Chapter Text
I Will Find You Pt 2
The screams of the man tied to the chair had long since fallen into pathetic whimpers. Natasha stood in front of the man, somehow avoiding even a drop of blood from landing on her. She had taken over when Steve's fists had failed to get the information about those who took Darcy.
With each precise draw of her knife, words flowed out of his mouth like the blood from his veins. Steve was morbidly fascinated by Natasha's technique; Steve was sure he believed Natasha was half in love with the grunt; petting his face, murmuring sweet nothings into his ear, even as she flayed another measured piece of skin from him.
Steve stood, arms crossed and leaning against the warehouse wall, watching the entire time. He ignored the man's blood on the fingerless gloves he wore. It wasn't the first time his knuckles had been streaked with blood, and it won't be the last.
They'd dressed in SHIELD’s black tactical gear, choosing to go in as operatives and not as Avengers. There was an immense freedom in not being Captain America; he didn't have to hold back. And he was ready to leave a trail of bodies until he found Darcy.
The man’s head slumped to his chest, Natasha stepping back. Steve pushed off the wall, joining her in looking at the man. He waited for her opinion.
“Most of what he told me was the truth. Some of it was vague, but it's enough to know she is still alive.”
“Are you sure?” Steve knew better than to question, but this was Darcy.
Natasha looked at him, a bland expression on her face. If he hadn't seen her worry on the quinjet, he'd think she didn't care. But he knew this cold expression meant she was working and working fast.
“We would have found a body by now. It's been six hours since we know they took Darcy. She's alive.”
The man groaned in front of them, drawing their attention.
Steve grabbed the man by the jaw, forcing him to meet his eyes.
“I told you what I know, man. I swear. She said she'd let me go if I told her and I did.” The man babbled, blood and spittle dripping down his chin.
“She did let you go. But I need you for one last thing.” Steve's voice dropped, infused with anger.
“Anything. Just let me go, please man.” The man sobbed.
“I need you to send a message to your people. That they don't take my people.”
“I swear I'll tell them--”
Steve interrupted the man, grabbing his face with both hands and jerking harshly--snapping the man's neck with ease.
He stood, turning to see Clint waiting in the doorway and Natasha looking on in approval.
“We done here?” Clint asked, unphased.
Steve looked to Natasha, who turned and lead the two men out the door and back to the quinjet.
“His men have a base in Whitby,” Natasha explained as they buckled in. “Their cover is fishermen. They have another warehouse by the bay. They loaned it out to the men who took Darcy.”
“ETA?”
“15 minutes.” Clint said, punching in coordinates.
“Good.”
Steve cradled his phone in his hands, the front screen a picture of Darcy asleep in his bed, as Clint pulled the quinjet into the air.