Music is "Meet Me On The Battlefield" by Zella Day.

Picture is Tatiana Maslany as Emma Barnes.

·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Bad Ideas

"I gotta say, in the history of bad ideas, this takes the cake," Clint mumbles under his breath, pulling another arrow from his quiver. "And this is comin' from me."

Natasha shuffles uncomfortably next to me as we watch dozens more monstrous beings pour through the hole above Manhattan. "Guys."

The team turns their eyes upwards. "Call it, Captain," Tony obliges.

Steve nods and begins to give orders. "All right, listen up. Until we can close that portal, our priority is containment. Barton, I want you on that roof. Eyes on everything. Call out patterns and strays. Stark, you got the perimeter. Anything gets more than three blocks out, you turn it back or you turn it to ash."

Clint turns to Iron-Man. "Can you give me a lift?"

Tony replies, "Right." He walks over behind Hawkeye, grabbing him tightly. "Better clench up, Legolas." They blast off, headed for the sky above.

Steve turns to the god of thunder. "Thor, you gotta try and bottleneck that portal. Slow 'em down. You got the lightning. Light the bastards up."

Thor nods and swings his hammer upwards, flying off to do his job. Steve turns to Natasha and I. "You and I, we stay here on the ground. We keep the fighting here."

I nod back towards the big green fellow. "And him?"

"Hulk?" Steve points at him sternly. "Smash."

The green giant grins mischievously and bounds away, doing just as he was told. He takes Cap at his word and smashes every alien in sight, destroying bricks from multiple buildings in the process. We hear a ferocious growl as he heads out of sight.

Suddenly, the sky gets dark overhead. I spot lighting coming down from the darkest clouds above the Empire State Building where Thor is perched. He collects the electricity and redirects it towards the portal and destroys dozens of the aliens and the creatures that followed them.

"He's pushing them back through," I observe aloud, grinning.

Before anyone can reply, I hear Barton over the com link saying, "Stark, you got a lot of strays sniffing your tail."

"I'm just trying to keep them off the streets."

"Well, they can't bank worth a damn. So find a tight corner."

"I will roger that." Moments later, he says, "Nice call. What else you got?"

"Well, Thor's taking on a squadron down on Sixth."

We hear Tony heave a heavy sigh. "And he didn't invite me."

My attention shifts away from the com as the three of us are ambushed on the ground. Multiple aliens move towards us. Steve turns to fight on his side, and Natasha is taken by surprise. She's thrown over the edge of the bridge. I jump after her.

On the ground below where we stood before, the alien lunges at Natasha with his spear. Before I can turn to help, another alien wraps his arm around my neck, pulling me backwards and off my feet. I use my own body weight against him, throwing my legs up and then under. He flies over my back, crashing onto the ground in front of me. I land on my knees, desperately grasping my bowstaff and electrocuting him before he can get back up.

I look to Natasha, seeing her foe on the ground and his staff pointed right at me, a startled Natasha behind it. I raise my empty hand in surrender. "It's me!" Steve drops beside me as Natasha lowers her weapon, a look of relief all over her Slavic features. 

She leans against the spear slightly as we walk closer. "None of this is going to mean a damn thing if we don't close that portal," she exclaims, looking up towards the event above us.

"Our biggest guns couldn't touch it," Steve replies.

"Maybe it's not about guns."

"Maybe it's about smarts," I agree. "I bet I could get up there. I don't think I could carry you, even you, Natasha. Tony said these were a prototype, and they've already taken damage."

Steve replies, "If you wanna get up there, you're gonna need a ride."

Natasha rolls her eyes and tosses the spear to the side. "I got a ride." She walks over to the other side of the street, turning to look back at Steve. "I could use a boost, though."

Steve hesitates. "Steve," I catch his attention. "Shield."

Steve looks upward and backs up, arming himself with his shield. "You sure about this?"

"Yeah," Natasha kids. "it's gonna be fun."

Natasha takes off running, jumping onto the shield. Steve uses all his strength to push her into the air. Between the two of them, she's airborne and catching a ride on one of the flying aliens. She tosses one off and takes over the machine.

I chuckle to myself, and Steve grins. "She remind you of anyone we know?"

Steve breathes, "Yeah. The woman I loved."

I turn to him, clicking on my hover boots. "Are you all right being down here?"

Steve nods, waving me off. "Go help Romanoff. I'm swell."

"No one says 'swell' anymore," I grin, taking off after Natasha.

I follow the somewhat sparatic trail of the master assassin, taking out aliens as I hover through the sky. The boots move with my steps, only going much farther than my normal feet could ever take me.

I catch up to Natasha just as more aliens get on her tail. Iron-Man swoops in to help me keep them off her, then flies off. "Thanks, Tony!" I shout over the com link.

"No problem, Barnes." He clears his throat. "You're welcome, Red."

"Not now, Stark!"

I shield Natasha as we make our way up to Stark Tower. Aliens are still pouring into Earth's skies, and I see troops gathering on the ground below. They're filling the streets with more weaponry. 

We hear Barton's voice over the com saying, "Captain, the bank on 42nd past Madison. They've cornered a lot of civilians in there."

Steve heaves heavy breaths, almost as if he's been fighting for his life. Then it occurs to me that he probably was. "I'm on it."

Before I can ask if he's all right, I see a familiar figure from the corner of my eye. Loki raises his staff in our direction, firing multiple times. "Oh, you," Natasha says, exasperated.

"Keep going!" I tell her. I turn around, stopping dead in my tracks, mid-air, as Natasha continues on. I raise my bowstaff to deflect the shots, spinning it rapidly so it fires the energy back at him.

It doesn't deter him from his course, on the back of one of the alien sleds. It only makes him look even more angry. He continues to blast in my direction, nearly running me down as he dashes past me and towards Natasha. I turn and rush as fast as I can after him, but he's too quick. "Barton, Natasha's about to become Loki's roadkill!"

"Hawkeye!"

"Nat, what are you doing?"

"Uh...A little help?" Natasha's voice raises an octave as she speaks.

Natasha takes a sharp turn onto the street above which Clint keeps a bird's eye view. Loki follows after her, and me after him. I can almost hear the smile in his voice as Clint says, reassuringly, "I got him."

I see a small arrow fly through the air. Natasha soars upwards, and Loki catches the arrow and slows just enough so I can pass him with a grin. Loki looks at the arrow with a smug expression, only to be completely thrown off his aerial throne when it explodes in his hand. He lands somewhere on the Stark Tower balcony below.

"Feel better?" I ask Clint.

He laughs dryly. "You bet your ass I do."

"If it makes you feel any better, I see Bruce climbing up the Tower to pay him a visit."

"It does, actually. Thank you, Emma."

"You're welcome, Darling."

Natasha somersaults onto the Stark Tower roof, and I land carefully beside her. I help her up, and we approach a now conscious Dr. Selvig and the Tesseract generator. "Are you awake, Doctor Selvig?" I ask, cautious in my approach.

He nods, brokenly, and replies, "The scepter...

Natasha turns from gazing at the energy bubble to Selvig. "Doctor?"

"Loki's scepter," he repeats, leaning against the edge of the Tower. "The energy. The Tesseract can't fight, but you can't protect against yourself."

Natasha bends down to his level. "It's not your fault; you didn't know what you were doing."

A moment passes. "Actually," he replies, "I think I did. I built in a safety to cut their power source."

A look of realization covers both Natasha's face and mine. "Loki's scepter," we both say.

Selvig nods. "It may be able to close the portal." He looks down towards the penthouse balcony below. "And I'm looking right at it."

With a nod between the Widow and I, I hover down to the balcony and retrieve the scepter. I hear a groan from inside the penthouse. When I look behind me, I see Loki embedded into the tile flooring. I sheath my bowstaff on my back holster, taking the scepter firmly in both hands. "Serves you right, bloody wanker," I mumble, jumping back into flight.

I hand the scepter over to Natasha, and my ear piece crackles with white noise. "Mom?" I hear Grant's voice through the static. It clears up as he repeats, "Mom, can you hear me?"

I press my ear piece closer to my ear, smiling widely. "Yes, Darling! I can hear you, loud and clear. How did you get this chan--?"

"No time! We have a real emergency. There's a rouge plane headed for Manhattan. Mom, it's carrying a nuke."

·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·

{May 3, 1960 - Fifty-Two Years Ago}

"I think their prisoner is your James."

Zelma's words echo loudly in my head. Even after a couple hours of my oldest student telling me all she knows about the Soviet's East German branch of operations, I still have to repeat the words over and over to myself.

He might be alive. After all this time, I might have never lost him.

That thought both terrifies me and thrills me.

It's nearing the 4th of May, and in the cover of night, I walk Zelma to the nearest SHIELD building. It's right across the street from the United States Embassy where she works. I hold her hand tightly, feeling it tremble in fear. "I am afraid, Fraulein Altmann," she whispers, her voice shaking like her hands. "They know someone has been snooping around. Some might even know it was me."

I nod. "I know. That's why I am going to call Peggy and get you a direct, solo flight from Berlin to Rio. Howard Stark has a safehouse there that can keep you for years. I'll have Peggy send trusted guards wit you." We stop outside the lamp-lit gate of the SHIELD building. I cup Zelma's cold, dark cheeks between my hands. "You will be safe. I have protected you since you were my student, all those years ago. I'm not about to stop now."

Zelma takes a shivering breath in, nodding eventually. "I trust you, Emma."

And I do just as I promise. I call Peggy, tell her the situation, and she obliges to help whole-heartedly. She knows how much I care for the students I taught after the War. Being an undercover agent in East Berlin was my job, but the students I protected from the Krasnaya Komnata, the Red Room, became my  purpose. I haven't protected them all; some, Fritz being the most heartbreaking, chose the life of a hero and were killed doing their country a service that will never be recognized. I wonder what the West German's told his parents. How did they tell his mother he died? That he died trying to save families in East Berlin by getting them over the Wall?

I can't think about that now. All that matters is getting Zelma safe and finding out whether or not what she overheard is true. I walk her to Howard's plane, personally vetting the pilot, co-pilot, and two bodyguards that Peggy said she trusted. After Fritz, I'm not letting another student die. Not on my watch.

The engines roar to life, and I hug Zelma tightly as she steps up to board the small, private plane. "Thank you," she whispers in her native language.

I rub her back, smiling to myself. "Thank you. And please be safe. Call me when you land in Rio, yes?"

She nods, pulling back and walking into the plane. The pilot nods to me, closing the door behind her. Moments later, she's in the air, soaring southwest.

Thank God.

·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·

I hear the bells chime for midnight when I open the door to the SHIELD locker I stuffed my bag into. It doesn't take me long to find a black tactical suit in the small overnight bag that I brought to Germany. That and a pair of clean clothes were all I stuffed into it when I received Zelma's urgent message. That and my weapons: a couple glocks and my bowstaff.

I change into the black suit, adjusting the thin pieces of armor under the seams so they protect my arms, legs, and vital organs. I strap my glocks on both my thigh holsters, and my bowstaff hides neatly on my back holster. Over my suit goes a real East Berlin Wall guard uniform. SHIELD uses these occasionally when they need to get through the Wall without being noticed. I've done it before.

I clutch the dog tags around my neck, the ones with "James Barnes" etched into them, and tuck them under the collar of my shirt. I pull my engagement ring and wedding band off my left hand, placing them on the same chain as the dog tags. Turning to exit the base under the cover of nightfall, I tug the collar of the turtleneck over my neck, partially hiding my face, and place glasses over my eyes.

Zelma told me the location where she overheard things were being transported. I told her that was impossible because the shipyard she mentioned was a SHIELD facility. "Trust me," she insisted. "I did not hear this wrong. I know what I heard." I trust her judgment, so that's where I'm headed.

It's a facility that ships from East Berlin to other nations in the Soviet Union. One of their main shipping lanes is from West Berlin to Warsaw, Poland, then to Minsk, Belarus, then to Moscow. From Moscow, they can go anywhere: Kazakhstan, the Nordic countries, the Middle East, Mongolia, Siberia, anywhere can be arranged. If I don't find what Zelma was talking about now, I'll lose my chance forever.

The world is too big for one woman to search. Even an immortal one.

I tip toe around the streets, finding myself soon at the Berlin Wall. Guards mark every ten feet of this monstrous sight. I march like the East German's do, using my fake I.D. to get through the tight security with ease. This particular part of the Wall is still being built, so the security isn't quite as high as it normally would be.

After getting to East Berlin, the scene immediately changes from a growing neighborhood to a devastated and sick city. East Germany looks no different a quarter of a century after the War ended than it did the day I first arrived. The people are only less hopeful.

I shed the German uniform and fake glasses, keeping the black turtleneck, and find the gate around the shipping yard a mile inward. I hear the sound of men talking and trucks moving. I see cranes moving cargo from one vehicle to the next. Large boxes of God only knows what fills the large, open area. Their large work yard is lit by artificial light as they use the darkest hours of the night to do what is perfectly legal in their side of Berlin.

Zelma couldn't tell me much about where I would find Bucky, or what she thinks was Bucky. All she could tell me was that they were moving a large shipment tonight from Berlin to another Soviet nation. "They called the shipment a 'them' and a 'him' several times," I remember Zelma saying. "I think that they have your James, but even if that is not so, I had to tell you because you rescued me, Fritz, and a lot of other kids from the Krasnaya Komnata. If you can save someone else from a fate like that...I thought you would want to try."

She was right, of course, but I still hope that it's Bucky and not someone else.

I use my strength to pull myself over the chain-link fence, silently landing on my feet on the other side. I dodge the light by taking cover behind one of their warehouses that surround the trucks. Many of the packages are being moved from those warehouses to he vehicles.

I hear footsteps behind me and sharply turn to face behind me, grabbing my bowstaff in the process. An unaware East Berlin man looks up from his clipboard in shock. I use the electrical component of my bowstaff to knock him unconscious without a sound. After taking his baggy pants and jacket as a cover, I pull him back behind the warehouse, placing several empty crates around him so he won't be found right away. I pull my new disguise over my tactical suit, finding a spare hard-helmet on the lone piece of equipment a few meters away, and make my way around the warehouse and into the light.

About three dozen men are busying themselves with stacking large crates into the back of three trucks. On the sides of these trucks, they're all marked with the sickle and hammer of the Soviet Union, along with the crimson red star. Looking closer at the two officers who seem to be running the show, they wear the same symbol as the officers who nearly killed my students seven years ago. The same symbol that's on the sides of the trucks.

They're part of the Krasnaya Komnata. They're part of the Red Room.

One of the officers a few feet away from me turns to his companion and chuckles, speaking in German, "Drinks are on me. I told you they gave the cargo enough sedative to kill them. Good thing they're all headed to Warsaw. Maybe they can make it before it wears off."

Maybe Zelma was wrong. Maybe it wasn't Bucky those men at the Embassy were talking about. I don't know about the coincidence with the train, but what's in those large crates can't be just Bucky. My mind starts spinning at a million miles an hour, and my heart aches a little with the loss of hope that I'd finally see my Bucky again. If this is a Red Room operation, than what they're moving must be children.

In a split second decision, I move through the shadows to hop into the back of one of those cargo trucks. I move to the back, hiding myself behind the largest wooden boxes. Not a moment too soon, for the workers close the doors to the trucks and lock them from the outside.

In the silence, the only things I can hear are my own racing heartbeat and my shaky breath. I sink to the floor of the metal cargo truck, pulling my knees up to my chest. Before the truck engine roars to life, the floor shaking under my hands, I hear another sound that nearly causes me to cry.

The collective shallow breathing coming from every crate around me.

END CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Bad Ideas.