Return of the Winter Soldier
When they arrived at the scene, instead of studying the actual spot; Natasha began to twist and turn trying to calculate the best escape route that would have been taken. She saw several possible routes, some better than others but as she looked, she saw no-one or no trace of which way they would have gone. She cursed in Russian under her breathe. Whoever this was, they were good.
She was shaken from her mental evaluation by Steve’s question, turning to look at him and down at the gun he held.
“Da,” she replied, nodding her head, “James has the exact same model at home. It’s one of his favourites actually.”
It was a good gun, well balanced, one of her personal choices too if she ever wanted to snipe anyone.
"Whoever they are, they know what the hell they’re doing. Something must of happened to make them hesitate and screw up the shot."
He hesitated. The soldier couldn’t get that thought out of his head. He failed, but he couldn’t dwell this…why the hell did I hesitate? He couldn’t stop himself from going over each second of planning, each second of setting up the shot, despite knowing better: he was in control of the situation, he knew where every agent of the secret service was stationed, he knew what roadways and sidewalks were blocked up, where the president would enter, he knew the direction of the subtle breeze, the angle his shot should take, he had the president in his sights and…
There it was again that stabbing in his temples. It was getting worse. He was on his knees, his vision slowly sliding back into place. “Shit.” The soldier didn’t know how he got there…had he blacked out? He must’ve…the ache in his head nagging at him as he used the wall of the alley way to get himself back on his feet. He had to lean against the wall to keep himself upright, the world threatening to slip out from under him again. But he couldn’t risk staying there another second. He had to push past it.
Damnit, he mentally cursed, the sound of two people running towards his position pulling him out of the haze, sharpening his senses again.
His mind worked quickly at formulating a plan, taking into account the little he could deduce from the two sets of footfalls: one was tall and grounded, and the other was short and light on his or her feet. But going blindly into a hand-to-hand fight wasn’t smart, he needed to get a look at these two. He pulled an explosive charge from his belt and tossed it into a dumpster at the mouth of the alley—timing it to the second they stepped into the alley, before get into cover behind another dumpster—pulling the automatic rifle of his back.
The second the explosive went off, the soldier used the smoke and flurry of debris to get a visual on his opponents—gun ready as he stepped out of his cover.
Steve caught wind of a couple of a tracks, trying to do his best to trace using projectories and tracking, but he didn’t need to even think when he saw the huge explosion in the middle of the road that wasn’t too far from where they were.
Without hesitation he leaped down the side of the building he was on, clinging to the drainpipe as he slid down and landed firmly on his feet. Then into the inferno. He ran as fast as he could, taking long strides until he’d reached the smoke, covering his face.
There was a quick glance behind his shoulder, even though in reality he knew he didn’t have to check on Natasha, he still had his concerns that wouldn’t leave him. Such was the life of the Captain. Always checking up on others.
He placed his hand over his mouth as the smoke wafted his way, narrowing his eyes as the figure loomed toward them.