Whatever It Takes

Chapter 18 - Thanks For The Run

Washington, 2013

The black car speeds along the tarmac, surprising the two men watching the giant jet come to a stop. Alexander Pierce struts out and walks over to watch the removal process begins. "Is he here?" he asks Brock Rumlow.

"Already in the van sir," Rumlow and his team keep an eye on the group of people unloading various crates, all of them eyeing up the pair suspiciously. "He's still on ice."

"Good," Pierce begins to walk away. "I want him prepped and ready to go. We could have an open shot at this any day now; it's only a matter of time before Fury slips."

"Sir, is this really wise to go after Fury right now? Rodgers is too close, and with Project Insight..."

"Fury will be the thing that draws her out." Pierce shouts before getting back into his car and driving off. Rumlow sighs and continues making sure everything from the plane is accounted for.

"Hail Hydra." He mutters under his breath.

***

Washington, 2014

A white light burns; it's so bright you can barely think. The sound of wheels clanking along a marble hallway; the light dims and then there's nothing but pain. As it starts to ease, the white light shines again. You're standing in the middle of a street; gun pointed at Nat before pain shoots through your arm and an explosion sets off the light again. Now it's the Red Room, but it's different: it's darker and colder. You can almost see your breath. Madame B stands next to you as a line of girls stand, ready to charge you. Once again the white light pulses and when it's gone all those young girls are lying on the ground, broken and beaten. As you make your way over to them the light shakes you again; this time accompanied by a shooting pain running through your body, starting from your head. You're plucked from this, standing back in the Red Room: the girls are slightly older, waiting to charge once more, this time being led by a tall man in black leather and a metal arm; his face is completely covered, but his eyes penetrate your mind. There's no white light this time, just flashes of faces as you and the man obliterate anything that comes your way. Bodies are strewn within the Red Room. As you look up, you meet the barrel of a gun, behind which are the blank blue eyes of the strange man.

You wake up in a cold sweat, struggling to breathe, pulling the covers from your chest, feeling like they're suffocating you. Scanning the room to make sure there was no sign of the man from your nightmare, you look down at your hand, shocked to find that you've pulled your gun whilst you woke from your nightmare. Taking Raynor's advice and counting your breaths until they begin to slow, it takes you a little while to come round. The previous night's therapy session had taken its toll on you; while you had made significant progress in pulling memories to the forefront of your mind, you still had trouble deciphering which ones were real, and which were just a horror story.

Getting up to get a drink you notice that it's early, 4am. There was no way you were going to fall back asleep, plus you can't help but keep looking around every corner looking for the strange, metal-armed man. He had been a new addition to your nightmares/memories, only surfacing last year while you and Raynor were particularly focusing on what had happened to you since Budapest. Raynor doesn't think he's real. Her theory is that he's simply an extension of yourself, one you've created to try and separate who you are now from who you were then. "Such bullshit," you scoff. He was real; you just had no idea who he was.

You needed some fresh air to clear your mind, and if possible some company. Looking at the clock again, you decided to get dressed and head out for a run. You knew exactly where to go.

***

Daylight was just beginning to break, giving the smallest illumination to the city. As you run the sight of it helps calm you as you get to where you needed to be. Rogers was already out there, his idea of an early morning jog making him look like a sprinter. There was a small difference this morning: someone was actually trying to keep up with him. It made you laugh slightly, watching this man trying to keep pace with the almost flying Rogers.