A.N. So I've had this idea in my head for a while and I want to see how it goes. There'll be hints of Romanogers if you squint… Oh who am I kidding, there'll be tons of the stuff! Enough of me blabbering, let's get onto the story!

Chapter 1

Captain Rogers' POV

I shuffled my exhausted body into my apartment after a particularly excruciating mission. Falcon and I had been tracking the whereabouts of Buck…the Winter Soldier. We had traced him back to Pakistan when suddenly we were attacked. Falcon flew the two of us out of there, but not without a bullet grazing his calf and one nicking my right shoulder. Black Widow picked us up in a quinjet somewhere in Eastern Europe, I didn't know or care about which country exactly. She bandaged us up while we debriefed her on what happened.

I flopped onto my living room couch, careful about my bandage, and replayed our conversation on the inside of my eyelids.

Flashback

"You need to be more careful, Captain." Natasha said gruffly while tightening the wrapping around my shoulder, making me wince.

"I'll keep that in mind next time I'm getting shot at." I said with a mirthless laugh.

Sam readjusted his leg on the pillow, "Agent Romanoff's correct, Cap. We need to be more cautious. Maybe we should take a break for a few weeks."

I shot him a glare and he put his hands up in surrender.

"You and I both served, Cap. Albeit, different time period, but regardless, we both served. So you know that you can't chase a target relentlessly forever. You have to lead them into a sense of false security by not following them and then we'll nab them."

I nodded, completely out of options at this point.

"But…"

He cut me off, "I highly doubt the Winter Soldier is going to kill anyone. He's not with HYDRA or SHIELD or any agency we have intel on. He's on his own."

I met his gaze, "So what do we do now?"

Natasha answered for him, "Lay low and don't do anything that might tip him off, but keep tracking him. After a few weeks or months, continue the search."

Sam and I both nodded and we all stayed silent during the flight back to D.C.

Flashback Over

I opened my eyes to a knock at my door. I rubbed a hand over my face, trying to wipe the tiredness from my eyes, and walked to open the door. After unbolting my 3 locks, I saw a woman with vibrant red and curly hair walk inside.

"Natasha?" I asked sleepily, "What are you doing here?"

She gave me a small smile, "Do you want me to leave, Steve?"

I shook my head, "Of course not, I was just wondering why you would come to my apartment at…" I glanced over at the manual clock in the kitchen, "2:36 in the morning?"

She chuckled and cleared her throat, "I came to make sure you weren't off gallivanting after Bucky by yourself."

My mood darkened, "So you're just here to babysit me?"

"For now, but I have something for you."

She tossed a file onto the coffee table in the living room. I walked over and sat down on the couch, looking through the manila folder. While I went through the contents, Natasha sat down silently in the recliner across from me.

"This is a file on a children's home?"

She nodded, "St. Padre Pio's"

I looked at her questionably, "Why would SHI…" I stopped myself, SHIELD was supposed to have been dissolved for about 2 months now.

Sensing my storm of emotions, Natasha spoke, "Fury wants you to look into this, says it will help you lay low."

I scoffed, "Even though he's not my boss anymore?"

She leaned over and placed her hand on top of mine, "Fury's still trying to piece SHIELD back together, he still believes in heroes."

I didn't say anything and continued to look through the file. Apparently, Fury also had a child in mind as I read through her file.

Name: Sarena Marie Jackson

Age: 14

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Height: 5'4''

Eye Color: Blue-green

Hair color: Brown

Weight: 122lbs

Parentage: Grant and Anna Jackson (killed in car crash-deceased 3 years)

"Why does Fury want me to adopt a 14 year-old?" I asked.

She shrugged, "All Fury told me was that it would help you lay low. Now get some sleep, you have to be there by 8 a.m. tomorrow."

She got up and walked out while I stayed there and continued to look through the file. The question "why?" kept pounding my head as I looked through images and statements about the girl who was about to change my life.

The Next Morning

Sarena's POV

I woke up at 7:45 in the morning to little Jamie bouncing on my stomach.

"Rena wake up!" her small voice cried, "Wake up! Wake up! Wake UP!"

I groaned, not even opening my eyes, and said, "Today has been cancelled, go back to bed."

Jamie seem to ponder this as she got off my stomach (which now has a bruise) and padded over to my head, "But breakfast ends in 10 minutes."

My eyes shot open as she ran out of the room, shrieking with joy. I grumbled some swears as I swung my legs off my bed and grabbed my clothes from the foot of my bed and headed to the bathroom. After my nice, hot shower, I tugged on my blue skinny jeans and laced up my brown combat boots. Then I pulled my black t-shirt that said "This We'll Defend" on the front and plaited my hair in a French braid. Once I approved of my appearance, I jetted out the bedroom, down the stairs to the Mess Hall that was past the adoption office.

Once there, I snatched an apple and a water bottle from the buffet line. I walked over to where the older kids were and sat with them. We were all talking about what we we're going to do once we aged out when little Jamie tapped my shoulder.

"Father Sanders said that you were leaving today, so I made you this." She said with tears building up in her eyes.

I placed the card behind me on the table and gave her a hug.

"Don't cry hon, I'll come and visit, okay?"

She nodded and wiped her tears away with her fist. She then skipped back to her table and resumed her conversation. I turned around and looked across to my friend, Megan, who was 13 years old.

"You promise that you'll look after her, right?"

She nodded, "I pinky swear, as long as you come back to visit."

I smirked, "I'll see what strings I can pull."

Then Father Sanders walked in and tapped me on the shoulder, "Time to go, Sarena. Hurry and go grab your stuff."

I nodded, grabbed the red card, and sprinted back to go pack my stuff. Father Sanders was about 45-50 years old with thinning blonde hair. He treated everybody as if we were his children, bringing new meaning to "We are all God's children." He was somewhat skinny and stood at about 5'5'' with pale skin that was beginning to wrinkle.

Finally I reached the girls' bedroom. I ran past the rows of the iron-frame beds until I reached my own. Pulling my old camo duffel bag from under my bed, I began to go through my white dresser/nightstand and take out everything. After organizing everything on the bag, I placed the red card on top and zipped it shut. Swinging it over my shoulder, I ran out of the room, past the seemingly endless rows of beds.

After nearly falling down the spiral staircase twice, I finally reached the adoption office. I calmly walked in and tried to hide the fact that I was out of breath as I stood by Father Sanders.

I saw a man sitting in one of the chairs in front of the oak desk. He was well-built with his blonde hair swept over to one side. His skin was somewhat tan and he wore blue jeans, boots, and a green and white checkered shirt under a brown leather jacket. But his most startling feature was his bright blue eyes that seem to smile at you, if that makes sense. He looked like he was the poster-child for America.

Father Sanders placed a firm hand on my shoulder, "Sarena, I'd like to introduce you to Steve Rogers."

The man, now known as Steve Rogers, stood up and stuck his hand out for a shake. A gesture to which I returned.

"Pleasure to meet you, Sarena." He said with a smile.

"Pleasure's all mine, and please, call me 'Rena'." I said with perfect etiquette.

Father Sanders then turned his attention to Steve, "Well Mr. Rogers…" I stifled a giggle, "It appears you're all set to go."

"Thank you, sir. Ready to go, Rena?"

I numbly nodded as Father Sanders gave me one last hug and I said my thanks. This was really happening, I was actually leaving. I followed Steve out to the parking lot where he locked my bag in the trunk of his blue convertible while I climbed into the shotgun seat and buckled myself in. Then he hopped in and started the car and soon we were on the road. It took all I had to not let the tears fall down.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Steve turn on the radio, "Hope you don't mind 40's music?"

I shook my head, "On the contrary, I kinda like it."

"Really?" He asked surprised.

"Yeah, when my dad used to be stationed in New York, my mom taught me how to dance to this."

My smile faltered as I remembered my parents.

I guess Steve noticed my mood change, "You okay, Rena?"

I nodded, "Yeah…I was just going through old memories."

He seemed to understand since he didn't ask any questions. We drove in silence for a couple miles before I got fed up with it.

"You're former military, aren't you?"

We stopped at a red light and he turned to me, "How'd you guess?"

I smiled, "Well, back in the office, you sat with perfect posture, in the parking lot, you were scanning the buildings for potential threats, but the deal-breaker was the 'GO ARMY' sticker in your back window."

He smiled and turned back around since the light turned green, "You're very observant, Rena."

I smiled at his praise. Our conversation eventually died down into comfortable silence. I turned my head to look at the scenery of downtown D.C. The place where all the pompous politicians "work" and all the secret agencies protect them. I remember that Father Sanders took all the older kids (12-16) to go see "Annie" at the Warner Theater. It was a reward for watching all of the little kids for 4 hours while he was in Maryland giving some service. Coming back, the whole bus sang "Tomorrow, Tomorrow" and "It's A Hard-Knock Life" at the top of our lungs.

"You know, you're a lot like Daddy Warbux." I said off-handedly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You know, Daddy Warbux. The billionaire from the Broadway play "Annie"."

"I don't understand that reference."

I looked at his flabbergasted, "You mean you've never seen "Annie"? What are you, from the 50's or something?"

I saw him shift uncomfortably in his seat as we kept driving which made me more suspicious. I decided not to say anything else as we drove on. White puffy clouds morphed themselves into shapes across the blue sky. I was too busy gazing at the sky to notice that Steve had turned into the parking lot of an apartment building. He pulled into a parking spot and stopped the car. I grabbed my bag from the trunk and followed him into the lobby, up the elevator, and to his apartment door. He fumbled around with the key for a bit before the door gave way and we entered.

After he closed the door and turned on the lights, it was like the '40s bitch-slapped me in the face. All over the walls, WW2 regalia and newspaper clippings were preserved in frames and on top of the fireplace mantle hung a perfect replica of the Captain America shield. Oh, my God I thought, I was adopted either by a psychopath with a fetish for the forties or a Level 9000 hipster.

The hipster in question showed me to my guest room down the hall. He left me to unpack and to take a call. I looked around, taking in my new room. It was modest in size, not too big or small, with a white sliding door closet. I unpacked all my things and placed the red card Jamie made on the blue night stand. I collapsed on the embroidered blue and white duvet on my bed and fell asleep.