168 Hours Chapter 8
Branch Health Clinic
Naval Support Facility, Diego Garcia
Indian Ocean
An incessant beeping dragged Steve up from the comfortable darkness. He cracked open his eyes to see white walls, and a window with curtains drawn so that the light didn't come through. Odd. It wasn't his bedroom in the Tower...the window was in the wrong place.
It was hard to move his head, so Steve settled for just rolling it slightly to his right. He caught a glimpse of movement, a shadow against the shadows. He couldn't track it fast enough to identify who it was.
His head felt like it was filled with sand. That might explain how thirsty he was, too, come to think of it. As if something was reading his mind, a cup appeared and pressed against his lips. Steve sipped gratefully, the water cool but not cold. He looked up, to find Natasha leaning over him, holding the cup.
He remembered that she was going to give him an "I told you so," when he saw her. But, he couldn't remember why or for what. He must have done something stupid...but that didn't always narrow things down for him-
"Steve?" He blinked, trying to focus on her face. It was difficult, but he saw her watching him, smiling slightly. "Whatever you think you're saying, it's coming out gibberish."
Steve frowned. Had he been talking? What were they talking about?
"Go back to sleep," Natasha said softly. "The drugs are still in your system."
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Steve drifted in the darkness. It was comfortable, and warm. He liked being warm. He'd spent so much of his life cold, too cold. Bucky did his best during the winters, keeping his constantly ill frame as wrapped up as possible in their drafty apartment. Steve tried to keep up with his half of the chores. The trash, cooking, cleaning...but all too often, from December to March, Bucky did it all. He never complained, not even when he caught colds himself. It made Steve feel terrible, but Bucky Barnes was as obstinate at Steve Rogers, so arguing accomplished nothing.
Bucky's face floated in front of him. Unshaven, long hair, a metal hand wrapping around his throat- Steve flinched. That wasn't right.
Bucky?
Who the hell is Bucky?
Steve tried to push himself out of the darkness. It wasn't as comfortable anymore. There was a voice. He zeroed in on that. He recognized it.
Blinking his eyes open, Steve saw a white room, curtained window. It looked familiar, but it wasn't his. His bedroom in Stark Tower had dark blue walls, with white trim and dark red fixtures...because Stark was Stark, and he found that amusing. Pepper had assured him that they could have it redecorated, but Steve politely declined. The room was tasteful, in a snarky way...though he refused to admit that to Tony.
This wasn't his room. He knew hospital rooms when he saw them. All too well. He rolled his head to the right, immediately regretting it, since a headache started pounding away like Thor's hammer against his shield. Steve felt nauseous at the movement, so he froze and tried to ride out the wave of vertigo.
From that position, though, he located the voice. Clint was propped back in a chair, feet on the bed, hands folded behind his head, grinning and looking at the ceiling, lost in whatever tale he was telling. Steve could only understand bits and pieces of it.
"...I never went to my prom. I mean....but it was just to drink in the parking lot. I couldn't afford a suit....anyway, his girlfriend had two sisters, twins...invited to their house...well, it would have been rude to say no...."
Steve wanted to roll his eyes, but the very thought of doing so made the vertigo worse, so he just laid there and listened as Clint regaled him with the adventure of his senior prom.
He wasn't sure when he fell back asleep...somewhere around the time the girls' parents showed up.
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New York City
Avengers Tower, Medical Wing
The plane was going down fast. Steve wanted to say goodbye to Peggy, but he hated to hear her cry...and he was running out of time. Better to leave it at a dance than-
Steve jolted awake. The nightmare felt so real...he could feel the icy water rushing in around him. He could feel his organs slowing down until there were no more feelings. Panting, his eyes darted back and forth. Not on the plane. Not on the plane.
The room had changed. The window that had been in front of him was gone, replaced with a solid wall, lit by hidden track lighting which gave it a futuristic appearance. He'd just been in another hospital a while ago....
"Steven! You're awake!" Thor's deep voice was unmistakable. Steve rolled his head around until he spotted the alien god's long blonde mane. Thor was sitting next to Steve's bed along with Jane Foster. Steve tried to speak, but couldn't find his words. His thoughts were jumbled. He settled for merely blinking at the Asgardian.
"Ah, no. His eyes are still dialed." Thor said, sounding disappointed.
"Dilated." Jane whispered at him, smiling.
Thor turned to her, returning her smile. "That's what I said."
Steve listened to them talking, but let his eyes drift shut. He could tell that they were talking about him, but was having trouble following the conversation.
"I would have thought he would have recovered better than this."
"Bruce is still trying to isolate all the drugs they used. He said he found different sedatives, psychotropics, and at least one chemical designed to make him more sensitive to pain. Nasty stuff."
Steve grimaced. Was that why his head hurt so much?
"Bruce said it's better to just keep him hydrated and let him sleep it off- Darcy! Enough with the camera!"
"Don't be absurd, Jane. I have to record this for posterity." Steve made out Darcy Lewis' voice, but couldn't pinpoint which direction it was coming from. It didn't seem important enough to reopen his eyes.
"The man is in a hospital bed, it's rude!"
"The man is in a hospital gown! It's smokin' hot!"
"W-where...?" Steve forced out, interrupting the argument. He thought he'd just croaked out the word, but from the surprised silence, one would have thought he'd shouted. He felt Thor's warm hand on his shoulder.
"New York. Stark had you transferred here yesterday."
Steve frowned, turning his head toward Thor, but keeping his eyes closed. "Camp? H-Hydra...?"
The hand tightened gently. "Your enemies were vanquished, my friend. We saw to it personally."
Steve opened his mouth to ask about Coleman and the others, but Thor spoke first. "Rest. Your mission was successful, your friends are safe, and I assure you, you are missing nothing here. Heal."
Thor's assurance relaxed him...so much so that he wondered if there was some of that Asgardian "magic" involved. But, then, who was he to argue with a god? Steve sank back into the pillow and dropped off into a fitful sleep.
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When Steve opened his eyes he could actually lift his head without it feeling like it weighed more than he did. He blinked a few times to clear his vision, raising up to look at his surroundings. It was the same room from before, but darker.
"'Bout time you woke up, Rogers."
Steve turned to find Stark in a chair by the bed, tapping the display on his StarkPad. "Tony?"
"Good morning, Cap van Winkle."
"Where are we?"
"The Tower. You were in the infirmary on Diego Garcia until yesterday afternoon. The doctors were starting to act a little too interested in examining your blood samples, so I decided to move you here before the government's little science minions started poking and prodding you."
Steve gingerly pushed himself into a sitting position, and rubbed his eyes. "Gosh, I had the strangest dream. Natasha, and Clint, and Thor-"
"I swear, if you say 'and Toto too,' I'm copying the security footage and putting it on YouTube." Tony mocked.
Smiling wanly, Steve shrugged. "Spiders and hawks and Thors."
Tony grinned. "Oh, my."
Steve laughed, if a bit weakly. He didn't quite feel like himself.
Tony stood and stretched. "It wasn't a dream, by the way. We've been taking shifts staying in here." At Steve's questioning look, he added. "Thor's idea. Some old warrior thing about keeping watch over injured comrades. It was all very touching."
"I don't...remember how I got here," Steve said, uncertain.
"That's because you were seriously drugged," Bruce said, coming up to the other side of the bed. Steve flinched. He must have been really out of it, since he hadn't even sensed the man's presence in the room. Banner took a moment to adjust the flow on one of the IV bags. "They pumped you full of enough sedatives to stop an elephant in its tracks. Tony and I have been working to isolate the rest, but there's some in here we don't even have names for."
"What's the last thing you do remember?" Tony asked.
Steve frowned, trying to get his mind to work. "They...they wanted something from me. I can't- Rhodey and the others. They wanted to know where they were hiding out. I...I don't think I told them. I don't think...."
Tony shrugged. "Well, they were fine when we got there, so I'm pretty sure you didn't."
"Rhodey, Coleman," Steve said, suddenly concerned. "Were they-?"
"They're okay. Better than okay, now, since they got your warlord into custody, Rhodey and Wilson flew him to the Netherlands for trial. The traitor that sold you out is on his way to Leavenworth for a court martial. The Ellis Administration has a low tolerance for HYDRA sleepers, so they'll probably throw the book at him."
"He got a lot of good people killed. He deserves it." Steve said dourly. He paused. "So, how did you guys find us?"
Tony shared an unreadable look with Bruce. Steve looked back and forth between them, trying to decipher it. Tony spoke up before he could ask.
"Wilson. I was rounding up the gang when Sam showed up here in New York. We decided to go ahead and...you know, launch the big rescue. So, you've got Wilson to thank. Well, and me. But, I figure you'd do that anyway, you know, since you're stuck in my building for the next few days."
Steve frowned. That didn't really answer the question.
"What Tony is so immodestly trying to say is some good timing and a lot of luck. That's how we found you." Bruce interjected.
Nodding, Steve processed that. Tony was still looking strange, but maybe that was the drugs talking. "Yeah. Yeah, guys, thank you. Seriously. Thank you."
Stark clapped him on the knee. "You would do the same for us, Cap."
"We should let you rest up." Bruce said. "They were pumping that cocktail into you for almost four straight days, so I'd like to keep you on fluids for the next twenty-four hours or so."
"Don't think I'm going anywhere." Steve said with a shrug.
"Just ask JARVIS if you need anything. We'll see about getting you some food, I know you must be starving." Bruce added, ushering Stark toward the door.
"Bruce?" Steve called out before they reached the exit. He hated the feeling, but was almost certain they'd just left him out of something important. "Is there...is something wrong?"
Bruce hesitated, then sighed slightly and smiled. "It was-this was a really close call, Steve. We're just glad you're okay."
They exited the room, leaving Steve sitting and wondering. He sighed, trying to put his memories of the last few days in order. His mind was fuzzy, but starting to clear up, at least. Maybe he could figure out what had his friends acting so squirrely.
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New York City
Avengers Tower, Medical Wing
1:20 PM, Local Time
Sam knocked on the infirmary door, again. JARVIS had told him on the way up that Steve was awake, but he wasn't answering. Growing worried, Sam took a chance and opened the door.
The bed was empty, though notably perfectly made and inspection-ready, all corners neatly tucked under. Steve did the same thing when they stayed in motel rooms, it always made for a laugh. You can take the soldier out of the army....
The television on the opposite wall was playing a newscast. A CNN reporter wearing body armor and a helmet was on the screen, describing the scene behind her.
"Today marks the second day of the 25th Infantry Division's march through central Ghudaza. Armed insurgents attempted to infiltrate our column last night, but were driven off when these Stryker combat vehicles you see behind me began firing on them.
"While public opinion back home about the United States' involvement here has been mixed, many local villagers here in Ghudaza have greeted the 25th with open arms...."
Sam looked away from the television, scanning the room until he found Steve, who was sitting in an armchair by the tall windows at the far side of the room. "Hey, man. I knocked but...."
Steve didn't answer. Sam moved closer. His friend was staring out at the city skyline, dressed in sweats, picking idly at the cushion lining the chair arm with his left hand and chewing on a knuckle of his right. He didn't look like he'd moved in a while. Sam craned his neck to see his face. "Steve? You okay?"
A beat went by before Steve even blinked. "Were you going to tell me?"
"Huh?" Sam frowned.
"I know why Stark and Natasha wouldn't want to get into it," Steve said softly, looking resigned as he stared sightlessly out the window. "But, I can't understand why you of all people wouldn't tell me."
"You gotta give me a hint here." Sam said lightly, smiling uncertainly as he lowered himself into the second seat.
Rogers' tone shifted, becoming more detached and flat. "I was pretty out of it by the end. They'd been shooting me up with all kinds of stuff until I was hallucinating. Didn't even know where I was." He laughed, hollow and a bit unsettling. "I even fantasized that Bucky showed up to rescue me. I mean, crazy, right? Wouldn't ever happen."
Sam's face fell. Oh. "Steve-"
"Except that it did. He was there. He busted me out."
"Steve, we were going to tell you," Sam said. "We were. But when we got to you, you were in bad shape. We didn't want to make it wo-" Sam took a breath. "Barnes had already left. We didn't want to get you agitated, so we waited to say anything. We weren't going to hide it from you."
Steve didn't say anything for a minute. Sam was appalled at how worn out his friend looked. He wondered how much of it was from his ordeal, and how much was the result of one more in a too long line of near misses with Bucky.
"Did he say anything?"
Sam shrugged. "He wanted me to tell you that he was sorry. That's all. The only thing on his mind was getting to you, Steve. Whatever reason he had for leaving again, it wasn't-"
"I tried to apologize," Steve blurted out. "Tried to warn him...but...I couldn't get the words out. I was talking, but he didn't understand me."
Sam's brow furrowed. "Warn him about what?"
Steve watched the skyline for another moment, then shuddered and dragged one hand over his mouth. "I have never given in to anybody. My whole life...not to bullies at school. Not to the guys who used to beat me up behind the dumpster, not to the army recruits who thought I couldn't cut it, or to S.H.I.E.L.D. or to HYDRA...until two days ago."
Leaning forward, Sam rested his elbows on his knees and leveled a concerned look at the other man. "Steve, you're not making sense."
"Zola made me angry, and I just...spoke without thinking...."
"Steve-"
"HYDRA knows Bucky's alive. I told them."
Sam's eyebrows rose. God, no wonder he's torn up.
Steve hunched over in the chair, looking like he wanted to curl up and hide. "When I first let it slip, I tried to cover, but they just started laying into me...I tried to- I just-"
"Steve," Sam reached out and rested a hand on Steve's forearm. "You were being tortured. No one could expect to hold out forever under those conditions, not even you. There was nothing you could do."
"I sold out my best friend," Steve hissed. "Because I wanted them to stop for just a second. Just one second."
Sam squeezed Steve's arm. "Listen to me-"
"I want to be alone," Steve's voice cracked as he dropped his head into his hands. "Just leave me alone. Thank you for coming by."
The ridiculously formal end of that sentence almost made Sam smile. Almost. He shook his head. "No."
"What?"
"No," Sam repeated. "I think you've been alone enough these past few months. JARVIS? Lock the door, please."
"Of course Sergeant Wilson," the AI replied. Even it sounded somber.
"What are you doing?" Steve asked hoarsely, glancing over at him, but noticeably avoiding eye contact.
Sam settled back in his seat. "Nothing. Just sitting here, looking out the window. If you wanna tell me anything-anything at all-just say it. I'm just gonna sit here, okay?"
Steve looked toward him strangely for a moment. Then he turned to the window, and they watched the city together.
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D 010 (Black Sea Coast Road)
Five kilometers South of Sarp, Turkey
10:30 PM, Local Time
The truck bed was uncomfortable, but James had had worse. He read over his notes in the bright beam of moonlight that shone through the holes in the canvas covering overhead.
A quick stop in an Internet cafe in Aden had helped narrow down the list that Hiram had printed for him. HYDRA's network of bases in Eastern Europe had declined in the long decades of the Cold War. He'd managed to narrow the list to a dozen or so places of interest. It was a good place to start, anyway.
His thoughts strayed back to Steve, as they had been doing for days. James wanted to check up on him, make sure he was all right after his ordeal. But he needed to keep his distance. The few minutes he'd spent with Steve in the Ghudazan camp had affected him.
Steve Rogers exerted a pull on James, always had, so far as he could remember. He'd felt it so strongly in that interrogation room-
It was a weakness. One he couldn't afford. Besides, what good did he do Steve? Because of him, Rogers had rejoined the Army, and in turn gotten roped into that mess. He might never have even been there to get captured had it not been for James Barnes. James had kept his distance this long so that Steve wouldn't get hurt...and look at him. He grimaced. Damned fool.
The truck rattled to a stop. James frowned, but when the driver banged on the side of the cab, he hopped out without argument. The driver watched him warily as he grabbed his duffel and moved toward the front of the vehicle.
"This is as far as I go," the driver said in Russian. He pointed down the road. "I don't have any papers, and the soldiers have been getting suspicious."
James arched an eyebrow. Gunrunners always had papers. He suspected the driver was more spooked by his passenger than any nosy border patrols. Nevertheless, arguing wouldn't get him anywhere, and he had no great desire to end up killing the man. He handed over the small bundle of Turkish lira, as agreed.
"How far?" He asked. They had to be close to the Georgian border after so many hours. Hopefully, they were within easy walking distance.
The driver didn't bother with courtesy, quickly counting the bills in his hand. "A few kilometers that way. There's a border station on the road."
Russia was making noises about Georgia again, which had increased the gun trafficking along the southern border. James had hoped to find his way in that way, but....
He stepped back without a word, and just nodded to the driver. James stepped clear, letting the driver turn the truck around and head back south, the way they'd come.
Walking, James stayed on the roadside until he was certain the truck wasn't going to circle back, then stepped off the asphalt and disappeared among the vegetation.
It would be a long walk to Russia. He'd need to find another vehicle. Perhaps the border guards would be willing to "lend" him one.
TBC