Riding Out This Storm

And You Shot, Run for Cover

It felt good to be home again, such as it was. Steve went to the briefing room to see what Wanda had to say. The message was just text, no video, which was more what he was used to anyway. She reported that they had made contact and were addressing the problem. One of the things that Wanda and Scott could do more than the rest of them was be truly helpful in situations. In this case, a dam had been weakened by a recent earthquake. Scott was going to assess the damage using his abilities and Wanda would fix it with hers.

Steve knew that he did some good in the world, but his missions involved a lot more punching of bad guys than actually assisting good guys. Not in the same tangible way. It was great to have the two of them on his team, and was definitely winning them some more allies than they'd had before. Whether or not it would affect their international reputations he didn't know, but it was nice to see Wanda feel good about herself and her powers. He knew more than anyone what she was going through. He, too, had volunteered to be experimented on during a war, and tended to doubt that decision when he wasn't needed.

"How's our girl?" Clint asked.

The relationship between Clint and Wanda was interesting to watch, but Steve supposed it wasn't unlike the one the man had with Nat. Picking up enemies and making them friends/surrogate daughters was apparently his thing. It certainly was working out for him, though he probably regretted how that led him to being separated from his real daughter.

"Making good progress so far, looks like."

"Good, good."

Clint seemed far away, clearly mulling over something. "What is it?" he asked.

"Why did you bring them all here?"

"You aren't glad to see Nat?"

That brought a smile to Clint's face. "Of course I am. But your lady friend was probably better off without us."

"It was Sharon's call," he said with a shrug. "I'll help her however I can. If she wants to send me packing, I'm sure she will."

"Thirteen's a tough one. I'm just concerned," he paused, glancing toward the door. "Seems like everyone might be a little... compromised from all this."

Steve followed his gaze, digesting the idea. He was probably right. Clint usually was. "What would you suggest?"

Folding his arms over his chest, Clint regarded him with a straight face. "Buy a farmhouse."

"I'll see what I can do," he replied, smirking.

Clint let the matter drop and they focused on more pressing things for a little while. Not too much was going on that required his attention, however, so he was soon free to join his friends downstairs. Which shouldn't have made him nervous like it did. Maybe Clint was right. Maybe they should all just take up farming and retire from this. It would make General Ross and the rest of them happy, probably.

******

One of the most stressful parts about being in the war was the way peaceful silence could suddenly be broken into chaos and screaming. You might be holed up someplace and then, boom, there were enemy soldiers and grenades dropping in through your ceiling. Or you might be walking along, thinking about how you really needed to change your socks as soon as possible, and then the man in front of you gets shot out of nowhere, and you have to take cover before they can get you, too.

There wasn't a lot in civilian life that could compare to it, Bucky had found. And even his time as the Soldier wasn't really the same, since it was a rare and botched mission that led to anyone attacking him. If he was out of his compound in Siberia, or any of the other places he'd been kept temporarily, it was time to work and he was in the mindset for it. There were no other concerns except the ones they'd put in his head.

For two long years, he'd been in hiding from everyone. It had been hardest at the beginning, when he hadn't known where to go or what to do in a world very different from the one he only vaguely remembered. There had been a homeless population to follow and emulate for a while. When winter came, he'd found a place to stay that kept him from freezing. He hated being cold these days. Eventually he had enough to get an apartment, to make his life his own again.

But he had never been able to shake the feeling that he was moments away from having his enemies pour through the ceiling. His paranoia was higher on some days than others, but even after seven hundred days without an incident, it was never gone. Maybe it never would be. He was always waiting for someone – his handlers, HYDRA, anyone from the numerous countries around the world whose people he'd killed – to find him and make him pay.

Once, he'd gotten lost from HYDRA for several months. He'd been too confused to make good on his escape. And he never had the chance again because, later, they found out about his relationship with Natalia. Then they'd never let him free. He wore a mask and had several armed men accompanying all of his missions after that. They were unwilling to give up their valuable weapon.

Even though the news was full of what happened to HYDRA, of how it was dismantled and in chaos, he could never shake the idea that they might find him. When what he feared finally happened, it was hardly a relief to see Captain America instead of nameless goons – they'd just sent someone powerful enough to stop him. That didn't turn out to be the case, but he was still in danger, and always would be. It's why he wanted to sleep after the whole thing with Zemo was over and T'Challa gave him the opportunity. Because he thought he would never have a chance at a normal life.

He didn't mind being woken up to help his friends, especially if people were killing in his name. Treating his life like it was some kind of audition. That was something he needed to stop and would do whatever he could. The Winter Soldier was nothing to aspire to – how could that woman, who would know more about what went into making him than most, not understand that? HYDRA had broken him down until he was just a very skilled tool. No regular person could compare to that, no matter how well-trained. Unless they were enhanced in some way, of course.

But none of the men they'd encountered so far seemed to be anything out of the ordinary. They were less able to complete the missions he had, and were sloppier. That made him hope to get this over with quickly, and maybe it would be a lesson to others who might try to copy him in the future.

And then what? Sleep again? That was the plan. At least, until he'd spent two days basically quarantined with Natalia. It was the first time in as long as he could remember where he'd felt like he didn't have to hide who he was. She understood him in a way that maybe no one else ever could. It wasn't their previous relationship, though that probably helped. The same reasons they'd been drawn together then were true now. They both knew what it was like to be judged, every aspect quantified, and measured by nothing except effectiveness. But now they had more than that – how to recover and reclaim yourself.

So. Should he stay awake if it meant staying with Natalia? Of course, he shouldn't assume she planned to remain here. She'd had her own life elsewhere for at least a few months. Though she'd said enough to make it sound like she wasn't altogether happy with it, she might be planning on returning to it. If so, he wasn't going to ask her to stay. She should do whatever made her happy, and he was still a liability.

When they arrived at Steve's hideout, they had been greeted by Barton, whom he still owed a favor. He might have brought it up had Natalia not run over to the man in question, delighted to see him. It had been made clear to him that Barton had a wife and kids, so he knew there wasn't anything more to their relationship than friendship. That did little to quell the pang of jealousy that shot through him at the sight, though.

More concerning was how Sam flirted with her. He knew some of the story there, from Steve. But he was thinking maybe there was more to it than Steve had noticed, or at least mentioned. They were clearly fond of each other and, even though he really liked Sam, he couldn't help but think dejectedly that maybe going to sleep was still the best plan.