V.G.D. Base — Senior Instructors' Quarters
The hot water had barely stopped dripping.
Steve Rogers sat on the edge of the bed, towel around his waist, staring at an old black-and-white photograph in his hand.
The Howling Commandos.
Laughing. Loud. Alive.
Bucky stood beside him, smiling like the world had never known war.
"Bzzz… bzzz…"
The old push-button phone on the table suddenly vibrated.
Steve set the photo down and picked it up.
"Rogers speaking. And if you're selling insurance, I already have full coverage."
"Cut the jokes, Cap. In my current condition, I'd need crowdfunding just to buy myself a wooden coffin."
The voice on the other end was hoarse. Exhausted.
"…Fury?"
"Yeah. It's me."
Steve straightened instantly. "Where are you?"
"Listen carefully. I don't have time for pleasantries. Natasha, Clint, and I are together. We're in New Jersey."
"New Jersey?"
"Yeah. Your second hometown." Fury let out a dry laugh. "We found it. The birthplace of S.H.I.E.L.D.—and Hydra's incubation chamber."
Steve's grip tightened.
"What did you find?"
"…Arnim Zola."
Steve's knuckles went white. "Zola? He's still alive?"
"His body's dead. His brain isn't." Fury spat the words. "The Nazi bastard turned himself into data. And he talked. A lot."
Fury's voice dropped, cold and sharp.
"Pierce. That son of a bitch. He's Hydra's current head. They've been leeching off S.H.I.E.L.D. for decades—engineering chaos from the inside."
Steve snorted quietly.
"That's not news, Nick. I visited the Triskelion recently. Took me less than five minutes to confirm it. Your reaction time's slipping. Guess the budget cuts are justified."
Two seconds of silence.
"…Motherf— okay, fine. I'll admit it. I got played." Fury exhaled hard. "But there's more."
"Zola designed an algorithm," Fury said, voice tightening.
"One that predicts your future based on your past. Bank records. Voting habits. Even your pizza toppings."
Steve's eyes darkened.
"If the system decides you might interfere with Hydra one day—" Fury paused, then finished flatly, "—you're dead."
Fury accelerated, urgency bleeding through the line.
"Pierce has lost his mind. In two days, he plans to brainwash the dissenting Council members and force Project Insight through."
"Once those three Helicarriers launch and sync with the satellites, they'll instantly target and erase twenty million people."
Steve closed his eyes.
"Doctors. Journalists. Political dissidents."
"And yes, you and me."
Fury swallowed.
"And the metal-armed assassin. The Winter Soldier."
Steve's breath slowed.
"There's more than one, Cap. Pierce is ready to unleash them all."
A beat.
"I need you, Steve. I need your help."
Steve was silent for a long moment.
"Nick," he said finally, calm but firm.
"I work for Vought now."
"If you want help, go through proper channels. Talk to my boss—Homelander. He'd be more than happy to save his Earth. And frankly, I believe he can handle a few flying battleships."
"Homelander?!"
Fury exploded.
"You want me to go beg that flag-cape narcissist?! That camera-smiling actor?!"
"Goddammit, Steve, have you lost your mind?!"
"I tried calling him! Dozens of times!"
"And every time—every single time—it's that woman, Ashley!"
Fury mocked her perfectly:
'Oh sorry, Director Fury, Mr. Homelander is shooting a Vanity Fair cover.'
'Oh sorry, Mr. Homelander is at a Hollywood premiere.'
'Oh sorry, Mr. Homelander is golfing with the President.'
"I can't reach him! He's busy being a celebrity, not a hero!"
"You want to hand the fate of the world to that?"
Steve listened, then—unexpectedly—smiled.
"Nick," he said quietly, "maybe he just doesn't want to talk to you. You've never exactly hidden your bias."
"He might be vain. He might enjoy the spotlight."
"But when it matters—he shows up."
"And he's strong. Stronger than all of us combined."
"If we're facing Helicarriers and an army of super-soldiers… he's the best option."
"…Motherf—" Fury muttered. "I hate owing that guy."
"Then we're done here." Steve moved to hang up.
"WAIT!"
Fury's voice cracked.
"Steve… there's one more thing."
The tone shifted. Heavy. Dangerous.
"The Winter Soldier."
Steve froze.
"The metal-armed assassin who sent you flying?"
"…We identified him."
Steve's fingers locked around the phone.
"Who is he?"
"James Buchanan Barnes."
The name dropped like a bomb.
"Your old friend."
"…Bucky."
The world went silent.
Bucky was alive.
That metal arm. That empty stare.
"…No," Steve whispered. "I saw him fall."
"Hydra recovered him," Fury said mercilessly. "Turned him into a weapon. That's what they do."
"Steve—if you want to save him. Or give him peace."
"You have to stop Pierce."
A pause.
"…I can crawl to Homelander and kiss his boots if I have to," Fury added bitterly.
"But I'd rather he not vaporize Bucky's head with eye lasers."
Five seconds.
Then—
"I understand," Steve said, voice steady.
"I'll request leave from Homelander."
"Wait for my call."
The line went dead.
Steve grabbed his shield and stormed out of the dormitory.
-----
Antony's Office
Antony leaned back in his chair, listening as Ashley delivered her report.
"—Box office numbers for The Seven: Odyssey just broke another record. Time magazine wants you for Person of the Year—"
BANG!
The doors flew open.
Steve Rogers marched in, eyes burning with urgency.
"Steve?" Antony glanced up. "You look like you just found out your wife cheated."
"Worse," Steve said bluntly.
"I'm here to request leave."
"Leave?" Antony arched a brow and sat forward. "Reason? If it's that blonde nurse, I can give you three days."
"It's not that." Steve shook his head.
"It's personal."
He met Antony's gaze.
"Unfinished business."