CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE —
( He's fast. Strong. Had a metal arm. )

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Nineteen-forty-eight
        The atmosphere was tense in the dimly lit chamber, and the sharp, acrid scent of sweat and blood hung in the air. The faded, peeling walls echoed with the haunting sound of distant screams, serving as a chilling reminder of the relentless training that took place within this room. Two figures stood at opposite ends of the room, their eyes gleaming with a fiery determination. The tall and muscular man paired with a metal left arm exuded an air of raw power, while the woman, lean and agile, radiated a quiet intensity that hinted at her formidable strength. Behind the heavy, sound-proof doors, a cluster of HYDRA agents observed intently, their expressions neutral yet captivated as they watched the pair fight one another.

"Again!" a voice boomed over the speaker, cutting through the silence like a knife.

With that command, the two people sprang into action. The first strike came from the woman, her fist flying towards the man with a speed he had grown to dread. He barely had time to react as her punch connected with his jaw, sending him staggering backward. Pain flared through his body, but he gritted his teeth and pushed through it. This was not the first time they had fought, and he had learned to endure.

Every round unfolded as a gruelling test of endurance, a clash of pain and resilience. Though lean in stature, the woman emerged as an undeniable force, radiating a fierce determination that defied her appearance. She moved elegantly, her body a perfect blend of speed and precision, executing each move with a dancer's poise and a warrior's ferocity. Every time they collided, she seemed to draw strength from the very fight, her confidence surging while his resolve weakened beneath the limitation of his wounds. There was something otherworldly about her power; she went beyond the limits of an ordinary human and even a super soldier like her partner.

"Get up, Soldier!" the voice from the shadows taunted. "Fight until you win!"

With a growl, the man pushed himself off the ground, his body protesting with every movement. He understood this brutal training was meant to harden them, strip away their weaknesses, and transform them into invulnerable weapons. Each broken bone and bruise was a lesson learned in the harshest ways.

As the rounds dragged on, the woman's strikes became more calculated, each blow a reminder of her dominance. With every punch, another crack would echo in the room—his ribs, his arm, his nose—each fracture serving as a testament to her skill. He'd long tapped out days ago if it wasn't for his accelerated healing.  And despite the searing pain coursing through him, the man felt something stir within him, an ember of defiance that refused to be extinguished.

With that, the next round began, and the woman launched herself at the man once more. This time, he managed to sidestep her initial strike, using the momentum to counterattack. He landed a punch to her midsection with his metal arm, and for a brief moment, he felt a rush of triumph. But it was fleeting; she retaliated almost instantly, her elbow crashing into his temple, and the world around him spun.

As he staggered back, he realised that pain was becoming a familiar companion. The throbbing in his bones was a constant reminder of his limitations, but with each fracture, he felt himself growing more assertive in spirit. The woman's relentless pursuit of victory shaped him, pushing him to confront his fears and weaknesses.

Days turned into weeks, and the cycle of violence continued. Each fight left the man more battered, but he grew increasingly resilient. Each time the woman broke a bone, he learned to adapt. She was his adversary and teacher, forcing him to confront pain in ways he had never imagined.

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Now
Evelyn and Steve hurriedly made their way to the hospital. With urgency in her voice, Evelyn dialled Natasha's number, relaying the concerning news about Fury's condition. Natasha wasted no time; she jumped into her car and sped toward the hospital.

As they arrived, Evelyn glanced through the large glass window of the surgical room, where Fury lay unconscious, surrounded by medical staff bustling about. Her heart raced as she watched, her fingers anxiously picking at her nails, a telltale sign of her mounting anxiety.

Natasha suddenly appeared beside Evelyn, her presence commanding yet tense. She froze, her eyes wide with concern. "Is he going to make it?" she asked, urgency lacing her voice.

Evelyn's throat tightened as she stuttered, "I-I don't know," her gaze falling helplessly to her hands. She nervously picked at her nails, the only thing grounding her in the chaos of emotions swirling within.

"Tell me about the shooter," Natasha pressed, her tone sharp with determination.

Steve, his expression grave, broke the silence. "He's fast. Strong. Had a metal arm." The weight of his words hung heavy in the air. Evelyn's glance shifted towards Natasha, and they locked eyes, sharing a knowing look. The tension between them crackled as they silently acknowledged the gravity of the situation.

Maria Hill walked up to them. "Ballistics?" Natasha asked.

"Three slugs, no rifling. Completely untraceable," Maria told her.

"Soviet-made," Natasha and Evelyn immediately said.

Steve and Maria looked at the both of them. "Yeah," Maria said, surprised.

The heart rate monitor erupted into a frantic series of beeps, each warning tone piercing the air and snapping their focus back to Fury's still figure. A surgeon sprang into action, darting toward the defibrillator with a practised urgency, the wheels of the medical cart squeaking as they rolled against the floor. Evelyn felt a surge of anxiety wash over her as she bit down on the inside of her cheek, desperately willing the situation to turn around. "Come on, Nick," she whispered under her breath, her voice barely a tremor against the chaos.

Beside her, Natasha stood rigid, her expression a mask of tension. "Don't do this to me," she murmured, a mix of fear and determination lacing her words.

"Three. Two. One. Clear!" The surgeon's voice rang out with authority, and the room held its breath in that heartbeat of silence. They repeatedly applied the defibrillator to his motionless body, each jolting shock reverberating through the air, yet his heart remained stubbornly silent. Again, they charged the device, hope flickering with each pulse of energy, but once more, it failed to arouse even the faintest rhythm of life. Evelyn's breath caught in her throat, her nails digging sharply into the tender flesh of her palms, a desperate attempt to ground herself in the chaos unfolding before her. The doctors leaned in, their expressions grim as they searched for any sign of life, but found only the absence of a pulse—a haunting stillness where vitality once thrived. "Time of death," one of them announced, the words hanging like a heavy blanket in the air, "1:03 AM."

Evelyn recalled the chilly, overcast day in Russia when Fury discovered her curled up beneath the branches of an old tree, hiding from the agents out to get her. He had approached her with an air of authority, yet an undeniable softness in his gaze caught her off guard. From that moment, he took her under his wing, guiding her through the shadows of a world that often felt ruthless.

Nick Fury, known far and wide for his unyielding ruthlessness and courageous decisions made in the name of global security, had an unexpected gentleness directed toward Evelyn. Beneath his tough exterior lay a man fiercely protective of those he cared for, and he had always treated Evelyn with a unique kindness, much like he did with Natasha, who also found solace in his unwavering support. Fury had become her safe harbour in a landscape filled with betrayal and danger, a rare beacon of warmth before Steve was discovered in the Atlantic.

Evelyn remained oblivious to the chilling air that enveloped the room, the temperature plunging steadily as a thin layer of frost began to creep across the walls. Her skin, once pale, now took on a bizarre shade of blue with markings covering her skin.

"Evelyn?" Steve's voice cut through the silence, his gaze darting around in concern as he took in the alarming transformation of their surroundings. The temperature continued to drop, and delicate icicles formed around Evelyn.

Lost in her thoughts, Evelyn's eyes were fixed on Fury's lifeless body, a heavy sorrow weighing on her heart as memories flooded back. She recalled the second chance he had offered her—a chance to make a meaningful impact in a world that often seemed devoid of hope.

"Evelyn," Natasha's voice broke through Evelyn's trance, firm yet laced with urgency. She stood at a safe distance, acutely aware that attempting to physically reach out could be painful. "You need to snap out of it." The air crackled between them, tension threading through the icy atmosphere as Natasha hoped to pull Evelyn back from the dark void.

Evelyn blinked rapidly, shaking herself from her hazy daze. A frown creased her brow as she cast a perplexed glance at Natasha and Steve, then down at her hands, which were now an unsettling shade of blue. A wave of panic washed over her as she took in the scene around her—the once metallic room was now chilling, everything encased in a thick layer of ice. With a look of disbelief, Evelyn shook her hands, watching as the icy room faded away like mist before her eyes, leaving just a little bit of water covering the floor.

Taking a hesitant step back from the frost-laden glass, she stared at her hands, her heart heavy with grief and regret. "I-I'm so sorry," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with emotion. "I don't know what came over me."

Steve's gaze softened as he approached her, his voice gentle and reassuring. "It's not your fault," he said, his tone steady and calm as he watched the tinge of blue retreat from her skin, returning it to its natural paleness. Without hesitation, he closed the distance between them and enveloped her in a warm embrace. She hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty passing through her, but ultimately returned the hug, finding solace in his warmth.

After the surgeons and doctors had cleaned up and prepared Fury's body, Steve and the others were finally permitted to enter the room. A knot of anxiety twisted in Steve's stomach at the thought of Evelyn seeing him; he feared the trauma might overwhelm her again. Yet, she assured him with soft determination that she could handle it, and he decided to trust her instincts.

In the dim light of the cold, sterile room, Natasha stood before Fury's still lean and Evelyn beside Steve, their faces etched with sorrow. A profound silence enveloped them as they gazed down at him, an immovable figure lying beneath the harsh fluorescent lights—a man who, just moments ago, had been a pillar of strength. Evelyn's heart ached as she noticed the way his chest lay still, devoid of the rhythmic rise and fall of breath. It was a surreal realisation; the man they had known and relied upon was truly gone.

Feeling the weight of grief pressing upon her, she brushed away the tears that fell silently down her cheeks and moved to stand beside Natasha. Their hands found each other instinctively, and Evelyn began to soothe Natasha's agitation by tracing gentle circles on the back of her hand with her thumb, their shared pain creating a fragile bond of support.

The sudden creaking of the door broke the tension in the room, and a voice cut through the silence. "I need to take him," Maria said.

As Steve's footsteps echoed behind them, a calm yet heavy presence, Evelyn remained focused on Fury, her gaze unwavering. "Evelyn. Natasha," he said, his voice steady, offering a semblance of comfort.

With a heart full of unspoken goodbyes, Evelyn leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to Fury's cold forehead, a final tribute of respect and love. Natasha followed suit, placing her hand gently on his head, the weight of the moment settling between them as they stepped back from the lifeless body.

Together, they turned and walked out of the room, each step heavy with loss yet bolstered by the strength of their shared memories. Steve and Evelyn closely followed Natasha, the tension and sorrow lingering like an incomplete farewell. "Natasha!" Steve called.

Natasha pivoted on her heel, her keen gaze locking onto Steve's as she felt a surge of urgency. "Why was Fury in your apartment?" she demanded, her voice laced with suspicion.

Steve shrugged, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. "I don't know," he replied, his tone lacking conviction as he brushed off her question.

Behind them, Brock Rumlow stepped forward. "Cap, Gemini, they want you back at S.H.I.E.L.D.," he stated firmly, his tone implying no argument.

Steve turned to face Rumlow, nodding in acknowledgment as Evelyn stood nearby, her eyes flickering between them. She knew she could confide in Natasha about what was happening with S.H.I.E.L.D., but the current atmosphere wasn't the place to speak about it. "Yeah, give us a second," Steve said, trying to buy a moment of privacy.

"They want you now," Rumlow insisted, his impatience growing.

"Okay," Steve snapped back, his voice sharper, annoyance creeping into his demeanour.

As he turned to Natasha again, she couldn't help but fix him with a piercing look. "You're a terrible liar," she stated bluntly, a hint of frustration mixed with amusement in her tone, before striding away, leaving Steve to ponder the weight of her words.

Evelyn let out a deep sigh, her head gently resting on Steve's shoulder, her mind swirling with the fear that she might have jeopardised the trust she had built with her best friend. The warmth of his shoulder brought her a momentary comfort, but her apprehension lingered like a shadow. A moment later, Steve nudged her and gestured toward the brightly lit vending machine beside them.

"Darling, it's closed, and I didn't bring my purse," Evelyn replied, a hint of exasperation colouring her voice.

Steve rolled his eyes.  "No, put the USB in there," he instructed, his eyes glinting with an idea.

Evelyn raised an eyebrow and gave him a sceptical look, the unmistakable expression of "are-you-for-real" written on her face. "Someone's going to find it," she warned her fingers instinctively digging into her pocket to retrieve the small device.

"No, they won't," Steve reassured her, his confidence radiating. With a resigned sigh, Evelyn handed over the USB. As the man tasked with restocking the vending machine turned his back, Steve swiftly slipped the USB behind a pack of Hubba Bubba gum, his movements quick and precise.

Evelyn followed him out, her pace steady yet her face a mask of detachment, emotions carefully concealed. They emerged into the bustling corridor where Rumlow was waiting.

"Let's go," she said, her voice even, betraying none of the turmoil within her.

Rumlow nodded in acknowledgment. "STRIKE, move it out."

AUTHORS NOTE
SHOUT OUT to viendettas for making me this beautiful cover for this book!!!! Thank you darling 🩷
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Pheebs/-rosepetal