force than necessary. "That the formula's still out there? And why the hell was Alex chasing after Rumlow?"

"Guys, we can talk about this in New York," Steve tries, wearily, as he attempts to insight some form of order, "– we've just been through a lot. Let's just –"

"Please, don't stop on my account," Wanda interjects, bitterly, from her seat in the hanger. She looks awful, like she's recently recovered from a bad bout of the flu.

"No, Wanda, we need to talk about what just happened. It wasn't –"

" – my fault?" Wanda finishes for Steve. "It was my fault. Those people died because of me."

"You've never had to contain an explosion that big before. You weren't ready. That isn't on you."

"Yeah, but we maybe should have guessed the homicidal maniac out for revenge would try to take us down at any cost," Sam folds his arms. "Probably someone should have thought of that during the briefing."

"None of this matters –" Bucky growls, his eyes fixed unwaveringly on Steve. "The serum's out there, Steve. Someone can make more of us."

"This does matter, Buck. Because you can be sure as hell there's going to be consequences waiting for us when we get back –"

Bucky looks at him incredulously. "You think that some government red tape is more important than the world destruction? There's a long line of people who died hiding that serum. Why do you suddenly not care?"

Steve's face tightens. He is looking at his knuckles, rubbing some smear of dust and blood off his gloves. Uncharacteristically, he is not looking at Bucky when he says: "Because this time, it's not the bad guys who are after it."

Bucky rounds on me, putting two and two together. I have been silent this entire time. Part of me is still shaken by the events in Lagos, and I need a moment to gather myself before the fifth degree starts up.

"What do you know?" he asks me. I shiver, because Bucky's voice is on a thread – close to snapping. I haven't heard him like this in a long time, and I'm transported back in time to a hospital ward in S.H.I.E.L.D when I first met him. He thought I was HYDRA; sent to kill him. "…why were you after Rumlow? Why does he want you to go to Cleveland?"

"Because he thinks there might be a…lead…there for me."

"A lead." Bucky echoes, flatly. "You mean more HYDRA agents we didn't kill. That's convenient. For you."

"He's defected."

"What's his name, Alex," Bucky pushes, seeing through my evasiveness.

I watch Bucky carefully for any flicker of recognition. "Does the name Kaprov mean anything to you?"

A million emotions cross Bucky's face until something impossibly grim settles there. "Yeah, he was head of the Winter Soldier programme for the last fifteen years I was active…" Something dawns on him. "- but you knew that, didn't you? When you came into my room that night you wanted my journal, not me."

"Bucky –" I start, hating how manipulative that makes me sound.

"Why you?" he snaps, ignoring my protest.

It is Steve who answers his question. "Ross went to Alex. His men have figured out there's more of the super-soldier serum and they want it because they think it holds the key to reversing enhanced DNA. When Alex found out she came to me and told me what he wanted. There's no way out for her without Ross coming down on us. Hard."

"So we just hand this over to the American government because they asked?" Sam surmises, sarcastically. "That doesn't seem like you, Steve."

"We're not handing this over to anybody. Alex'll find it and destroy it."

I bite my tongue as they finally all fall silent.

"So…" Nat says, after a while. "I guess I should re-set our course for Cleveland."

"No –" Steve interrupts. "I mean – yes. But it's a drop-off. Alex goes to Cleveland. We carry on to New York. Ross can't know that anyone but Alex is in on this. She needs to go alone."

Bucky gives a mirthless laugh, flexing the fingers of his metal hand like he's preparing for a fight. "If you think I'm going to sit this one out –"

"I do."

"The guy that made my life hell is alive and it's my girlfriend's job to go back into the worst part of my past," he returns, evenly. "You'll have to strap me down before I go back to New York. That's not where the fight is."

"I know why you think you have a right to go on this," Steve replies, unhappily. "But if you learnt nothing from what just happened, you should at least know that we can't operate based on revenge, Buck. That's not who the Avengers are. That's not what we do...and last time I checked, you weren't The Winter Soldier anymore. You're an Avenger. So act like one."

For the first time ever, I see a friction between Bucky and Steve – a fundamental difference in ideology. Where they always seemed to understand one another implicitly, there's now a crackling tension in the hanger of the quinjet.

"I'm going to move heaven and earth to get this done," I say, moving round the central table to stand closer to Bucky. "Can you trust me on that, at least?"

That calms him slightly. His mouth twitches just barely. "You're like a dog with a bone."

"Please don't use that analogy when you're referring to me ever again," I reply, dryly.

"Alex...HYDRA are dangerous –" (I make a sound in the back of my throat, but Bucky continues grimly, despite my attitude): "This is one secret even a defector's not going to give up willingly."

"He'll talk," I tell him, setting my jaw.

"Take me with you."

"I can't –"

"You –"

"Barnes, you can't go," Natasha interrupts, bluntly. "This isn't a question of whether Alex is up for the job. This Kaprov guy brainwashed you for seventy years. If you end up going under again, it'll be Alex vs a HYDRA defector plus a killing machine that used to be her boyfriend. Don't put her in that position because of your pride."

Bucky glares at the back of her head, and Natasha must sense his animosity, swivelling in her chair. The quinjet stays steady, flying on auto-pilot.

"I just call it like I see it."

"It'll be twenty-four hours. Tops," I reassure him. "I'll come back to New York straight away - I'll have to report back to Ross."

"Thanks, that makes me feel so much better."

"Don't be a dick."

He merely looks at me, every muscle in his body tensed with bottled-in frustration. I shake my head, knowing I'm not going to win this conversation. "Whatever. Nat – how long til you can drop me in Cleveland?"

"Why, you want to get off this plane?" Nat asks me, as I scoot moodily into the co-pilot's chair next to hers. "Can't imagine why."

The team drop me at Cleveland as promised with nothing but the civilian clothes in my bag and fifty dollars in my jeans pocket. Bucky stops me just before I walk down the ramp of the jet.

"I didn't mean to be an asshole."

I roll my eyes, standing on the edge of ramp as I wait for him to spit out what he needs to say. Bucky walks down slowly towards me.

"There are some things you might find…you might…change your mind about me. I want you to be prepared for that…I don't want you to wind up hating me when you're trying to save me."

My expression softens at his uncertainty. "I'm not going to change my mind about you. I love you. I told you."

Bucky hesitates, then reaches out with his metal hand and takes my right hand gently, brushing his thumb across my fingers.

"Can you feel that?" I ask him, curiously.

"Not the warmth of your skin –" he admits, reaching out with his other human hand and touching my cheek. "Not like this."

I twist my head and kiss the palm of his hand. "I'll be back by tomorrow morning, you'll see. You'll walk into the kitchen and I'll be eating a stack of Sam's pancakes."

"I don't doubt that," he mutters dryly. "Be safe."

We stand with a few inches of space between us, and I want so badly to be returning to base with him – crawl into his bed where we would be cut off from the rest of the world. But if I could do that, I wouldn't be doing this right now.

"Keep an eye on Wanda for me," I tell him, before I turn away and walk out onto the open field. The jet takes off behind me as I track a straight line towards a fence and hop over it. After about ten minutes I make it to the West Shoreway road and hail a cab. It pulls onto the shoulder and the driver examines me doubtfully – alone, and standing on the edge of a busy freeway.

I climb into the backseat anyway and give him the address Natasha had managed to co-ordinate for me. We end up driving almost to the edge of town to a dilapidated house at the end of a long track, flanked by overgrown hedges.

"Wait here," I instruct the driver, the moment we pull off the road and onto trail. "I won't be long."

I count out the money for his fare and hand it forward between the seats, then make to get out the car. The motor's still running, and the cabbie looks between me and the run-down house apprehensively. The windows are boarded up and the white paint is peeling. "I don't want to get into some kind of trouble, here."

"Just stay here," I re-iterate, and climb out the car.

There's a dead crow in the middle of the lane, feather's moving in the wind. I side-step it neatly and carry on up to the house. The only sign of life are the few hens pecking at the dust at the front of the house.

When I try the door, it's locked and there's a gap in one of the threadbare curtains that I swear wasn't there before. I check back over my shoulder to make sure the driver's far enough away and then ease my gun out the waistband of my jeans.

I walk round the house to the yard, looking for a way in. I don't have to look too hard: the back door's open. I look around me for a sign that the owner's run somewhere, but there are no footprints and no sign of recent movement. I nudge the door open with my foot and tuck my gun back into my jeans. If the cab driver hears gunshots, he's sure to call 911 and the last thing I need is the police.

The door opens with a creak. I find myself in a musty kitchen so dark, it's almost pitch black - despite the bright sun-light outside. I stand in the centre of the room and breathe quietly for a while, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness. Then I move to the next room.

"Vasily Karpov?" I say. The living room is a bit lighter – the dead grey TV screen reflecting my own image back at me. I'm at the front of the house, and can see the gap in the curtains at the window through which I'm convinced the man saw me coming. "I know you're here!"

I pause in the doorway to the hall and wait. Breathe. Step forwards.

Kaprov lashes out at me from one side and I grab his arm and twist so that his gun drops out of his hand. I kick it across the floor out of his reach.

He pulls a knife and I back up into the living room and grab a hand towel discarded on the coffee table. I wrap it taught between my fists and we stare at each other, barely making a sound. Kaprov is older than his years – hair already greying, with the bloodshot eyes of an alcoholic and an unkept appearance of a man who has lost everything.

He lunges for my shoulder, a silent snarl on his face, and I catch his wrist with the towel, tangle it, and throw him round onto the sofa. The knife falls will a clatter at my feet and I pick it up, holding it ready. He freezes in his seat.

"Stay down," I snap.

"Who are you?" he spits back, his chest heaving with exertion. "S.H.I.E.L.D?"

"If I was S.H.I.E.L.D I would have killed you already. We're not a big fan of HYDRA."

"What do you want with me?"

"Tell me about the Winter Soldier programme. Tell me where the formula for the super-serum is."

Kaprov's eyes bulge out of his head in a way that tells me the formula really does exist and isn't some kind of myth Ross has cooked up. But he says nothing. I grit my jaw.

"Why did you defect in the 90s? What happened?!"

"I'll die before I talk."

I stride round and stand next to the TV, still holding the knife ready. "You know where the formula is?" I push again, feeling my heart beginning to pound in my chest.

"Yes."

"But you're not going to tell me where to find it?"

"No."

"Who else knows where it is?"

He gives me an ugly smirk, nodding to the TV where I guess he's seen me on the news. "Your tamed dog."

I feel a flash of anger. I remember how Bucky said they treated him like an animal. I stride forwards and press the blade to the unkept stubble on Kaprov's throat threateningly. "He doesn't remember anything more than your name," I hiss. "You made damn sure of that."

"…He can be made to remember."

I go cold. My heart skips a beat. "How?" I croak, my mouth dry. Images flash up in my mind of the contraptions in Bucky's file – the horrific machines and clamps around his head. Nobody ever did figure out how they brain-washed him. Is there some kind of device only Kaprov knows to make?

"It's so easy –" Kaprov is chuckling now. "So simple."

"Tell me!" I snarl.

But the man is true to his word – he'd rather die than talk. HYDRA agents have that annoying trait in common. Their delusional loyalty takes them all to their graves.

I snarl in frustration and tie Kaprov tightly to a kitchen chair whilst I make a search of his house. I refuse to believe that he has nothing on him about the Winter Soldier project – no file or memento after it was shut down. I know that Kaprov is Russian, and that the American branch of HYDRA picked Bucky up soon after Kaprov defected, judging by the dates in his journal. My gut feeling is right when I unearth a small book with a red cover and black star.

I walk back into the kitchen. "What's this?" I ask, crouching down next to Kaprov and waving the book in his face.

He struggles against his restraints, but I've done them tight, and they don't give.

I flip open the book. It's some kind of mission log dedicated to the Winter Soldier. Maybe the location of their base will be somewhere in here.

"You don't have it in you –" Kaprov sneers. "You won't be able to do it."

"Do what."

"What needs to be done."

I straighten from my crouch. "And how do you know that?"

"Because you haven't killed me."

"Yeah? Well I still could, so don't push your luck," I reply, rolling my eyes. "I'll be keeping this," I say, referring to the book as I make for the backdoor again, leaving him tied up.

But I hesitate in the doorway. This is the man that made Bucky's life hell. This is the man that reduced him to a shadow of himself. I know what that feels like, and I know how hard it is to find your self when it's been taken away from you. I turn back, and Kaprov must see the change in my facial expression because he raises his chin slightly in defiance. Something flickers in his eyes. Fear.

"I regret nothing," he announces, reading my mind.

"Yes you do," I reply, walking slowly back towards him.

"…Just do it."

I feel a sneer tug at my upper lip and I shake my head in disgust. "…You piece of shit," I whisper.

"Just do it," he repeats. "Kill me."

But a quick death would be too kind. Instead, I remember my training from my days as a spy. I cut an artery in his leg. He'll bleed out, but it will be slow and painful. It will take him a day to die. Kaprov howls as I plunge the knife in, the blood soaking the inside of his thigh.

I have made many mistakes in my life, but not killing this man is my worst.

"See you in hell," I tell him, and leave the house with the book in my hand and the knife in my other.

A/N This has been one of my favourite chapters to write. Ever since I made the decision to have Alex go after the serum herself I have had a couple of scenes in my head that I've been waiting to do – this is one of them!

Thank you for all your lovely reviews, they're really encouraging. Sorry about all the Bucky/Alex angst!

Last Of The Lilac Wine