OUR LIFETIME « Pietro Maximoff

16 /| whispered names

[chapter sixteen]

SAVANNAH GASPED AWAKE, her head leaving a hardwood table. She'd had seen a memory when she was unconscious, and it was the most revealing one yet. Her cuffed hands were in her lap, and her powers were still dulled by them. Her sixth sense had been cut off so abruptly that she was unable to understand. Or maybe it was because they'd used brunt force with her. She remembered being hit in the head, but why that induced her into a memory was beyond her because it had never happened before.

Her shirt had been changed and her shoulders were patched up with gauze. "You're okay," a familiar voice said from beside her. It was Natasha. She immediately calmed down. She took in her surroundings. She could see her other teammates in the room next to theirs. The glass walls left little to imagination.

"Where are we?" Savannah asked, disoriented.

"Berlin. A United Nations bunker." Nat answered, her green eyes unreadable. "This wasn't supposed to happen Savannah. You were not supposed to disappear yesterday."

She placed her pounding head on the table. "Couldn't help myself."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "They wanted to do a psychological evaluation for all three of you. Barnes is in there right now."

"Have they started?" She asked quietly.

Nat watched her. "Not yet."

Good. "Can I use your phone?"

"You don't get a phone call," Natasha replied blandly.

"I'm pretty sure that's illegal," Savannah muttered.

"Yeah." Natasha gestured for her to stand up and follow to the next room so she did.

"When can these come off?" She asked referring to the hand cuffs.

"When it's safe," another voice answered. Tony Stark gave her a smirk as he passed them. Savannah scowled. When was that going to happen?

She went to sit in the back of the room and Natasha went to sit in a different room. Sam watched Savannah sit. "You okay, Sav?"

She nodded, raising her cuffed hands. She couldn't even feel any pain in her shoulders. "No powers though."

"Yeah, we tried to get you out of them—"

"But they don't trust me," she finished. Sam gave her an apologetic look. Just then, a blonde woman entered the room. She looked familiar, from SHIELD maybe.

Was it...Sharon?

Probably.

"The receipt for your gear," she said, sliding a sheet of paper to Sam.

He glanced down at it, making a face. "'Bird costume'? Come on."

She shrugged. "I didn't write it." The woman pressed a button, turning on the TV above where Steve stood. His eyes darted to Sharon's then hers before falling back onto the TV.

There was Barnes, contained inside a glass box, his dark hair stringy and falling into his face. "I'm not here to judge you. I just want to ask you a few questions." An accented voice emitted from the screen. "Do you know where you are, James? I can't help you if you don't talk to me, James."

Bucky's voice was gruff. "My name is Bucky."

And it went on like that for a while. Steve grabbed a folder, gazing at its contents. His brow furrowed. "Why would the Task Force release this photo to begin with?"

Sharon answered immediately. "Get the word out, involve as many eyes as we can?"

"Right." He placed the folder onto the table. "It's a good way to flush a guy out of hiding. Set off a bomb, get your picture taken. Get seven billion people looking for the Winter Soldier."

Sharon looked down. "You're saying someone framed him to find him."

"And they got us to do all the dirty work," Savannah murmured.

Sam leaned forward in his chair. "Steve, we looked for the guy for two years and found nothing."

Steve pursed his lips. "We didn't bomb the UN. That turns a lot of heads."

"Yeah, but that doesn't guarantee that whoever framed him would get him. It guarantees that we would," Sharon said, her eyes narrowing.

"Maybe that's the problem," Savannah whispered.

Steve's reply came offhandedly. "Yeah."

The psychiatrist and Bucky continued to speak, and then suddenly the electricity cut out, shrouding them in darkness. They waited a moment for it to come back on but it didn't. Sharon produced a key, removing Savannah's hand cuffs. Her powers hit her at full force again. She could tell you just how many people were in the building right now, but she wouldn't.

"Sub-level 5, east wing," Sharon told them.

Savannah stood, but Steve shook his head. "Stay with Sharon."

She made a face but didn't outwardly complain. They met with Natasha and Tony and loads of people who were scattering everywhere. They made a plan to attack the Winter Soldier, since James Buchanan Barnes was obviously not home at the moment. This was definitely the psychiatrist's fault, triggering Bucky into this state.

Tony would go in first, then Sharon, then Natasha, then her.

Savannah watched as the Winter Soldier took out the people before her. She took off running in his direction, where he choked Nat, her legs around his neck and her body pinned to the table. She couldn't breathe.

Savannah kicked his side, throwing him off of Natasha. She gave him a kick to his chest and latched her hands onto his torso, draining him of his energy, but someone knocked her aside. "He's mine," T'Challa said, kneeing the man in the chest. She shook her burning hands. She could really use her gloves.

Natasha pulled her behind a pillar before she could continue after them. "What is it?" She asked the red head once she saw the urgent look in her friend's eyes.

"You need to leave."

Savannah stared confused. "I don't think that would make things better for me."

"Do you think Steve, Sam, and Barnes are coming back here when this all settles?" No she didn't, Natasha could see this. "So go with them, before I change my mind."

Savannah's eyes searched hers. "Thank you." She paused. "Tell Pietro—"

"I know," Natasha said before disappearing. Savannah ran into the sea of people right outside the doors. Sam was standing in the center, his eyes searching.

Savannah went to him. "We should go." The man agreed, sweat beading down his brown skin. His face was bruised.

As they moved, Savannah's thoughts were pulled to the memory she'd witnessed earlier. A memory she didn't have much time to dwell on. There was one name on her tongue, a name she was unsure how she could've ever forgotten.

Gamora. Gamora.

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