Hello and welcome to another Steve/OC fanfic. There are so many Steve/OC fics out there, so there's bound to be a high standard out there that I'm probably not going to be able to meet. But I still hope you'll give this story a chance.

I apologize for any grammar/spelling mistakes you might read. English isn't my first language, and although I like to think my English is spotless, it isn't. So there's a very high chance you'll find a mistake here and there.

DICLAIMER: I own nothing, only my OC and any storyline you don't recognize from the franchise. The Avengers, Captain America and all other heavenly films are owned by Marvel, and of course, the most badass person in any Marvel production, Stan Lee.

Part I

Chapter 1

"Come on, freak, wake up!"

I groaned when I felt someone shaking me, grabbing me by my shoulders. I hadn't had the best sleep this night, I could've only slept for two hours, maybe even less. But then again, when was the last time I ever had a decent sleep? When was the last time I slept for more than four hours a night, if I even slept at all? It was definitely over a year ago. Probably the night before my eighteenth birthday… I groaned again and forced the memories that were coming up back into that one dark corner of my mind reserved for them. Thinking about it now wasn't a good idea. I wouldn't be able to function if I allowed myself to. No, I was already being tormented by those memories in my dreams, the only place I couldn't control them. I didn't need them when I was awake as well.

"Ace, get up, I've got a job for you."

What a surprise. I groaned one last time into the backpack of clothes that I used as a make-shift pillow and slowly sat up on the thin piece of cardboard I didn't even dare call a mattress, pushing the smelly blanket off of me.

I raised my head to meet Jay's harsh face. I mentally sighed, he used to be so nice. Of course, only as long as I was still cooperating out of free will he was good to me. But once I wanted out, he wasn't so nice anymore. I had been so naive to trust him.

"Where?" I asked him, my voice empty.

He gave me a piece of paper, a name and an address scribbled on it in his trademarking barely readable handwriting. It took me weeks to finally decipher it at first, but now I was kind of proud I could actually read it.

When I read which place he wanted me to go, I raised my eyebrow. "Are you serious? This is in one of the busiest parts of the city."

He merely raised his eyebrow right back at me, challenging me.

My jaw clenched. "I can't do it there, someone will see!"

"That's your problem, not mine." He stood up straight after having been kneeling beside me for the past few minutes. "Better go and get ready, you have two hours." He walked away after that, whistling that annoying song that was all over the radio at the moment.

I watched him go, hate filling my thin body. God, I hated him so much. I never knew a person was capable of so much hatred. But I guess at least some of that hatred was not directed at him. I only have myself to blame for what happened to me. I never should have trusted him in the first place.

Groaning, I lifted my ratty body of the cardboard. I stretched out thoroughly, trying to make the stiffness go away as much as possible. I grabbed my backpack and slowly started making my way up to the bathroom. Not that it really was a bathroom. There was no streaming water. The only water available was rainwater that was being collected outside with a barrel, which was connected with a pipe that hung over the wash basin. No one in this old wreck of a building ever showered because of that. One, there was barely enough water for everyone to even wash their hands, let alone their entire body; and two, the water was green from the algae in the barrel. Not very appealing to wash yourself with.

I entered the room, closed the door and pushed the chair under the knob to make sure no one could walk in. Being the only woman in this house, I quickly learned that I didn't want any of the others being able to walk into a room where I would be completely alone with them. That's why I convinced Jay to let me sleep in his room with him. The others wouldn't dare touch me while I was with him. I couldn't stand the man, but at least I was safe. And the others were safe from me.

Walking over to the broken mirror, I took my black faux-leather gloves off, then my hoodie, leaving me in my gray tank top in front of the mirror. I inspected it for a moment, and decided it was still good enough to wear. I bended over and grabbed a remotely washcloth out of my backpack. I turned the valve on the pipe, letting just enough water flow on the washcloth before turning it off again. I swiped it over my face, breathing through my mouth to avoid smelling the green rain water. I knew I probably shouldn't use it at all, but I hated the way my skin would feel greasy after a few days.

After I was done, I stared at my reflection. No, 'glared at it' would be a better description. I glared at my dyed blond hair, starting to show my originally chocolate brown hair at its roots. I'll have to ask Jay for a new pack of hair dye soon. I glared at the green eyes behind the thick glasses through which I could barely see. My eyes were supposed to be dark brown, not the kiwi green the colored contacts made them appear. The glasses I wore were not my own glasses; Jay made me throw them away and gave me the ones I was wearing instead. They weren't my prescription though, which meant I couldn't see shit through them at first. After a while I got used to it, although my vision isn't the greatest and I have a continuous headache from seeing through them. But at least I got glasses. If it had been completely up to Jay, he wouldn't have let me wear them at all, he would have made me wear contacts. But there he hit a dilemma; colored contact lenses to change my eye color or contacts for me to see through. In the end he decided the colored ones plus different glasses would be best. It would be better in our mission to make me as unrecognizable as possible. Because at first that was still something I agreed to, because I understood why it was necessary. Yet here I am, one year and five months later, glaring at the way I look because it isn't me.

I angrily pushed myself away from the mirror and searched through my backpack for a hooded vest I could wear. I found a dark green one and pulled it on, zipping it up to the top. Then I pulled on my black combat boots, glad with the good shape they were still in. But then again, I didn't expect anything else from Dr. Martens, he sure did know how to make some fine shoes. I stood up, put on my black scarf, then my gloves and finally I pulled the hood of my vest over my head. I checked myself over really quick, to make sure there were no risks of skin contact with any other person than the name on the piece of paper Jay gave me.

When I was sure of that fact, I made my way downstairs, dropping of my backpack on the piece of cardboard that was supposed to be my bed, then headed out.

Once I was out of the door, I saw Ronny sitting on the stone steps leading up to the abandoned house Jay, me and Jay's henchmen were squatting in. Whilst descending the weathered steps, I poked the back of his head with my gloved finger.

"You better stay out of my backpack this time, Ronny," I halfheartedly threatened him.

He looked up at me and grinned widely, although he had a few missing teeth. "I can't make any promises, Ace!"

I just rolled my eyes and turned around. After orientating myself for a moment, I was on my way.

Ronny was alright. The only thing I detested was how he called me 'Ace'. But everyone at that house called me like that, so I didn't hold it against him. It was Jay who came up with it in the first place. 'Ace' is short for 'A.S.' which are the initials of the name Jay made up to put on my false papers, Arabella Smith. I had actually preferred they'd call me Arabella, since that was my original middle name, and it reminded me of home. Not home in Baltimore, but home home. Belgium. You see, I was actually born there. I lived there until I was fifteen, then my mom married my stepdad, who was an American, and we moved in with him. Excited as I was to go and live in the states, since I thought America would be so much better than Belgium, I thought I'd never miss it. But now, at the age of nineteen, I wished I was back there. I wished I'd never left. I missed it, so hard. I missed being able to speak Dutch. I missed complaining about having to learn French in school. I missed my grandmother, Arabella, to whom my middle name was named after. I missed my sister.

A pang of ache stabbed me through the heart at the thought of my sister. Last time I saw her was during the two weeks of vacation she had from school around Christmas time, nearly two years ago now. She came to spend her vacation with us, and I remember she was scared to fly, because it would be the first time she would be flying all alone. Usually her father would come over as well, and he would stay in another part of Baltimore (my mom didn't want him to stay with us because she couldn't deal with the awkwardness of having her ex-husband around her current husband), but that year he couldn't get the two weeks off from work. So my then twelve-year-old sister had to fly by herself. And she was absolutely petrified. But she was a brave girl and flew the entire nine-hour flight by herself. I was so proud of her.

A sad smile formed on my mouth at the memory, but then I sighed. I wished I were able to see her, or even speak to her. But I knew I couldn't, knowing she'd probably only be mad at me, and blame me for what happened to our mom.

I picked up my pace, briskly wiping away the few tears that had managed to escape my eyelids.

After about half an hour of walking, I reached my destination. I nervously looked around me at the big number of people walking up and down the street. "'That's your problem, not mine', my ass," I muttered as I was searching for the house number I needed. "Didn't he realize fucking Time Square in the middle of the day wouldn't be his problem?"

When I found the correct house, I walked up to the long list of bells of the people who lived in the apartments in that building. I quickly searched the list, pressing the bell that belonged to the person on my piece of paper. While waiting for him to respond, I quickly checked the portal to see there were no camera's hidden anywhere that could hint him, or anyone else for that matter, of my identity. Fortunately, I couldn't find any.

After around half a minute, a voice could be heard through the speaker.

"Hello?"

"Hi, I have a package for Jason Graham. Is that you?" I spoke, loud enough for the mic to pick up.

"Yes that's me. But I didn't order anything…"

"For as far as I can see from the box, it's a present," I made up. "Could you come down for a minute Sir, I need you to sign the paper here."

"Alright. I'll be down in a minute," he said, sounding irritated.

Whilst waiting for him to come downstairs, I looked around me. The building next doors caught my eye. Glass windows, glass doors, the people inside all dressed in suits, wearing badges to access the building; it looked like some secret government building or something.

I snorted. Yeah right. Life is not a James Bond movie, Arabella.

I turned my head back to the door in front of me when I heard it open, and prepped myself for what I was about to do.

A dark haired male, probably around his early forties came into view. He looked me over, and rose his eyebrows quizzically when he saw I wasn't carrying a package. He opened his mouth to ask about it, but I didn't give him the chance to.

"Hello, Jason. Jay sent me, he wants his money."

The man instantly paled and tried to shut the door, but I jumped forwards, placing my foot in front of the door. I pushed against the door, forcing my way into the small hallway. Jason tried to run up the stairs, but I reached for his leg and pulled him down. He fell over, and tried crawling up the stairs like that, but I turned him over and leaned over him.

I studied his face. He looked at me with terrified eyes, as if he knew what I was capable of. But then again, of course he knew. He had heard the stories. And Jay of course threatened him with sending his 'asset' on him if he didn't pay in time. And it was past due date.

"Please don't kill me," he whimpered. "Oh God, please don't kill me." And then he started sobbing.

I sighed. "Listen Jason, I'm not here to kill you, I don't even want to kill you. But unfortunately, Jay wants his money for the false papers he provided you. He already gave you two weeks extra. If you don't pay up now, I'm afraid I'll have to do what Jay ordered me to do." He sobbed loudly. "And I know you know that what I can do, is even worse than being dead."

He nodded his head, and then tried to bargain. "Give me one more week, I'll have my salary by then. Please just one more week…"

I shook my head. "I'm sorry Jason, but no more extra time. Jay wants his money now."

He started sobbing even heavier. Gross sobs sounded in the hallway. "I don't have the money right now!" he nearly shouted. Then I could hear him mumble stuff like "Please just one more week", "God please don't do it to me" and "I have a daughter, she's in trouble, she needed the papers, I just wanted to help her".

My heart broke, just like it always did when I had to do this. But I had no choice. I started taking off one of my gloves.

"I'm so sorry Jason, I really am," I said, my voice breaking.

He whimpered and closed his eyes, not wanting to see what was inevitably going to happen.

I raised my now ungloved hand to his face, and as tears leaked down my face, I touched his cheek. The effect was immediately noticeable. His body calmed down, as did his breathing. His head lolled to the side, and then there he lay. One moment he was fine, the other he was in a coma no one would know how to get him out of. A coma for life instead of dying right away. In my opinion it was infinitely worse than being killed.

And all that from a touch from my skin.

I broke down next to him, sobbing just as hard as he had been doing only moments ago. I hated Jay for making me do this. I hated myself for having trusted him when I should have realized he wasn't to be trusted at all. And most of all I hated the unknown thing that had made me have these powers in the first place.

I sat there, crying for a good ten minutes, before I pulled myself together and stood up. I wiped away my tears and pulled my glove back on. Slowly walking to the door that was opened ajar, I checked my surroundings to see if there was nothing there that could be traced back to me. I sniffed one last time, before clenching my jaw and walking out the door.

The second I was outside; I was knocked off my feet. I fell down on the ground and felt a – was that a bare foot? On my face?

I winced in pain, and then I gasped, because that person had touched my skin with his! I sighed miserably and clenched my eyes shut, expecting to hear a thud next to me of his body falling to the ground.

But when the sound didn't come, my eyes flew open and I sat up straight. I looked around for the person with the bare feet, but I couldn't see anything from my position on the ground.

I stood up, again looking frantically around me; until I saw a tall blond man standing in the middle of Time Square, looking dazed. There was a man in a long black leather coat and eyepatch talking to him. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but that wasn't the most important thing right now. I looked the blond man down, and noticed that his feet were bare. He was the one that had touched my skin with his bare foot.

How the hell was he still standing?

I stared at him with wide eyes, but then I smiled widely. It doesn't happen to everyone! If it didn't work on him, there must be others out there too!

I started walking towards him, but then I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head and saw a man in suit standing in the doorway of the hallway where I had left Jason.

He had a stern look on his face. A look directed at me.

I froze. I knew I needed to get out of there, but I also wanted to talk to the blond man that had somehow managed to stay awake after touching me.

I felt torn.

Then, suddenly, I decided that my own safety was more important, so I decided to run. But I had decided too late. Because right at that moment, before I even had the chance to turn around, two pairs of gloved hands grabbed me from behind. I felt a needle being inserted in my neck and then the liquid being injected.

The last thing I could remember before my world turned black, was the face of the man in suit from the doorway look at me in sympathy.

There we are, the first chapter is done. It's a bit short, but it's only a sort of introductory chapter. Next chapters will hopefully be longer.

Okay so leave me a review if you liked it! Or if you didn't like it, that's perfectly fine too, then I can do something about it :)

Face claim for Arabella: Moora vander Veken (She's a Belgian actress, look her up on Google images!)

Thanks for reading, I'll update as soon as I can!