Chapter Text
Tony Stark never thought much of Everett Ross: not before he became the Head of the Accords Council, not after. The social cycles they activated in were just too different: a CIA agent had next to nothing in common with a billionaire-playboy-philanthropist-slash-engineer-inventor. But then the Accords happened and they had to work on them together. The man turned out to be not so bad: witty, sarcastic… and he didn’t dwarf Tony out, because the billionaire was actually the taller one for a change.
The first B.A.R.F. session was scheduled on Monday, but they had to move it a couple of days further this week due to… what was it? Oh, yeah, an internal investigation.
Tony was livid.
In their ever changing world soulmates were always considered an epitome of stability – you do not doubt God’s wishes. If you were linked with somebody, it was till death do us part. But there also were hopeless cases, tragic cases… and cases that were considered unique.
In normal circumstances, what were the odds of them meeting, Bucky being born in 1917? Without the serum and cryogenic sleep, if they did meet someday, Barnes would have been a very old man, and, just to spice it up, another bombshell - it was not Barnes he was bonded to, but a soviet one-armed master assassin with a taste for classic literature and knives, who wasn’t even real… talk about go big or go home.
But they still asked him: was he sure? Maybe he made a mistake? Maybe he only thought he felt the things he felt? The nerve of these people…
President of the Accords Council Ross was adamant, however. Or they sort out their differences now, or… something bad will happen. He didn’t elaborate what, exactly, but definitely bad. The threats fell to deaf ears, because Everett just didn’t have it in him to look menacing, so Tony hadn’t let himself be intimidated… and made mental notes to consult with Pepper about the possibility of a plan B.
James is silent. Tony watches him disassemble, assemble and disassemble his favorite handguns, sharpen his knives using an old fashioned whetstone they found in Howard’s old workshop at the mansion, study old blueprints… no, the former Fist of Hydra wasn’t planning to off somebody. In their own way, these almost ritualistic actions were helping him cope.
Where Tony tinkered, James planned and prepared...
This evening they would be sitting in the same room as Steven fucking Rogers, Nat and Sam, with Rhodey standing guard, President Ross and Director Nick Fury a video call away. Strange would also be present – for medical and magical advice. The engineer was there simply as a B.A.R.F. operator, because in the time period they were all oh so interested in he was a kid, therefor, not useful…
So Tony went to that conference room, set up the equipment, instructed Friday. He won’t be petty, he will comply… and while he was leading this dog and pony show, his baby girl would be trashing what still remained of SHIELD servers, eradicating anything related to him, to James, to them both and their bond. No, ‘petty’ wasn’t what he felt at all – ‘out for blood’ was far more accurate…
“Все будет хорошо, Антоша (All will be alright, Antosha),” familiar hands, one colder than the other, both in fingerless leather gloves, carefully embraced him from behind. “Мы прорвемся (We will survive this).”
“Oh, sugarplum, why are you so sweet? Comforting me so nicely…” Tony smiled, leaning into his Soldier’s chest. “Watch your six any day…”
The embrace around him tightened protectively, while warm lips kissed the spiky strands on the crown of his head.
“Liked that, beautiful…”
“Are you really ready to let people into your head?”
“No… and it is the exact opposite, solntse moyo (sun of mine), because it would be me dumping my memories on them.”
“Oh, haven’t thought about it from this perspective… want to give B.A.R.F. a test drive while we still have a modicum of privacy?”
“… something neutral?”
“Nah… let’s make it something fun instead!”
James kissed his hair again, and he could hear the smile in his voice when the assassin said in that joking/not joking manner:
“Your wish is my command… now bring me those glasses and let us get comfortable.”
“Bossy man… but because I love you, I will comply.”
So if that earned him a playful slap on the backside, it was no one’s business…
***
When James said he remembered everything that fateful day in the bunker, turned out he wasn’t kidding. The man’s memory was like a Venus’s flytrap: once something caught his eye, the image of it would be trapped there forever. One third of the time such a feat could be considered a blessing, the other two thirds of the time, though, it was a curse.
“I remember wanting to show you how people celebrate New Year on the Red Square in Moscow. You never seemed to do any festive activities at home, when you were little,” said James, trying the virtual reality glasses on for size.
Tony was very proud of this particular invention; it not only performed the tasks it was designed for, but also looked stylish. James wearing them looked stylish: with his hair down and that ever present five o’clock shadow, grey-blue eyes looking at him over those modified black lenses… who would’ve thought teashades were his thing?
“We did have the Christmas Ball every year…”
“Not that kind of ‘festive’.”
“Well, what can I say… social status was important back in the day. Are you going to show me now?”
“I would like to. It was a rare occasion - to be sent to Moscow, especially this close to the end of the year. I was given a time frame of seven days to complete my mission… I finished it in two and had more than enough time to wander,” the Soldier smiled, albeit sadly. “The last relatively peaceful winter of 1990-1991…”
A pang of old pain in the now cauterized wound was expected, so Tony didn’t pay it much thought.
“It just means that they knew dear old Dad made his important breakthrough and were waiting for the perfect moment,” Tony sighed and made himself comfortable on the couch cushions by his soulmate’s side. “You know, I could have been in the car that night. They were on their way to some gala… mother invited me to come too, but I was at MIT working on DUM-E’s code, stoned to the gills… glorious days! Let’s not repeat them again.”
“I should have been with you,” James paused. “But it seems that you can’t see soulmate related dreams while in cryo-sleep.”
“Well, technically, it isn’t even sleep, so… there was nothing you could have done to change… you know, I thought you ditched me at first, but when I read about how rejection affects soul marks (a very dubious article, let me tell you) and never saw any of the signs on mine I started thinking you died on me… or are lying in a coma somewhere, because the mark never showed signs of fading either,” Tony smiled, somewhat sheepishly. “Tried to find you, even wrote a search algorithm based on the few pieces of information I had.”
“Oh?” now James sounded intrigued. “Did it work?”
“Everything I make works, Snowflake, one way or another…”
“Thought so…”
“Truth be told, the first thing I tried tracking were weapon shipments. Backfired on me rather spectacularly… Then I remembered the knives you used. Turned out they were rather unique. Almost found you a couple of times! But I wasn’t Ironman, and there is only so much you can do with money and influence.”
“… and after?”
“I gave up… and gave in.”
“Not anymore.”
“Yeah, so… New Year in Moscow?”
James pretended he didn’t recognize this little question as a hint at changing the topic, and adjusted the glasses with what should have been a theatrical gesture.
“Remember Yuri Gagarin, the first man in space, and his famous phrase, solnyshko?”
Tony stilled, radiating amusement and… bafflement? There was a chance, albeit a small one, that he understood wrong… and his Soldier wasn’t prompting him to speak Russian. Well, challenge accepted!
“Em… poehali (Let’s go)?”
The master assassin nodded in agreement, adding with a ready smile:
“И махнул рукой (and waved his hand)…”
When Steve and the others finally arrived they were greeted with beautiful snowy landscapes of the former USSR capital, alight with Christmas lights and laughter, joy and genuine cheer. The Captain stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide in surprise and astonishment. Even Nat showed some degree of fascination – after all said and done, it was her homeland and she still missed it. Sam just watched slack jawed: he knew Stark was good with tech, but to think he was this good…
Colonel Rhodes just smirked.
“I gather, the equipment is ready, Tones?”
“Hey there, Rhodey-bear! Look at what we did! Isn’t it great?” Tony was all smiles and barely contained energy. Small white flakes of snow danced around him like a bunch of fireflies.
“Yeah, it is. But what is it?”
“Just a New Year I missed. James saved it for me.”
“Oh, good, but you should go there for real next time. Maybe bring back some oversized stuffed animals…”
“They don’t sell those in vending stalls in Russia, Colonel Rhodes, only in toy stores. It is mostly food, snacks and hot drinks. And by ‘hot’ I don’t mean ‘high degree alcohol’.”
“Even better! And don’t you think I don’t know how you stole your own plane to take off who knows where?”
Tony didn’t even flinch, poker-face perfect. His eyes, though, not obscured by red shades, were alight with laughter giving him away almost instantly.
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Yeah right…”
“Better ring those numbers, jelly bean, because you are getting awfully smart on me all of a sudden… need something to keep you busy!”
“If you say so,” Rhodes still wore that smirk, but when turned to the engineer it became a lot more good-natured. “Friday, if you please…”
“With pleasure, Colonel” chirped the AI.
Rhodes, in the meantime, gestured towards the remaining empty chairs.
“Take your seats, ladies and gentlemen! I have a feeling it would take a awhile to shuffle through it all…”
They needed a very specific set of memories, which weren’t that many to begin with. James didn’t correct him, though. Better to leave the enemy guessing…
Ross answered the call almost immediately. Fury made them wait. The Director of SHIELD hadn’t changed much since the last time they saw each other: eyepatch, leather cape, scowl - all firmly in place.
“I thought you wanted to save your friend, Captain Rogers. Guess, I thought wrong…”
“With all due respect, Director, what exactly you intended to do with Sargent Barnes, once he was in your custody?” Everett Ross went straight for the jugular. Tony’s respect for the tiny man grew.
“I believe that doesn’t concern you, President. It is a private matter.”
“Yes, it is, which is precisely why we’re here. I’ll have to ask again: what were you planning to do?”
“Sargent Barnes, in his current state, is a danger to society. We have all the necessary facilities to contain and help him. Including qualified psychological assistance.”
“It’s not Barnes you want to contain, but the Hydra assassin.”
“No, him we were planning to destroy.”
“Before or after you interrogate the Hell out of my soulmate, Nick?”
If looks could kill... well, he was lucky they couldn’t. James’s answering glare, directed at Fury, was just as potent.
“Stark.”
“Director.”
“For a genius you sure are easy to fool, boy.”
“Am I now? For the record, have you… even for the slightest moment… considered this option to be true?”
“No,” judging by how Director Fury’s face shifted into what Tony would have called a ‘resting poker face’, the spy sensed that he made a bet on the losing horse and now came the time to explain where the money went. “Because it’s impossible.”
James’s stare somehow got even colder. Unforgivable winter blizzards raged in those eyes, more blue than grey, whispering a long tale of cruelty and violence. A caged wolf, having had a taste of freedom, lost the desire to view the world through a set of bars ever again.
“… I could still finish it. Free of charge,” again that enigmatic joking/not joking tone, but Tony could bet his entire fortune on the ‘not joking’ half… and win.
“I won’t let you!”
“…sit down, Captain Rogers.”
“Like hell I will! He is openly threatening to murder people!”
“When I want to murder someone, I don’t waste time on threats. Ask Natalia, she knows what I mean…”
Nat, obviously, also sensed the ‘not joking’ vibes, because she looked a bit paler than usual. That surprisingly shut Rogers up. Apparently, the image of the Black Widow Natalia built here held no room for fear.
“Due to unique circumstances,” President Ross took the reins of the conversation in his hands once more. “And thanks to Doctor Stark’s unique technology, we have a unique opportunity to clarify any rising questions, including those that trouble Mister Rogers the most. Doctor Stark’s AI, Friday, will also cross-reference the information we’ll get from Sargent Barnes’s memories with the information we already possess to verify if it’s reliable enough. Shall we begin?”
There were no objections, so Tony put on his business face, pulled out the necessary information from the Files and with Friday’s help projected his findings in holographic form over the table.
“Hydra scientists called it ‘the Anomaly’ and the first mentioning of this ‘phenomenon’ appeared in the records they kept so meticulously around the early 1970s,” the engineer maintained a professional tone. “My mark fully appeared when I turned three, so it makes sense… it’s on my wrist for those who don’t know, so I needed time to grow into it. James must have gotten his when I was born, so now Snowflake has to travel back more than 45 years to that exact moment…”
The Soldier closed his eyes behind the dark lenses and concentrated, shuffling his memories like a deck of cards until he found what he was looking for…
The festive wintery cityscape faded into nothingness, and suddenly they found themselves in the middle of the desert. The night sky, inky black, was filled with stars bright enough to fascinate even the most rational of men. A small camp, hiding from the wind between two giant boulders, almost went unnoticed.
James sat there in his full Winter Soldier gear, save for the mask, trying to get sand out of his gun with little success, face blank, eyes dull. He paused in his methodical motions only to save his dinner (hot damn…is that a rat?!) from burning only to return to his monotonous work right after…
When at some moment he stopped moving altogether, it was a jarring contrast. Putting the now assembled gun aside, the man went eerily still as if listening to something far, far away. The light from the campfire danced on the plates of his metal arm: no star, no mark… empty. But then somewhere in the depths of the universe a puzzle piece fell into place…and that earlier statement was no longer true.
Tony always knew that MIT ruined his handwriting (more often than not you had to be fast in your note-taking which did little for finesse), but witnessing his own messy scrawl being engraved by an invisible force in such a beautiful piece of machinery that was James’s old arm felt oddly like desecrating a temple. And the mark… the mark read ‘Barnes?’.
The scenery changed again, throwing them into what looked like a laboratory, where people in white coats poked and probed at the silently sitting Soldier, panicked and angry. Someone makes a call, and an officer comes in, red Hydra skull-headed octopus adorning his shoulder. Tony is starting to get a bad feeling…
…he hates it when he’s right.
The officer takes a few moments to observe, to take the Soldier in, as if assessing a prized possession for damage. He examines the arm too…
A backhand comes seemingly out of nowhere, connecting with the left side of the Soldier’s face, painting it red from a split lip.
“Тебе известно, что означает эта метка? (Do you know the meaning of this mark?)”
“Нет (No).”
Another backhand, with more force this time. It actually makes James’s head turn a bit to the side. Tony feels sick.
“Ты знаешь, что означает эта метка? (Do you know the meaning of this mark?)”
“Нет (No).”
A punch this time, delivered to the stomach. That elicited a grunt.
“Меня предупреждали о тебе (I was warned about you). Думаешь, что самый умный здесь (You think, you are the smartest one here). Спрашиваю в последний раз: ты знаешь, что означает эта метка? (I will ask one last time: do you know the meaning of this mark?)”
James’s answer was the same.
“Нет (No).”
The officer smiled… and waved to the guards that stood by the entrance, weapons ready.
“На повторную калибровку его (Send him to recalibration). И уберите эту дрянь (And get this filth off)…”
The setting around them shifted again.
The Soldier dressed in civilian clothes this time was standing in front of a majestic looking old building. The plaque beside the big wooden doors read: “Публичная библиотека им. М. Ломоносова (M. Lomonosov public library)”. James looked thoughtful, as if calculating something in his mind, before entering. Several hours later, he all but ran out of there, eyes wide and haunted, filled with a mix of wonder and bewilderment. It was all gone when the handlers arrived to pick him up, though… but Tony had a strange feeling that this unsanctioned visit to the library was the first among many rebellious actions they were about to witness.
“James must have closed the bond on his end, because I haven’t felt a peep from him until the age of six. He was… angry.”
“Do you want to know why?” the Soldier’s voice was quiet.
“I’ve always wondered.”
“It is about the dog.”
That made him freeze, mind working around the new puzzle-piece, until it clicked, because, of course, ‘six’ and ‘dog’ had to lead to that…
“Still want to know, so… lay it on me, Snowflake!”
James did… and he didn’t pull his punches.
***
It felt strange to remember and not participate, to watch himself live through those situations again… this time from the side. Strange, albeit not unwelcome. The books on psychology he found himself reading recently called it therapy by exposure.
Tony might have felt him at the age of six, but that doesn’t mean the Soldier hadn’t visited him before that: again mostly by accident in those few hours of sleep he was allowed to have.
He kept to the shadows mostly, watching the life of the Stark household from a distance. The Soldier saw how Maria Stark from a beautiful radiant woman transformed into an indifferent doll with a carefully masked drug addiction, saw how Howard Stark, haunted with the ghost of Captain America and his own genius, turned into an abusive father and a house tyrant… and saw the little boy with a foreign word on his wrist. Watching him, following him, was, perhaps, the most interesting thing there…
He could say they built that robot dog together. Little Antonio (his mother often spoke with him in Italian, her mother-tongue) somehow subconsciously knew what pieces to pick, what metals to use for the ‘skeleton’, what – for the ‘muscles’ and ‘joints’, what bits to combine to create working inner electronics. James offered advice sometimes if the problem was related to areas he had profound knowledge in, murmuring quietly in Russian, albeit knowing the boy won’t hear, won’t understand… but the boy surprised him each time by hearing him without actually hearing. B.A.R.F. pictured them together, huddled over the body of a half built robot-pup: a dark semi-transparent figure clad in black leather and a mask and a small boyish one with a mop of unruly black curls dressed in ‘Captain America’-themed pajamas.
Somewhere in the room Steve Rogers made a strangled sound, trying to hold the sob in. The man was starting to understand what exactly he was trying to destroy, but, like with most of his mistakes, it dawned on him after the actual damage had been done.
“How interesting,” drawled Doctor Strange from his seat. “For you two to have soul dreams so early… your bond must be strong.”
“Isn’t it a common thing?” Tony was curious; he knew his fair share about soulmates (did his research when James disappeared), but there were always more mystic mambo-jumbo about them than solid facts. Maybe magicians saw the concept from a different angle?
“No, Mister Stark, it is quite rare, because it requires a very high level of compatibility.”
“Oh…”
“You can count yourself lucky.”
The memory wasn’t over, however. They built the dog, and little Antonio, feeling the weight of Captain America’s shield on his little shoulders already, ran to his father to show it, only to be shouted at (Maria, get him out of here! I’m busy, can’t you see?!), then dismissed. It hadn’t ended there, though, not today. Howard payed his son a visit later that evening, half a bottle of expensive liquid courage already consumed…
James was in the Siberian forest, running laps, when it hit him… and hit him hard. While his physical body was busy dodging a tree, his spirit was literally thrown across the globe into a familiar bedroom, because little Antonio was distressed, because he needed him…
The moment Howard hit his son for the first time (and B.A.R.F. showed not just the sad demise of the robotic puppy, but also what happened after) he personally signed himself a death wish – that much was clear to all parties present.
James remembered that feeling of all consuming rage all too well…
The Soldier was a creature of winter and pain, he was often told, a ghost stalking the shadows, silent and deadly. Even his wrath had an icy quality to it… or so they made him believe. Turns out they were right.
His spirit self’s eyes were blazing neon-blue, skin – unnaturally white and cracked in places, resembling a broken and glued together ceramic cup, with an eerie bluish-white glow seeping through from inside, shoulder length hair fading to greyish-white. Even his features not hidden by the mask sharpened somehow, changed…
He looked almost like a White Walker from the ‘Game of Thrones’ series, perhaps, a bit more handsome, though, and less horned.
“Is that normal?” asked Sam in a loud whisper. Strange just shrugged, saying:
“The world of finer energies functions according to a set of laws that would seem a bunch of nonsense from our point of view and things there are often not what they appear at first glance. It would have been interesting to observe the original Mister Barnes’s soul – just to settle any lingering doubts. In the matters of the spirit, I can most certainly assure you, that there are no two souls alike.”
“And if a man has a split-personality disorder?” it was Colonel Rhodes who asked. Well, being called crazy wasn’t new. And he was… in a way.
“There would have been two of them – the spirit world is simple like that.”
“So Bucky… is really dead?”
“Yes… and no. If he had disappeared completely, Mister Barnes’s spirit form would be different,” the Sorcerer Supreme frowned. “It would seem… Hydra somehow managed to carve out what made this man ‘Bucky of the Howling Commandoes’, leaving the essence of James Buchanan Barnes intact and untouched, before filling this artificial void with… something else. Monstrous, surely, yet clever…”
Tony said nothing, but the genius’s knee was touching his under the table, a warm soothing presence. Colonel Rhodes cleared his throat.
“Is this enough evidence for you? If not, I propose we take a break.”
After a sequence of nods, the engineer flayed his hands in a parody for a grand gesture.
“Friday, baby girl?”
“Yes, Boss?”
“Wrap it up.”
***
They ordered cheeseburgers.
While Tony munched on those, James busied himself in the common kitchen… yes, that one. The room had been remodeled and refurnished. More sophisticated cooking appliances were also replaced. If it was high-tech before The Incident (the epic super-soldier show down had a name now), this time around Tony went for a more homey look… and built a semi-sentient toaster. James didn’t mind. He rather enjoyed when the little guy got creative.
“Are you in the mood for some experiments, Antosha?”
The genius paused, the second cheeseburger half way to his mouth.
“You want to feed me something strange looking again, sugarplum?”
“Maybe. Ever heard about ‘makarony po-flotski’?”
Fri obviously translated the unfamiliar term (his sunshine rarely went without an earpiece these days; partly due to security measures, but mostly because he wanted James to be comfortable speaking whatever language he wanted), and judging by the slightly confused expression he got lost somewhere along the way.
“Military food?”
“Not quite. A Russian dish said to have originated from the times of the late XIX - early XX century Imperial Navy. There is no concrete information; perhaps, it is even older. Practical, easy to make, yet satisfying, albeit lacks the restaurant finesse… like your cheeseburger.”
“Oh?” Tony was intrigued, shifting closer, leaving his still untouched burger behind. “How do you make it?”
“You are Italian, yes? May be offended by my disregard for pasta…” said the Soldier, while shuffling through the cabinets pulling out a big pot, a medium sized pan, some spices, salt and pepper, a bottle of sunflower oil…
“By blood only. I grew up in New York. Also there’s the fact that mom never cooked: it was always Ana, our house keeper, and when she passed away it was always Jarvis, our butler.”
“I remember them…good people, took care of you.”
“As much, as they could, anyway. After boarding school my teenage angst burned super nova levels of bright which caused me to become one hell of a ‘troubled youth’…”
“That I remember too… what was the name of that boy?”
“Oh shush! And his name was Ty… but nothing happened! You’ve ruined me for everybody else anyway…”
“Did I now?” the Soldier felt… extremely satisfied. Like after performing a challenging shot, but different somehow.
“Have you seen yourself, Snowflake? You’re gorgeous! Never mind sexy in all the right ways… I learned I’m into men too, after I watched you do that ‘murder-strut’ thing.”
“…murder-strut?”
“Well, you know… when you walk with intent… like this…” Tony moved back towards the entrance before trying to imitate something resembling a mix of a prowl and a fashion model style podium walk with a heavy dose of swagger… and nearly toppling over after two steps. “Damn! This is harder than it looks…”
James started laughing; couldn’t hold it in. Having fun still was a rather foreign concept, but how could it be anything else? His honest to god full body laugh startled Antosha at first, but soon they were both at it, cooking forgotten. Felt strangely liberating…
“Do you still like to dance?” honey-brown stared at him, warm and mischievous.
“You inviting me, doll?”
“Yeah, soldier-boy, show me what you’ve got…”
That’s how Steve found them: twirling around the dining area of the kitchen to the hot beats of Brazilian tango.
***
The last time Tony danced was in… boarding school? Yes, probably, then. He was always made to play the ‘girl’ part during those lessons, because he was by far the smallest one out of all the attending students. Maybe that’s why, when James went down on one knee in front of him, reaching out in an unmistakably sensual gesture, the boy in him recognized the pose instantly…
Tango.
It used to always infuriate him: being the ‘girl’, being disregarded and underestimated, made him want to jump over his head. With James, though, he found he didn’t mind. The notion of soulmates was used as an excuse for far too many things, sometimes completely ignoring the people that made up the two halves that were to form a whole. James was a master assassin first, just like he had been a genius engineer first – underestimating anything wasn’t in their nature. Besides his Soldier already saw him at his worst and weakest… and let himself be seen at his worst and weakest in return.
Turns out, Hydra weapons have nightmares too…
Where Tony dreamt about drowning, space and fields of dead bodies in a distinctive red haze, James’s dreams were filled with electricity, ice and ever consuming helplessness that came after the Words.
They tell me to kill you, Antosha… and no matter how much I thrash and scream and fight them… all I can do is obey…
But Tony believed in him regardless, because he broke the programming once, for Steve… not ‘Captain America’ Steve, but the Steve from Before. He had more than enough incentive to break it again…
For now, though… they will dance.
“They might not teach cooking in assassin school, but they sure do teach dancing… standard ballroom?”
“Among other things. The Red Room, for example, was posing for a ballet studio.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. The girls were taught etiquette, table manners, various styles of dance, acting, a set of foreign languages, a number of sciences and literatures…not unlike the school you were in, except for one detail: after the usual lessons were over, they were sent to me… and I was very strict, because failure was not an option.”
“Was Nat really the best?”
“Yes. That is why she managed to graduate…” James paused. “I was never told of the cost the girls had to pay to do so, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“For Black Widows to be efficient in the field, there must not be any attachments. That means, no children.”
Tony was smart. He put two and two together.
“… It explains a lot of things, actually.”
“Hm?”
“Clint is married, did you know? Has three kids, and Nat often stays with his family, at their farm in Iowa… which I wasn’t supposed to know about.”
“It is he who brought her to SHIELD, yes?”
“I think so.”
“That is why they are such a good team. If she should ever choose between SHIELD and him, SHIELD would be at a big disadvantage. Barton would not defect, though...”
“Why do you think so?”
“The roots of his loyalty run deep. At some point in the past, Nickolas Fury was the one who did the same for him.”
“…I don’t blame any of them, you know. Not really. They had their orders, obviously… but it still stings. I made him that bowstring…”
“Ah…”
“Couldn’t rip through it, right? That was me.”
“The hair tie is of similar material?”
“Better.”
The music changed, signaling the end of one song and the beginning of another. James led him through a series of turns and lifts, allowing Tony to do some fancy legwork of his own before dipping him…
… and that’s when they saw Steve hovering there, in the doorway, looking both quizzical and flustered at the same time.
“I’m… sorry? For interrupting… never knew you could dance, Tony… especially, like that…”
“Benefits of staying at a fancy-ass boarding school for rich kids for two years, what can I say… you need something?”
“No… I mean, yes…I wanted to apologize… for everything.”
Talk about awkward…
James carefully lifted him back up, before setting him upright; the Soldier’s hand a warm grounding weight on the small of his back.
“Oh… that’s nice, but… I don’t really do the ‘forgive and forget’ thing…”
“I know, you understand why I did it, so… why? You are a good man, Tony! I know you are! And I admit I made a mistake… and had to pay for it. Why won’t you just… let it go? So we could be a team again, a family, like before.”
For a second there Tony was rendered speechless. James’s expression remained neutral, but the bond between them radiated an emotional equivalent of unimpressed. When he gathered his wits a few moments later, his voice was level and his words measured:
“Steve, it won’t ever be ‘like before’, because I don’t trust you ‘like before’. We never had our ‘till the end of the line’ moment, because from the very first seconds you saw me, I was already labeled as someone who won’t lay himself on a barbed wire to help others cross. I had to nearly die in that wormhole to change your view of me for the better. I still wasn’t close to being worthy, though, just barely tolerable. Then Ultron happened… and I switched categories again: from spoiled-rich-boy-Tony to dangerous-genius-who-can’t-be-trusted-with-information-Tony, because not even God knows what he’ll do! For the record, that fight in the bunker could have been avoided altogether, if I had time to process the news that my parents were killed by Hydra. But you didn’t tell me… and here we are.”
“… is there anything I can do to fix this?”
“We are still colleagues, Steve, but that’s all we’ll be. SHIELD still has a five year contract with Stark Industries, so I will still be in charge of your gear and weapon design, but once that ends… I don’t think SI would be taking another. I would rather build artificial limbs for veterans and disabled children instead.”
“I… see.”
“But we have a Mad Titan on his way, hunting for the so called Infinity Stones (I’ve spoken to Brucie-bear, don’t look so surprised; the official briefing for the UN won’t be ready for another few days, so the world is still in the dark), so peaceful life in retirement will have to remain a dream until we beat him. This fight will be unlike any other, Steve. Focus on that.”
***
Thursday morning greeted the billionaire-former-playboy-philanthropist with a mouthwatering smell of fresh waffles and coffee. That actually made him pause. Typical American breakfasts weren’t really James’s style, his main argument against them being: how could you feel full from a bowl of cereal and a glass of juice? If you think about it, how indeed…
So Tony crept into their workshop kitchenette, ready for anything, including little pink elephants, only to find none other than Sam Wilson, sitting across from James at their small dining table, cradling a steaming Hulk themed mug in his arms. The man looked… lost.
“Good morning, solnyshko,” the Soldier left his seat only to greet him with an affectionate kiss on the tip of his nose, effectively reducing the billionaire to a pool of bubbly goo… he might have purred.
Sam masked a knowing smile behind a gulp of coffee. Bastard…
“Hi, Tony! Sleep well?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe – I impersonated a log… might have offended Snowflake a bit, because I just know he had something grand planned for us. But instead of having hot kinky sex with my fella, I stayed up all night designing new arrows for Hawkass… Not that I’m not happy to see you, Birdbrain 2.0, but you’re not the most common sight around here, so… what gives?”
James just shook his head, amused, and went to arrange something breakfast-ish for Tony. The engineer parked his pajama clad bottom on the still warm chair cushion, making grabby hands towards the coffee pot. Sam, bless his kind soul, poured him a mug… yep, the red and gold one, with ‘I love Ironman’ written on the side.
“Actually, I’m here to ask for advice. Thought that, maybe, James could help me with a patient of mine. You see, I started working as a counselor for the VA again, got myself a transfer from the center in DC to one of the local ones. Turns out they have been looking for a decent specialist for years,” Sam took a sip of his coffee. “There is this guy. His sister brought him for therapy a couple of weeks ago. At first we thought it was just the language barrier, the guy being Russian and all, but it’s not that he doesn’t talk at group sessions (such things take time), but later I learned that he doesn’t talk to anyone… at all. So I started digging: called his sister, talked to her, found his medical records, tried talking to the man myself, and you can probably guess how well that went. The center specializes in PTSD treatment, one of the best in the state, so they brought him here, hoped that here he would get help. Not to say that therapists in Russia are bad at what they do, but something happened… something that they couldn’t pull him out from. So I asked James for help...”
“You want him to talk to the guy?”
“Yeah. Maybe he will notice something that we all missed.”
“Oh…”
“What is his name?” it seems, the Soldier has made a decision.
“Arseniy Kotov.”
“Oh, a cat person!”
Sam shot him a questioning look to which Tony smiled.
“Fri usually translates for me, and ‘kot’ is a Russian word for ‘cat’. Kinda funny.”
“If you say so…”
James drank his tea looking thoughtful.
“You want me to accompany you to the center to look at him? And nothing else?”
“Looking would be a good start,” Sam nodded. “Have you been to a VA center before?”
“No.”
“Then you should probably be prepared to see a lot of traumatized people: psychological trauma, physical trauma, more often than not a mix of both. Iraq, Afghanistan, believe it or not Vietnam…”
“World War II?”
“No, although I’ve seen some of them visit: to talk, to share their life experience.”
“Do you want to do it today?”
“If you don’t have other plans, any help would be much appreciated, because at this point… I honestly don’t know what to do.”
James just nodded, before looking up to Tony in silent question as if asking permission. Tony gave him an encouraging smile.
“You have a life too, James. Go for it! And be careful… I don’t want to lose you again.”
***
The ride to the center had been mostly silent. Sam was in the driver’s seat. The Soldier surveyed the slowly changing scenery from the seat beside him. Once they reached the city, time stopped… in some places almost literally.
Morning traffic: a horrifying enemy of all those ‘office plankton’ types… and a valuable ally, if you are in the mood to hunt some ‘crab’.
James smirked. Sam eyed him cautiously.
“Do I need to know?”
“You’ll sleep better, if you didn’t…”
That startled a somewhat awkward laugh out of the Falcon.
“Okay…can I ask you something?”
“What do you want to know?”
“Is there a difference: between our military and the Russian one? The basics are essentially the same everywhere, but I have a feeling that I’m missing something… possibly something important.”
“There is always a difference, Mister Wilson…”
“Sam is fine.”
“…Sam. The mentality is different, for one. Russia is a big country, so is the USA, but this land has an ocean to protect it. Russian people do not have such a luxury, never had, so they fight: against external enemies, internal enemies, spiritual downfall, harsh climate conditions and against themselves. This builds up character,” James paused. “Not always in a good way… that is why Hydra was able to find asylum within the USSR military structure so easily.”
“You mean… they knew?”
“Some did. The Party Heads thought they were using Hydra to gain an advantage in the Cold War, while in reality it was Hydra who was using them. The majority of the soldiers and lower rank officers I saw didn’t even question what were they guarding. Those who questioned tended to disappear.”
“… you saw that happen.”
“Yes. It was me, who had to kill them in the end. I will never forget the first one. I doubt you will like this story, though.”
Sam gave him a wry smile.
“Counselor, remember?”
“It was before Tony. Ten or fifteen years of waiting for my sunshine to be born into this world. When they broke Barnes… there wasn’t much human left afterwards. I was… feral. Killed anyone who approached the cage they kept me in: scientists, technicians, soldiers. Soon guarding my cage was considered the worst punishment around the base. Until Sergey… he was kind: sneaked in treats, hummed songs or recited poetry by heart in a whispering manner while standing guard, talked about his family, the books he read, places he’d seen… he pulled me from the edge. A nineteen year old boy, he wasn’t very subtle… didn’t know how to be.”
“Someone saw him?”
“Yes. Many thought it was funny at first, but later, when it became obvious that I followed his orders better than those of my appointed handler, he vanished… only to be thrown into my cage several days later more resembling a bloody piece of meat than a man: no arms, no legs, no eyes, no tongue, injured and abused. But he still kept whispering, knowing I’ll understand… Все хорошо (It’s okay)… Ты не сделал ничего плохого (You did nothing wrong)…”
“And here I thought I couldn’t possibly hate Hydra more than I already do…”
“They wanted a monster. They got what they wished for.” The Soldier’s eyes turned sharp. “I told you this not to evoke pity, Sam. Arseniy Kotov does not want pity either. My sunshine would say ‘no kiddy gloves’, because ‘broken’ does not mean ‘sick’.”
“Huh… Tony is a wise man… surprisingly.”
“He hides it well.”
“The problem is… we don’t even know how deep the fractures are!”
“If there are any at all…”
Sam stilled.
“You think it may not be PTSD?!”
“What brought him in your care in the first place is his ‘strange’ behavior. It could be anything… including PTSD.”
***
Sam was scared. The man who jumped out of planes on a regular basis should have a solid core… should have, but didn’t.
Sam was scared: of the Soldier and a little bit of James, but fought it viciously, because you do not show your fear in front of a wild animal. In truth, the animal in him usually doesn’t care… it attacked regardless stinks its prey of fear or not.
“Do not go to the center yet. Let us have a cup of coffee somewhere… safe.”
“I look like I’ve seen a ghost, don’t I?”
“Yes, you do,” James resumed his people watching activities. “Better than the last psychiatrist I was assigned to: that woman ran screaming.”
“You did it on purpose, didn’t you…”
“I can fake any level of sanity or insanity I want. And she was digging for blackmail. Can’t have that, can we…”
Sam just shook his head and pulled over at the nearest Starbucks. The coffee he brought back was refreshingly awful.
The VA center resembled a hybrid of a field hospital and a mental institution. Some of the local inhabitants lacked an arm, some – a leg, some – both legs and wheeled around on wheelchairs. The majority – young and gaunt and miserable, left to wander in a black tunnel with no light on other end. Most of them wore soul marks, black letters looking like they were gnawed at by some starved beast… signs of rejection.
Angels in nurse uniforms with tired smiles tried to ease the darkness ruling this place. They were fighting a losing battle.
Sam was greeted with smiles and small talk. James shocked the apathy out of anybody who dared to approach by his presence alone. Sargent James Barnes, it seems, after all the hearings, interviews and public statements, had a certain reputation in the veteran community, so the assassin soon found himself sitting on a yoga mat in front of a small crowd of former soldiers, blue Henley-shirt off, metal arm in the open, the tank top doing almost nothing to hide the scars…
They shared stories: about the wars they fought, about the friends they lost. Funny stories were told too, always followed by animated gestures and loud sound effects. Tears and laughter mixed together, easing the general gloom a bit. James promised to visit at least once a week: not because it would boost the image of the Avengers a bit due to positive press, but because he had a strong suspicion that there was no one left to care.
His sunshine would be proud.
“That was… unexpected,” judging from the tone of voice Sam was thrilled. “You were awesome!”
“I was a sniper before and a Sargent before that, so I know where to look to see certain things. They needed to remember they were still alive and that there are long years of life still ahead of them, so I gave them something to think about, an alternative to consider. Does Steve attend such meetings?”
“As far as I know, although the ‘meetings’ he is invited to are a lot fancier… like Tony Stark levels of ‘fancier’ if you know what I mean.”
“Galas, balls and receptions?”
“Something like that. The donations the Avengers usually collect during those night-outs are later used for various charities.”
“Hm.”
“You didn’t know? There is also Avengers-themed merchandise (like your tacky Ironman socks) and the money from that also goes to various charity funds.”
“Clever. Good press too.”
“It’s not always about ‘good press’, James.”
“Funny, because if one considers the amount of work needed to be done and the funding this endeavor receives, it can’t be anything, but ‘good press’,” the Soldier smiled, a cold crooked thing that reeked crazy; made Sam wonder just what Tony sees in this man, what loves him for. “I may not be as good with numbers as Antosha, but I do count very-very well.”
“You think we should be doing more…”
“It is really not my place to offer advice. I could only offer my observations. Shouldn’t we be visiting your patient?”
“Oh. He wasn’t with the others, so there’s only one other place he might be in: the back garden.”
“He likes plants?”
“I think it’s the smells that do it for him, have no idea why, though.”
“Let us find out then…”
***
The man was sitting on a bench, surrounded by flowers and grass and trees, eyes closed, face unreadable. Deep inhale, a small pause, a slow exhale. Long hair that went several inches past his shoulders looked more rusted than red, eyes a dull green color. Scars littered the right side of his face, neck and scar tissue disappeared under his T-shirt. The right sleeve was empty.
James was on alert the second he saw that face. Sam noticed which sent him on alert as well.
“James?”
“I know that man.”
“Okay…”
“You don’t understand. I know that man… because he is Hydra too.”
“Oh shit! We should call the guys!”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He came here. Why? He lost his arm. When? He doesn’t speak. Why? So many questions that need answering, and he is still your patient. You took an oath, so you must hold to it and help him recover.”
Sam stilled, turning from panicked to pensive. He may have been Falcon… once upon a time, now, though, he was more. It must’ve seemed odd for him, that it was the Winter Soldier of all people who pointed out the obvious.
“… so what’s the plan?”
“It never changed… much. We will look, but now we will also talk.”
The Hydra agent payed them as much attention as one might pay a fly. Rusty hair, lightless eyes. Wilson didn’t even register on his radar. The Soldier, though…
When they came near, he closed his eyes, took another deep breath, as if familiarizing himself with their scent, and kicked the earth from under their feet, figuratively speaking, by saying:
“Жду приказов (Awaiting orders).”
***
When James came back with a ‘friend’, Tony wasn’t overly surprised. He felt it through the bond: trepidation, contemplation, amusement… which flared with all sorts of danger signs when his better half saw something… someone who riled him up enough to cause a storm like that. And now that mysterious ‘someone’ was sitting on his couch, in his workshop, a husk of a man, playing fetch with DUM-E… because they told him to. Between the two of them it was a bit tragic to see the little robot as the ‘alive’ one of the pair.
Tony and James stood side by side and watched him from their places by the stove. Tony held a mug full of steaming coffee. James, faithful to his style, preferred tea.
“So… Arseniy Kotov. Is that even his real name?”
“As much as ‘Natasha Romanoff’ is Natalia Romanova’s real name.”
“… but he is no Widow.”
“No… because he is a Wolf Spider,” James took a solemn sip of his tea; God knows how a sip of tea could be solemn, but his Soldier managed it. “After the… booming success of the Red Room, the Heads of Hydra decided to go further and build themselves more Winter Soldiers, using the serum I took and some of their own research, but unlike the Black Widow Program, the Wolf Spider Program didn’t end well…”
“How come this is the first time I’m hearing about this? Me being me that is… the person who hacked into Pentagon data bases on a dare. Thanks to my favorite sugarplum, I could be officially named the resident Hydra File expert by now!”
“Hydra likes to record successes, not failures.”
“Figures… are you going to tell me?”
“Only if you want to hear it, solnyshko. It is not a very cheery story.”
“Well, we have Sunny there, who imprinted on you like a duckling, to look after now, so that would be real nice… to know, I mean.”
James nodded.
“You remember those five frozen Soldiers Zemo killed in that bunker, yes? Former Wolf Spiders, they were injected with the serum your father developed. Already loyal to the cause, all they needed was training. So I trained them. The serum gave them all super-soldier qualities, but made them aggressive…to the point that they started to scare the Handlers.”
“You could beat any of them one on one, but if they gang up on you, five on one…” Tony calculated the odds… and frowned. “Keeping them in cryo-sleep was a necessity or was Hydra just waiting for the right equipment to be invented? Like they did with you…”
“Perhaps both, but we will never know, because they are dead.”
“Hm… what concoction did they inject Sunny with then? Some knock-off?”
“They took my blood often enough.”
“The scientific division tried replicating Zola’s work most likely. The old man must have passed away by then otherwise he would have jumped at the idea. The scariest thing, however, is that it obviously worked!”
James nodded again, before offering his soulmate a wry smirk.
“I was sent to assassinate your father sometime after their version of the serum proofed itself useless, not before… They took boys from different orphanages across the country, trained them using the methods perfected in the Red Room, then when they were more or less of age, injected them with their version of the serum. It seems it needed a number of very specific biological markers to successfully trigger the changes: approximately, a one in a hundred chance. This boy, Arseniy, was the only survivor in his group, but he still turned out… wrong.”
“Wrong… how?”
“After all the trouble they’ve had with my ‘glitches’, a compliant obedient Soldier would have been very much appreciated. From what I understood from the fragments I’ve heard, they overdid it. Following orders was all he was capable of.”
Tony could just stare. The far wall of the workshop never seemed so interesting before… and if he wanted to pin it down with a hard and merciless glare then it probably deserved it. With no hint of warm honey-brown in sight Tony Stark looked every inch the Merchant of Death the media tried labeling him as. If they only knew…
His eyes strayed to the couch, landing on the young (he looked no older than thirty… on the outside at least) man and easing a bit with new understanding. DUM-E chose this very moment to return with the ball firmly caught in his claw and beeping excitedly, and for a second there he thought he saw the redhead’s otherwise blank features soften in a barely there smile.
The Soldier continued:
“Because I trained him, he was ordered to refer to me as his commanding officer. He never let that order go. Even after the wipes, when everything else faded away, that particular order seemed to… stick, therefor rendering him useless for anything else.”
“Knowing these people that would mean… what... termination?”
“Yes.”
“But he survived… again. And you didn’t report him.”
“No, I didn’t. And he remembered that. And now we are going to war again…”
It was Tony who nodded this time; he began to understand the strange logic which ruled the mind of his favorite assassin… or assassins, plural, because, let’s face it, Arseniy wasn’t going anywhere.
“… and wars are fought by soldiers. As for Sunny: is there a chance for him to recuperate back to being at least somewhat norml-ish?”
“I don’t know, but with Sam as his therapist… maybe. And Sam is discrete.”
“I can keep a secret too, sugar bean!”
“I know you can, dusha moya, that is why I trust you with all of mine… and am happy to be trusted with a lot of yours.”
Blush? What blush? Nope, nothing to see here, folks!
…who was he kidding?
“… flatterer.”
***
Saturday came like a breath of fresh air after a particularly nasty storm and with it the first B.A.R.F. session.
Fucking finally…
Tony as tired as he was would have done a victory dance, but the Avengers had fight to the death with yet another giant robot just yesterday (Power Rangers style this time) and he had more bruises and sprains that he could count. James probably had more, though. This time round Steve actually included the Winter Soldier into his battle strategy. The billionaire managed to keep his cool till the end, holding onto his desire to protect his soulmate with an iron fist to keep it inside and out of the fight.
Sunny... or Senya (Russian names had such interesting shortenings sometimes… and Arseniy just reminded him of the word ‘arsonist’) watched the whole ordeal from the workshop. Friday took a liking to him almost instantly which was, honestly, a bit alarming, but the former Hydra operative used his rather impressive security clearance rarely: mainly on library visits and garden wanderings. Judging by the distressed looks they got upon return, hiding the blueprints for yet another metal arm on the top shelf of his virtual closet was wistful thinking. He’d need combat armor too; the word ‘arsonist’ oddly inspiring…
“You ready there, Snowflake?”
The Soldier answered with a curt nod. The virtual reality glasses already hid his eyes… were they grey? Or were they blue? Or a mix of both? Can’t tell now…
Tony sighed and willed himself to concentrate on the task at hand.
As soon as Sam saw the Hulk-proof chamber, he vetoed the idea of performing B.A.R.F. sessions there on the spot. Not a psychologically healthy environment, he said, so… they ruled that option out choosing an empty workshop just above Tony’s own instead. The room was large enough, secure enough and the observers if huddled in one of the far corners weren’t obvious at all. Sam kept it professional. Sunny just pulled a ninja on them and stayed out of sight. Friday still found him, though, lying in wait in one of the nearby air ducts, guarding James’s back.
The best, the worst and the neutral – here we go…
“B.A.R.F. is based on a semi-learning algorithm, not quite on AI level, even DUM-E has more complex code lines than this baby, but it still needs to learn first, so let’s give it something to learn from… Snowdrop?”
“ Understood. I’ll show you something good…” a leer and accent combination, always a killer in Tony’s book.
“You do know I have several sex tapes with my name on them, right?”
“Remind me to go hunting later.”
“Going all possessive on me, are you, sugarplum?”
“Never liked to share.”
“Guys,” Sam chimed in, embracing the awkward. “Focus now, dirty talk later.”
“Hush you!” but Tony was smiling as was James in his own, subtle way. It was never about the facial expressions with him – you can’t read James if you can’t read body language very-very-very well.
“Go for it, solnyshko.”
The engineer pushed a few keys on the holographic keyboard and the simulation was on…
The sight of summer Siberian wilderness was… breathtaking. An array of greens, warm browns, barely there greys, rare sprinkles of color. Moss covered rocks resembled ruins, trails were obsolete and the trees could have put a cinematic elven forests to shame.
Tony felt a warm fuzzy feeling bloom in his chest, right behind the arc reactor – he remembered this one. The best damn day of his life! He never knew the Soldier thought the same…
“Wait!” a breathless boyish scream nearly made him jump; had his voice always been this squeaky? “Please, wait!”
A tall dark figure, a shadow among others, stilled and turned around, scanning the nearby bushes for…
Yep, found him. Tony… or a kid version of him stumbled through the underbrush making far too much noise for a semi-transparent entity and with no grace to save his life. He was eleven here, boarding school was still a couple of years away, from a time when red pajama sets with tiny yellow rockets were still considered trendy. He was also rocking a pair of stripped woolen socks (hand knitted by Ana Jarvis, one of her last gifts) and a case of notorious bedhead… cute, if you don’t pay attention to the hand shaped bruise already darkening against the pale skin of his right wrist.
The Soldier waited. Clad in his usual uniform and muzzle, armed with his usual weapons… what was unusual was the backpack he carried. Tony remembered being curious, but too afraid to ask and remembered looking for signs of irritation or anger in those blue eyes… and finding none. His soulmate didn’t seem to care that he was a ‘dumb kid’, expressing nothing but mild amusement and hints of fondness at his antics. He was a man of few words, but somehow, when he actually spoke, his words were the right words, even if Tony had to stumble through strange sounds from a land several thousand kilometers away.
“This is stupid… I’m a ghost! I should be able to keep up just fine!” huffed kid Tony trying to brush off grass and leaves from his pants and jacket, unsuccessfully, then looked around. “Are you on a… mission?”
The Soldier nodded, solemn.
“You should run…”
That earned him an inquiring look… and Tony, the older one, suddenly understood why: the words were unfamiliar. ‘Mission’ and ‘миссия’ did sound similar, so the Soldier must have made a logically based guess. James wasn’t kidding about the language part. Little Tony noticed too… and chose the alternative route: he pointed at the man, then at the trees and then mimicked a running man. The Soldier nodded again, a bit slower this time, before answering:
“Нет (No).”
“Why?”
Again he picked up the intonation, not the words.
“Нельзя (It is forbidden).”
Now it was Tony’s turn to look and feel out of his league and the Soldier’s turn to explain. He pointed at himself, the trees, made a walking man impersonation with his fingers… and tapped the handgun hidden in his thigh-holster with his metal hand, before making a shooting gesture with his fingers.
“Oh…”
He wasn’t done though. The same metal fingers gently touched his shoulder, impersonated a walking man again and again the shooting gesture.
“Me?”
“Да (Yes),” this was followed by a nod, hoping the boy would understand, wanting the boy to understand. Tony, being a child genius, did… and some other things too.
“I won’t ask again,” and to get his point across he mimics a sign of zipping his lips.
Blue eyes sparkled with fondness when the older man reached down to run the gloved fingers of his right hand through semi-transparent curls in a light caress.
“Умница, малыш Антонио (Clever boy, Little Antonio).”
And just like that his child self was as red as his pajama jacket. Praise was such a rare occurrence in his life that he jumped at the barest of scraps thrown his way! A pathetic sight…
“Пойдем (Let’s go). Я хочу показать тебе кое-что интересное (I want to show you something interesting).”
That snapped him out of it, because his soulmate was walking again, a lot slower than his usual stride, a veritable sign he should follow. About twenty minutes in it became pretty obvious that they weren’t making much progress journey-wise. Problem found – problem solved. Bonus: little Tony got one hell of a piggy-back ride…
The Soldier was fast, the additional weight of the armor, weaponry, backpack and one free spirit, holding on for dear life onto its shoulder-straps doing nothing to hinder him. He knew this forest, he understood this forest and the forest knew and understood him. No snapped twigs, no rustled leaves, no scrapes on moss covered boulders. Birds continued to sing, animals went upon their daily business…
And then there was a cliff.
You think that stopped them? Not. A. Chance.
The Soldier only quickened his pace, his stance transforming from a rather relaxed jog into a deadly sprint, eyes narrowing on a patch of sky above the edge. The boy all but plastered himself across his shoulders, clinging to his back as if it would help reduce air resistance and accelerate them even more… ever the engineer’s son.
One final step, one last push… and a leap of faith which hadn’t ended in a hay-filled cart somewhere below, bringing them closer to the cloudy blue instead...
There was a parachute hidden in the pack.
“So cool!” little Tony was breathless, cheeks flushed pink, eyes bright with excitement. “You’re so cool!”
The Soldier laughed… for the first time in nearly three decades. A harsh scary sound, but…
Theirs.
The simulation faded. James took off the glasses, eyes resembling ancient ice, while Tony checked the readings.
“She got it. One down - two more to go!”
“… perfect.”