Functional

14. By the ones Who Always Stand to Profit From Our Loss

She twists around, bringing her heel down hard on the head of the nearest man.  He drops, but she knows he will get back up; he was wearing a helmet.  Another man runs at her while she is distracted and knocks her to the floor.  Rolling, she gets herself away and back on her feet again, but she’s lost ground.  There are too many of them, and they are prepared for her, while she was not for them.  She loses Clint and soon finds herself backing down a corridor, alarm bells ringing in her head as she feels the walls closing in around her.

It’s somewhat fortunate that the hallway opens onto a small utility room, giving her more space to maneuver.  It also bottlenecks her attackers, but she knows she will not last long without help.  Out of ammo, she moves as fast as she can to bring down as many men as possible, even if it is only temporary.  When there are four men on the ground, she has a moment to breathe while five more stand back and assess her, perhaps considering shooting her.  Then she dives forward.

Suddenly, she finds herself with each arm held immobile by a man, while another is approaching her.  She is quickly searching for an escape route when a metal hand wraps around his neck and he is swung against the wall with bone-shattering force.  The men holding her tighten their grip and pull her back as the Winter Soldier steps into view.  Two other men are in the room with them, and are brought down in a matter of moments.  He turns to look at her, and her captors, and takes a step forward before reinforcements come at him from behind.  One in particular is quite large and heavily armored.  She watches in suspense as he fights them, bringing several down at a time.

A touch on her waist makes her look down, and she sees one of the men holding her grab one of her taser disks.  “James!” she cries to warn him as he throws it.

James has his metal hand wrapped around the throat the man in an armored suit, and the man holding her is aiming for this.  He lifts his other hand at the last moment and catches it, a guttural sound escaping him as it shocks his body, but his arm keeps its hold on what would surely become a significant threat.  The grip on her arms slackens just enough in their surprise for her to break free.  She kicks one and elbows the other, then plunges into the melee.  In a matter of moments, she is standing, breathing hard, in the center of the room and there are men on the floor all around.

“James!” she cries, running over to him.  He is on his knees, still being shocked, his hand closed tightly over the windpipe of the now-dead officer.  She wrenches his right hand open to get rid of the disk, getting a little shocked in the process, and kneels beside him, arm around his shoulders.

“You always amaze me,” he mutters, nodding toward the fallen men.

She bites her lip, pushing down the question she wants to ask, and helps him silently to his feet.  “You’re not so bad yourself,” she answers after a moment.  “What are you doing here?”

Something flickers in his eyes, disappointment, maybe, and he looks away.  “Steve brought me to help,” he says emotionlessly.

“It’s appreciated.  I don’t know if I would have been able to walk out of here,” she says sincerely, cocking her head as she listens for any other threats.

“I’m sure you would have been fine,” he murmurs, moving away from her and toward the hallway to leave.

She wants him to stop, to explain to her what he was thinking when he said “always,” but she decides that would be better discussed at a later time.  Taking a couple pistols off the men around her, easier than reloading, she follows him down the narrow passage.  It is surprising how silently he can move, she thinks, watching him.  They reach the main room at last and he stops walking, listening.  He slowly lowers himself into a defensive stance, glancing at her briefly, and she hears approaching footsteps.